Day Twenty-Four: Equilibrium (Season 4)
Author: R R Haywood
Date: 2019-05-04 06:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Zombie Apocalypse
Description: THE UK'S BEST-SELLING HORROR SERIES The Undead Twenty Four: Equilibrium By Washington Post, WSJ, Audible & Amazon #1 best-selling author RR Haywood. Creator of the smash-hit time travel series - Extracted and the #1 Audible sci-fi space-romp crime-heist thriller romcom The Worldship Humility A deadly infection spreads across Europe. The Undead Series: A terrifying account of one man desperately struggling to survive this harrowing event “Brilliant writing from start to end.” "A whip-cracking, adrenaline-fuelled doozy of a book!" "The best series ever!" "A cracking read..." "You'll cheer, laugh
Publisher: 1899 Inc Ltd
Rights: Copyright 2019 RR Haywood. All rights reserved.

The Undead Twenty Four: EQUILIBRIUM
rrhaywood.com

RR Haywood

Contents

Also by RR Haywood

Also by RR Haywood

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Also by RR Haywood

The Worldship Humility

Copyright © R. R. Haywood 2019

R. R. Haywood asserts his moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

“The Undead” ™ and “The Living Army” ™ are Trademarks.

All Rights Reserved.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters and events, unless those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead (or undead), is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Design, Cover and Illustration by Mark Swan

Also by RR Haywood

EXTRACTED SERIES:

EXTRACTED

EXECUTED

EXTINCT

Block-buster Time-Travel

#1 Amazon US

#1 Amazon UK

#1 Audible US & UK

Top 3 Amazon Australia

Washington Post Best-seller

In 2061, a young scientist invents a time machine to fix a tragedy in his past. But his good intentions turn catastrophic when an early test reveals something unexpected: the end of the world.

A desperate plan is formed. Recruit three heroes, ordinary humans capable of extraordinary things, and change the future.

Safa Patel is an elite police officer, on duty when Downing Street comes under terrorist attack. As armed men storm through the breach, she dispatches them all.

'Mad' Harry Madden is a legend of the Second World War. Not only did he complete an impossible mission—to plant charges on a heavily defended submarine base—but he also escaped with his life.

Ben Ryder is just an insurance investigator. But as a young man he witnessed a gang assaulting a woman and her child. He went to their rescue, and killed all five.

Can these three heroes, extracted from their timelines at the point of death, save the world?

Also by RR Haywood

The Worldship Humility

#1 Audible bestselling smash hit narrated by Colin Morgan

Available Amazon May 2019

Sam, an airlock operative, is bored. Living in space should be full of adventure, except it isn’t, and he fills his time hacking 3-D movie posters.

Petty thief Yasmine Dufont grew up in the lawless lower levels of the ship, surrounded by violence and squalor, and now she wants out. She wants to escape to the luxury of the Ab-Spa, where they eat real food instead of rats and synth cubes.

Meanwhile, the sleek-hulled, unmanned Gagarin has come back from the ever-continuing search for a new home. Nearly all hope is lost that a new planet will ever be found, until the Gagarin returns with a code of information that suggests a habitable planet has been found. This news should be shared with the whole fleet, but a few rogue captains want to colonise it for themselves.

When Yasmine inadvertently steals the code, she and Sam become caught up in a dangerous game of murder, corruption, political wrangling and...porridge, with sex-addicted Detective Zhang Woo hot on their heels, his own life at risk if he fails to get the code back.

“If you only look for darkness you will only see darkness”

rrhaywood.com

Prologue

He walks at the head of the horde. A man with a certain genetic structure that enables the parasitic infection within his brain to not only control his thoughts and emotions, but to control those within other hosts.

The man was bitten on the shoulder after he slipped down a muddy bank into a shallow river a few days after it all began. He screamed and tried to climb out, but it was raining, and he couldn’t gain purchase. He tried running through the river, but he kept tripping on the big stones under the surface and falling down until they reached him. A small horde of eight. Some young. Some old and all filled with the same single message pulsing in their minds; find more hosts.

He was bitten and felt the pain radiating through his stomach. It made him curl up in the shallow waters and cry out from the agony and fear of dying alone while being watched over by awful, blood-stained beasts. He wept hard, right up until his heart stopped and he grew still in death.

The infection did what it always did and after infecting and changing the cells within the body, it restarted the heart and gave life back to the host so that it may live in the true state of being. Without pain or suffering. Without thought or worry and with one purpose.

To take more hosts.

But this host was different. His brain was different, and as the man slowly got to his feet to stand in the shallows of the river, so he looked upon the hosts that killed him and saw how few they were.

The man started thinking, and without realising it, his thoughts and knowledge mingled and mixed with the infection until within a second, there was no way of knowing where the man’s mind ended and the infection began. There were as one, because his genetic structure was different and enabled this.

The infection did not know what this meant. Only that it was so, but within that organic mutation, the infection and the man realised that they were in a vast rural area west of Southampton.

The infection and the man knew, within that organic mind share, that there would be many more hosts to take in this area, and they also knew that the hosts already taken were currently spread out with each small group operating on their own, and the man knew this was a waste of resources.

The man, along with the infection within him, then devised a simple plan. He would start from this spot and gather the hosts already taken while scouring every house in every village and hamlet to take more hosts.

That seemed, to the infection and the man, a perfectly viable plan. And so, they set forth, leading their eight hosts into the vast rural landscape, and as the days wore on, so they took everything in their path.

It worked too, and now the man walks at the head of his horde. A horde of many thousands and still they go on, because the primary function of any living thing is to survive, and to survive, they must take more hosts.

Chapter One

Day Twenty-Six

‘I cannot believe you still watch this,’ Natasha says as the theme tune for her mother’s favourite soap opera blasts out from the television.

‘Shush,’ Tania says, waving a hand at her daughter. ‘Go and put the kettle on, your dad’ll be home in a minute.’

‘I’m home now…’ a deep voice from the hallway. A heavy tread and her father crosses the room to stare down at the piercings in his daughter’s eyebrows and the new tattoos on her arms. ‘You’re in my chair,’ he says. A big man with lines about his eyes that seem deeper every time Natasha comes home to see her family. ‘Said you’re in my chair.’

‘Heard you,’ she says, glaring up with sullen defiance as her mother increases the volume on the television.

‘You ain’t been here for months and you come back with this attitude?’

‘So? You ain’t my dad.’

‘You think I’d father something like you?’

‘I’m pregnant,’ she cries out. ‘And I’m a lesbian…’

‘Yeah? Well I’m gay.’

‘I’m gonna be a nun!’

‘Me and your mum are having gender re-assignment surgery and I’ll be mum, and she’ll be dad but I’m keeping my beard and then you’ll have two beardy dads.’

‘Pack it in,’ her mother groans, turning the volume up again. ‘Can’t hear the telly…’

‘We’re just doing the storylines from that crap,’ Natasha says as her father sits down on top of her. ‘Dad! Get off!’

‘What?’ he asks, wriggling his arse on her lap. His own arms covered in tattoos and piercings in his ears and eyebrows.

‘Tappy! Leave her alone,’ her mother says again. The telly remote control in one hand, a half-drunk cuppa in her other.

‘Fine,’ her father says, heaving up to his feet. ‘Come and make a brew with me. Good ink though. You happy with it?’ he asks, inspecting the new tattoos as they head into the adjoining kitchen. ‘Good lines…nice and clear…’

‘Yeah I love them. Seen the geisha?’ Natasha asks, showing him the Japanese figure on her left arm alongside a native American woman, a cowgirl and a female soldier.

‘Very good. Keep them out the sun or they’ll fade.’

‘I know. You’ve said. Like a squidzillion times…’

‘Squidzillion and one,’ he says, putting the kettle on.

‘Garage doing okay?’ she asks.

‘Yeah, ticking over, why? Gonna come and work for me?’

‘Maybe. Don’t know what to do really.’

‘Plenty of time. Something will stick one day. You’ll be somewhere, doing something and it’ll be like ping! And then you’ll know.’

‘Hope so,’ she says, staring at him. At Tappy Drinkwater. Her father and the greatest man she ever knew. A skilled mechanic and engineer. A kind man too, always laughing, always playing and never judging.

He glances over while making the drinks, feeling the rush of paternal love inside at Natasha’s slightly lop-sided grin. ‘How long you back for?’

‘Few days maybe…’

‘Only I’ve got this restoration on in the workshop. Fella’s got this vintage army lorry he wants overhauled…’

‘Really?’

‘Beautiful it is. Engine’s amazing, come and give me a hand, we’re stripping the whole thing down.’

‘Yeah alright,’ she says eagerly.

‘TASH!’ a cry of excitement from the door and Natasha turns to see her younger sister running in. ‘Mum didn’t say you were back…oh my god I missed you!’

‘Missed you too,’ Natasha says, hugging her sister. ‘How’s school?’

‘S’okay,’ Nadia says, pulling back to admire her big sister’s new artwork and piercings. ‘Mum said I can get my nose done soon…’

‘What about school?’

‘Dad threatened them with the European court of human rights and said I had the right to free expression. And I’m nearly thirteen…’ she adds as though that makes all the difference.

‘Did you really say that?’ Natasha asks her dad.

‘Worked for you,’ he replies, giving his casual shrug as Natasha clocks the envelopes on the side covered with big red angry writing. The debts piling up again.

‘I made a few quid,’ she says brightly. ‘Signed up for this medical testing thing…’

‘You did what?’ Tappy asks sharply, handing her a mug of tea.

‘Like science experiments, medical things…they pay you money to test drugs, like medicines, then you report the side effects. Most of them are placebos. Only a few get the real thing…pays alright though. Got a few hundred from the last one.’

‘Is it safe?’ he asks, frowning in worry.

‘It’s government stuff, course it is. Well, you sign a disclaimer but…yeah, it’s fine. Point is, I owe you about five hundred now.’

‘You,’ he says, leaning past her to tuck the debt letters away. ‘Can stop jumping to conclusions. We’re fine.’

‘Hmmm,’ Natasha says, thinking she’ll leave the money somewhere before she goes next week. ‘Where’s the boys?’

‘It’s Friday,’ Nadia says. ‘They’ve got karate…’

‘Oh…so what’s for dinner then? I’ll pop down the chippy if you want. Fish and chips?’

‘Ooh, you’ve twisted my arm,’ Tappy says, reaching for his wallet. ‘Tania? We alright having fish and chips tonight?’

‘Shush!’ her mother yells from the lounge. ‘But yes, that’s fine. Small cod for me though.’

‘I’ll go with Nadia,’ Natasha says, heading for the door with her sister.

‘Money,’ Tappy calls, showing her his wallet.

‘It’s fine. I said I made a few quid…’ she slips out, grinning at her dad as she heads to the chip shop with Nadia, loading up with cod and chips times six before going home to the frantic, noisy bedlam she remembers so well from growing up. The telly blasting out. Her brothers showing off their karate moves. Dad talking about work. Mum talking about her friends. Nadia talking about school and boys and music and all of them doing it at the same time. Chaos, but a beautiful chaos all the same.

Natasha wishes she could stay here forever. Just here. Dipping into conversations. Warm and safe. Salt and vinegar smells hanging in the air. A family size bottle of cola. This. Just this.

Forever just this.

Then the night comes, and the outside world grows dark. Natasha yawns, growing sleepy. She has to go to bed, except she doesn’t want to. She wants to stay here in the lounge sitting on the floor with her back to the sofa. Nadia at her side. Her mum lying with her feet up behind her, fiddling with Natasha’s hair. The boys lying on their bellies reading comics. Her dad in his armchair.

But still the night comes, bringing forth a darkness that will forever cover the land and Natasha stares at the window, sensing the dread building inside but unable to say or do anything. Watching herself from inside and out at the same time. Both an observer and a participant.

‘Go to bed,’ her mother says.

Natasha kisses her family goodnight and pauses by the door, offering a sleepy wave. She’ll see them tomorrow. She’ll go to her dad’s workshop and start on the old army truck.

But she knows she will never see them again because this a dream.

‘Love you,’ Natasha says sleepily, waving from the lounge door.

At least she said that. If nothing else, she said that.

She watches herself mount the stairs and go into the bathroom to brush her teeth before climbing into bed. Remembering the smell of her mother’s laundry and the feel of her old bedsheets.

Dread in her gut. Dread in her heart. A welling up of fear, of pressure. Don’t go to sleep. Please. Don’t. Natasha. Don’t. But sleep comes and Natasha sinks into the void of nothingness that exists between the layers of conscious thought.

A long barn deep within the countryside. One side open to the world with eaves hanging down that give cover from the rain falling on the pitted and broken concrete hardstanding outside.

A cash-in-transit van to one side. A horsebox, the rear open. The Saxon parked with the back doors open and Clarence resting his bulk on the back-step. His rifle within reach. Jess and Meredith whining, snorting air and edging forever closer to get more biscuits.

A dark sky overhead and for the first time in weeks, the stars and the moon remain hidden behind low clouds.

‘Slow down,’ Clarence whispers at Meredith pushing forward.

Motion from the barn. Someone coming out. Clarence leans left trying to see who it is, but Jess moves that way too and blocks his view while snickering and spraying him with horse snot. He tuts and tries pushing her aside. Jess thinks he can push all he wants but until he hands over the coconut crumbles, she isn’t moving an inch.

‘What a bloody sight,’ Paula whispers, soothing Jess’s flanks. Stroking her sides until the big horse steps back to greet the last validated member of the second watch biscuit club. ‘Not everything is won by brute force.’

Clarence shrugs, mouths another coconut crumble and holds the packet out while wishing he was being stroked by Paula. ‘Want a stroke?’ he asks. She double takes. He panics. ‘BISCUIT,’ he booms, spraying coconut crumble over her.

‘Clarence!’

‘Sorry!’ the big man ditches the packet to start rubbing at her chest in a valiant attempt to rid the crumbs until something soft and warm fills his hand that makes him jump back with an even greater flood of panic. ‘I TOUCHED YOUR BOOB!’

‘Shush. My god you are so loud.’

‘Paula, I’m really sorry…I wasn’t groping you.’

‘It’s fine. Grope away.’

‘Eh?’

‘What?’

‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing! I said it’ll brush away,’ she says, smiling sweetly up at Clarence looming over her and flapping his hands as though he wants to clear more crumbs off her chest while trying not to physically touch her. ‘It’s fine, stop panicking. Go on, sit down.’

She sits down next to him, her side brushing against his. Nervous tension that shouldn’t be there. A thing hanging in the air between them. A yearning. A desire. A need even. A want to speak out about feelings and emotions and what this is and what they should do about it. Or maybe it’s just pure unbridled good old-fashioned lust that will end with them tearing each other’s clothes off in the rain.

‘Biscuit?’ he asks, holding the packet out.

‘Ta,’ she says.

He smiles at her. She smiles back. The dog and the horse look at them and the rain falls.

Inside the barn, a fire burns low, bathing the inside in dancing orange shades and Tappy murmurs as she becomes gripped within the nightmare. Watching herself sleep on her old bed in just underwear. The weather too hot to cover up. She screams at herself to wake up and get her family out before it’s too late. But it’s already too late and the door to Natasha’s bedroom bursts open from Nadia surging in and diving head first onto the bed.

Everything a blur. Everything happening so fast. Screams from somewhere else. Inside the house and out in the street.

Loud and piercing. Windows smashing. Deep voices yelling out. Doors banging. A beat of a heart. A blink of an eye and Nadia drops her head with a hissing snarl to bite again, making Natasha scream and grab her sister by the hair, wrenching her away.

She runs out onto the landing while clutching her bleeding stomach. Terrified, horrified, not knowing anything. Another scream rips through the house and her mother runs backwards from the lounge and mounts the stairs. A large kitchen knife in her hand slashing left and right at Tappy Drinkwater. At Natasha’s father. The greatest man she ever knew lurching after her mother. His eyes as red as Nadia’s. Animalistic growls coming from his throat. Slash marks across his bare chest. Scratches and cuts. A bite wound to his shoulder. Blood everywhere.

Motion behind him. Natasha’s twin brothers staggering in through the open front door. Their once white karate suits drenched with blood.

‘NO!’ Natasha’s mother screams out, sobbing wildly. ‘TAPPY! STOP…STOP!’ she reaches the stairs and starts up, tripping as she goes while slashing the knife through the air.

Her father lunges forward. The solid bulk of him ripping Natasha’s mother off her feet and she hits the stairs hard. Slamming her head with a bone-jarring crunch. Her eyes glazing over. Too dazed and confused to react to her husband biting down into her shoulder.

An impact from behind. Nadia slamming her through the bannister. Natasha drops on her father’s back. Her mother’s throat bitten through. Frothy blood pouring from the wound.

Motion everywhere. Blood pouring down the stairs, making them slick and as one, the whole family start thudding down to the hallway where they land in a heap with Natasha facing towards the open front door and the view of the street outside. People running past being chased by others. People on the ground being bitten. Fires in houses. Screams and noises and shouts. Children. Men. Women.

A grunt. A hiss. Natasha snaps her head over to see her mother now dead and the knife buried to the hilt in her father’s chest. He doesn’t look at it or pay any heed to it at all. He just lifts his head and turns to fix those awful red, bloodshot eyes on Natasha as that growl deepens and gets louder. Nadia sitting up at the side. Her brothers wrenching free from the mess. All of them turning to look at Natasha. All of them sounding like beasts, drooling blood, hissing and moving towards her.

‘No…no….NO!’ Natasha screams out as they come for her. Scrabbling backwards to get away. Clambering over her mother’s dead body. No time for thinking. No time for thought and it’s as though something triggers in Natasha. A desire to survive. A need to live, a thing inside that detonates and enables her to take the knife from her father’s chest and use it to stab over and over. Driving it deep while the veins push from her neck and forehead. Her teeth barred. Killing her father. Killing her sister and her brothers, and when her mother comes back, she kills her too.

Killing to live. Killing to survive. Screaming out. Screaming over and over. Hot blood spurting on her face, drenching her hair, pouring down her body. Stabbing and stabbing. Teeth find her body. Ravenous and wild. Pressure on her shoulders.

‘TAPPY!’

Natasha screams out, her body rigid, her eyes snapping open to see a woman staring down at her.

‘It’s okay, Tappy…it’s okay…’

Confusion for a second. Her mind unable to determine where she is or what is happening.

‘Tappy, it’s okay…it’s just a dream…’

Tappy is her father’s name. Why is this woman calling her Tappy. Where is she? What’s happening?

She flinches as something hot, wet and rough touches her face from Meredith moving in to lick the tears from her cheeks. Whining softly with a voice that isn’t a voice but something else. Be calm. Pack sleep.

Natasha finally breathes and sucks air into her lungs. Bathed in sweat. Soaked from head to toe. Her heart beating so hard. Her whole life consumed with horror and pain. ‘I killed them…I killed them…’

‘Tappy, it’s okay,’ Paula says, pulling her up into a hug as Tappy’s face grows wet from the tears pouring down her face. Her whole body shaking. She told them her name was Tappy in the garage when she met them. A spur of the moment thing. It’s her father’s name. Not hers. She is Natasha. Tash. She killed her father. Her mother too. All of them.

‘I killed them…I killed them….’ She keeps saying it over and over. The memory so hard and so real. So raw. She shouldn’t have gone to bed. She should have stayed downstairs. Her mother. Her poor mother. The same dream that comes again and again. That she is there with them knowing something bad will happen that she cannot stop.

Pressure from behind. Charlie moving in. Warmth and comfort given. Tappy breathes deeper. Forcing control into her lungs. Not snatching at air but breathing slowly. Paula’s hand on her neck holding her like her mother used to do.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tappy whispers. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ Paula says. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay…do you know where you are?’

Tappy nods with the memories of yesterday coming back. They were going from town to town. Reginald was winning against them, pitting his intelligence against the infected. It was fun, in a weird, messed up kind of way. Then it all went wrong, and they had family and people they knew attacking them. They ran and fought. They got into a room full of cocaine.

Then she remembers being in a courtyard under the rain and Reginald talking to an Indian man that said they could live, but everyone else must die. Was that right? Did she dream that? She’s not sure.

Then a man called Booker ran the Indian man over and killed all the infected.

They left that town. She thinks they did anyway. Yes. They got into the Saxon and Roy’s van and found this barn. That’s where they are now. She looks up and round, seeing the barn rafters overhead, a fire burning low nearby. Bedrolls and figures in the muted light. She nods again, firmer this time, her mind back in control.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘It’s fine,’ Paula says. ‘You’re okay now?’

Tappy nods, wiping the tears from her cheeks and she glances over to the surreal sight of Clarence framed in the doorway with Jess’s head stretching over his shoulder trying to reach the packet of biscuits in his hand. Paula spots her staring and looks over. Charlie too, prompting Clarence to panic and tuck the packet behind his back.

‘I didn’t give them any,’ he says while staggering forward a step from Jess ramming her nose into his back as Meredith decides that the girl is now okay and rushes off. ‘Er…I’ll go back outside,’ Clarence says. ‘To the biscuit club…’ he trails off, nodding at them. ‘We don’t have a biscuit club,’ he adds. ‘As you were…’ he about turns into Jess who snorts and back steps into the dog who yelps and the big man walks off while holding his packet of biscuits above his head away from the animals chasing after him.

‘He’s so giving them biscuits,’ Charlie whispers.

‘Not saying a word,’ Paula says, wanting to go back outside while thinking of that time Clarence was rubbing cream into her back and her bra accidentally fell off. ‘What?’ she snaps, blinking at Tappy and Charlie.

‘Sorry?’ Tappy asks, startled at her sudden outburst.

‘We didn’t say anything,’ Charlie says.

‘Right. Good. Yes. As you were then,’ Paula says, her cheeks suddenly burning. ‘Er, get some sleep…’ she waves a hand and retreats back to her bedroll, flumping down with a huff and rolling over several times while muttering to herself. ‘I had spider bites.’

‘Who did?’ Charlie calls over softly.

‘What? Nothing. It’s fine. Go to sleep.’

‘I don’t want to sleep ever again,’ Tappy whispers.

Charlie rubs her head, feeling the bristles of her closely shorn hair. ‘I was dreaming about Blinky…’ she falls silent, swallowing as the pain flits across her face. Tappy reaches out, squeezing her hand. ‘What about you?’ Charlie asks.

‘My family,’ Tappy whispers. ‘Night it happened. I killed them…’

‘In the dream?’

‘And in real life. I keep dreaming about it…my mum, sister…brothers…my dad too.’

Charlie listens silently, not having words to give because what words are there to give to something like that? I’m sorry for your loss just doesn’t cut it.

‘He was called Tappy. That’s his name…I was always Tash. I said it when…when I met you all. I don’t know. Like a spur of the moment thing…’

Charlie takes her turn to squeeze the hand of the other girl. Faces stricken with grief and loss as they sit in silence. Simply breathing in and out. Simply existing.

‘What’s that Booker like?’ Tappy asks, nodding over to the new bedroll and the new man lying asleep.

Charlie shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. I can’t even remember getting here if I am honest.’ Another silence filled with memories and pain. Another dawn coming outside. Another day in this brave new world. ‘Well, I can’t sleep so I think I shall exercise…joining me? It’s just strength training. You know, pull ups, push ups, that sort of thing…’ she trails off, remembering being pinned down in the barracks and tugs the laces harder. ‘Up to you, get some more sleep if you want.’

Tappy thinks about going back to sleep. But then the dream will come again. The bad dream, and maybe Charlie is right. Getting stronger can’t hurt. ‘Fuck it. Why not…’

* * *

Eyes wide. From nothing to life. From darkness to light and I snap awake to see the first tendrils of light pushing into the world about me. Another dawn. Another day. A hand on my chest, pushing lightly. I turn my head to see Marcy already awake and staring at me. I blink at her. Swallowing the fears of the night that chased me into the day that now ease away. She moves her thumb, stroking my chest.

Memories of yesterday swim into my mind, rushing back in one barrage of hits. We were winning. Reggie had it on the ropes. Jesus, that man is smarter than anything.

Then we pushed it too much and they did that. Sending family and friends. People we knew. What a foul thing to do. What a rotten, awful thing and my last clear memory is my sister’s friend falling through from a skylight into the massive pile of cocaine. After that is just a blur of staggering violence.

‘You okay?’

I blink at Marcy again, wondering how the hell someone can look so good when they just woke up. I bet I look like a river monster that just crawled from the primordial gloop. I nod in reply. She lifts an eyebrow. I wish she wouldn’t. It really turns me on when she does that and we’re in a room full of people. Arse. We need to find places with private rooms from now on. I’ll ask Paula to add it to our list of things we’ll never achieve.

‘Great chat,’ she whispers.

I offer a smile like a primordial river monster showing its teeth. She doesn’t scream and run away though. Why is Marcy with me? She’s literally the hottest woman that ever existed ever. I worked in a supermarket just over three weeks ago. I ponder the possibility of dating someone like Marcy while I worked at Tesco, and what would have happened if our paths crossed then. But then the same question could be posed for any of us. Paula was a top-notch accountant. Roy was a hypochondriac living in a van. Was he living in a van? I think he was. Either way, I doubt they would have swiped right on each other’s bio on a dating site. What would my bio say?

Hi. I’m Howie. I work nights in a supermarket and on my days off I eat pizza and drink beer in my flat.

Marcy’s would be like, Hey boys, I’m Marcy, and the internet would break like that time the famous Kim lady shat on a wine bottle.

‘Did you ever try online dating?’ I ask, my voice gruff and low from sleep.

‘God no.’

Figures.

‘Well, once,’ she admits. ‘I got sent like a hundred dick pics so gave up.’

‘Dick pics?’

‘Yeah, dick pics. You know, pictures of dicks.’

‘I know what dick pics are.’

‘Do you now?’ she asks, giving me a thoughtful look. ‘I’m trying to remember if I saw your dick on a picture before. But then I’ve seen so many. I mean dick pics, not real dicks.’

‘I get it.’

‘Why? Did you try it?’

‘Sending dick pics?’

‘Twat. I meant online dating.’

I shake my head. She squints at me. ‘I don’t like that thought,’ she says.

‘What thought?’

‘You. Putting it about online.’

‘I’m not. I mean I didn’t. Don’t judge me miss UK dick pics winner…’

‘Honestly, they were gross. Penises are not attractive.’

‘Right.’

‘Even the big ones.’

‘Cool.’

‘Even the really big ones.’

‘How big?’ I ask in sudden alarm that my penis is being mentally compared in Marcy’s head.

‘Yours is fine,’ she says, clearly reading my thoughts. Which isn’t anything new these days. I expect Dave will run in and say my penis is normal size, then Paula will commence a discussion on penis lengths which will go on all day. I even lift up as though that very thing might be happening, but I spot Dave outside battering Mo about, the poor lad. Mind you, he does seem to love it. Then I spot Charlie and Tappy doing pull ups and push ups in vest tops in the rain by the back of the horsebox trailer thing.

‘Stop perving over Charlie and Tappy.’

‘I’m not!’ I say quickly, which comes out too quickly. ‘I was perving over Dave and Mo actually.’

She snorts a laugh, whacking me in the chest. ‘Idiot.’

‘Dick pic collector.’

‘Leg humper.’

I roll my eyes, not wanting to go back down that road which always ends up with Marcy going apeshit about that one time I had sex with Lani when she was turned in the old armoury.

‘You had sex with Lani in the old armoury when she was turned,’ Marcy says, thereby reading my mind again. I stay quiet with a tactical move of staying quiet. ‘Your lack of response is taken as an admission of guilt. Can I ask you a question?’

‘No good ever came of someone asking if they can ask a question,’ I say.

She ponders this for a second, then promptly ignores me. ‘What was your family like?’

I shoot her a look. A hard look too. She just broke the unspoken rule. We don’t ask about families. We don’t ask about anything. This is the new world. The old world is gone. I swallow, staring at her. Suddenly serious.

‘I’m in love with you,’ she says without any trace of weirdness at all. I wish I could say things like that. I’d sound like a stalker if I said I was in love with someone. ‘I’d like to know…’ she softens her tone, reaching out to touch my cheek. ‘Intimacy scares you, doesn’t it.’

What the fuck? I blanch at the question, wishing the zombies would attack.

She bites her lip, studying me. ‘I think women just like to know these things. So we can connect…’

‘We share minds,’ I point out helpfully. ‘With a hive mind…’

‘Okay,’ she smiles at me, that movie star smile, the one that makes people melt, the one that shines the brightest of all, and the one I now know she uses to hide behind. ‘Favourite band?’

‘Eh?’

‘What was your favourite band.’

‘My favourite band? Er…fuck…I didn’t have one. I just liked songs. What about you?’

‘Madonna.’

‘Madonna isn’t a band.’

‘And Take That. I’ve got a thing for cheesy boy bands. Favourite movie?’

‘Fuck. Er…shit, I don’t know…Scarface.’

‘You said that at random. At least try and think of one.’

‘What’s yours?’

‘Mary Poppins.’

‘No way.’

‘Yep. Why?’

‘No, it’s…I mean…yeah, I wasn’t expecting that. Madonna and Mary Poppins? I’d thought you be more of an R and B hip hop dance club fifty shades of grey kind of woman.’

‘I never saw fifty shades, but I love Disney movies. Did you ever see Seven Brides for Seven Brothers?’

‘My sister likes that…’

‘Good taste,’ she says, giving me a smile.

‘Did you…’ I falter, finding it hard to put into words. Not knowing whether to use past tense or present tense.

‘I had a huge family,’ she says, maybe guessing what I was going to ask. ‘Always falling out. Cousins. Uncles, aunts. It was crazy…’

I watch her speaking, mesmerised at the sudden entry into her world.

‘Birthdays and Christmas were the best…we had these huge get togethers. You know, everyone drinking too much and arguing.’ She smiles in fondness at the memories, sighing deeply. ‘My mum made cupcakes…’

Fuck that’s raw. I stare at her. Not knowing what to say.

‘They were so good. Like amazing. All with icing and colours. Like something from the telly. Everyone loved them. You didn’t want to actually eat them, you know? They were that good. My best memory is waking up to the smell of them cooking. Even when I was grown up and licking the mix from the bowl while my mum made tea, chatting away about cousins and who said what and who was falling out…’ she blinks at me with tears in her eyes and my face softens as I reach out. ‘It’s fine. They’re happy tears…ish…listen, if we get a chance, and like, if we find somewhere…can we make cupcakes one day?’

‘Yes,’ I say without hesitation, and right then I would kill the world for that to happen. It will happen. Fuck Cassie. Fuck the war. Fuck it all.

She smiles again, real this time. The real woman. ‘They won’t be as good as my mum’s.’ She sighs deeply, tapping a finger on my chest as she talks. ‘We’ll need flour, and eggs, and sugar…icing sugar…’ a tear breaks free, rolling down her cheek. ‘And those little paper cup things…and an oven to bake them in…’

I nod at her. My own eyes filling with tears. She blinks harder as more roll down her face to her lips and she reaches out, wiping mine away. ‘This is connecting, Howie…’

I nod. Suddenly scared of the thing she said I was scared off. The intimacy. The sharing and suddenly I feel fake and forced and made up and trite and cheap. I flounder, not knowing what to say or do and not knowing how to be. Knowing only that no matter what happens, no matter what comes, I will find a way for us to make cupcakes. That will happen. I swear it.

‘Are you like your father or mother?’ she asks softly.

I shrug. ‘Both I guess. I don’t know.’

‘Who do you look like?’

‘My dad more than my mum. I think. I don’t know. My mum has curly hair. I got that from her.’

‘I love your hair,’ she says, reaching up to touch it. ‘Were you close to them?’

Fuck me this is too raw. Too painful. Too dark and I just woke up. Plus, I didn’t see them yesterday, so the fear is still there that they will come at me one day soon. If they are still alive, or infected, or whatever. I look at her, sensing she needs this. Sensing she needs me to share. ‘They were good people. They worked hard…and like…we never went without. I mean, we always had food and clothes…’ she watches me closely, hanging off every word. I inhale deeply, finding it hard to keep going. ‘Yeah it was good. Growing up. Dad worked away but…you know, mum was always there.’

‘What did your dad do?’

‘Worked for a communications company. He used to work in the city. I think he was a civil servant or something. But then he got into communications. He didn’t really talk about it. He just said it was boring office work and it paid the bills.’

‘Must have been great when he came home.’

‘Er, yeah sure. You know. He was tired and stuff. Like, we weren’t super close. Like when dads and sons go play sports and hang out? It wasn’t like that. We didn’t do that. But he was invested in my education, you know, and wanted to make sure I did well at school and got a good job. Had good manners. Discipline and…’

‘I bet he was so proud of you. All handsome and grown up…and you were a manager.’

‘Yeah. Sure. Sarah did well though. Dad loved her working in the city. He always wanted me to join the army, then said I should look for work in the city too. I don’t know. I just wasn’t as motivated as Sarah. Tesco was okay. It was fine. Like good. Just normal.’ I frown at the way I’m saying it. Like I’m defending something. Am I? ‘He worked a lot. Some men just don’t…they don’t open up and…’ I stop talking, not knowing what I’m saying.

‘Maybe that’s where you get it from,’ she says gently.

‘Get what from?’

‘Finding it hard to open up. If your dad was like it.’

‘I never said I find it hard to open up…’

‘I’m not attacking you, Howie. This is talking.’

‘No, okay, I get it…he was a good man, but just quite cold, not cold, fuck! I mean, like hugs. We weren’t huggers. My mum wasn’t either really…argh shit, it’s coming out wrong.’

‘It’s fine. I know what you mean. He didn’t lavish you with love and adoration, but you knew he loved you. Right?’

I nod. ‘Yeah, something like that.’ I trail off into silence and think about the town I went through on the first day of the infection. It was after the accident on the motorway. I’d ran across some fields and ended up jogging through a tiny village that I recognised from my dad taking me for cakes now and then.

That memory tells me my dad was a good man because good men don’t drive the long way around to visit cake shops. But then I normally ate the cake on my own while dad went off to catch up with an old work mate from the city. I’ll be ten minutes. Stay in the car.

‘I really need a wee,’ Marcy says, sitting up to stretch and yawn while I shrug the old memories off and think about the now and what we need to do.

* * *

Roy stirs from hearing Marcy yawn and yelp, drifting up from sleep to awake. The habit of his lifetime kicks in and he immediately starts checking his body for signs of dangerous diseases. Then he remembers that he already has a dangerous disease. Panic spikes inside. His blood is dirty. He has something inside changing who he is. He takes a breath, forcing the worry down.

Clarence and Paula look over at his rustling. Both still awake from sharing the second watch together. Both with minds full of dark memories of yesterday and the things they saw and did. They think about each other too as their eyes meet over Roy’s bedding. A second held. Clarence blinks and turns away. Paula looks down and a few feet away, Maddox opens his eyes as his mind fills with the awfulness of what they saw yesterday, and what they had to do to live and get through it. It was pure instinctual survival at the end. That’s all they had left. He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

Blowers wakes too. Thinking of the same things, remembering faces flashing by in a series of images. Mates from school. Maybe a cousin. People he knew, but the cocaine they took later has fucked the memories and made them all warped and broken. Now he isn’t sure what was real and what his mind made up in the nightmares he experienced as he slept. He thinks of Meredith and wonders if there is a way he can kill himself for a few minutes so he can see her again.

The noises of those stirring rolls on through the room, bringing them awake one after the other. Heads filled with dark thoughts. Hearts heavy from what they did.

Nick blinks his eyes open and immediately remembers smashing through a shop front and fighting with someone he knew. Was it his cousin? Or was that later? Did Dave save him? It’s all so messed up in his mind. He thinks about Lilly, but that feels messed up too. He misses her so much. More than anything he ever thought possible. A yearning need to break away and find a car to get back and see her, but then he has a duty here with Mr Howie and the others. Regret inside. Pain too. Too many emotions and so soon after waking.

Cookey wakes and does the same as Clarence. Bringing his hands up to rub his jaw and face, feeling the sickening tension in his gut. His mum. It was her. He saw her. She was right there. Then that shot rang out and he knows either Mr Howie or Dave slotted her in the head. After that was just fucked up. Seriously and royally fucked up.

Alan Booker wakes too and rubs his eyes while thinking back over the last three weeks or so. A blur of memories. Of images. Of weirdness piled on top of craziness. He was so relieved when he found the Saxon last night. He’d spent days looking and was about to give up, then bang, there it was. But the state of them when he finally found them slumped in the back of a warehouse. All of them covered in sticky white powder made pink by the blood pouring from every inch of them. A sight to see for sure. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it sure as shit wasn’t that.

In the middle of the barn, one of them doesn’t wake and stir, but then Danny always was a heavy sleeper, and so he slumbers on while his mind holds him trapped in his dreams and it’s almost as though he can feel the droplets on his face.

It’s raining you see, in his dream. He’s in a street with an infected standing a few metres in front of him.

‘We are the one true race,’ it says.

Danny stares at it. Realising, in the dream, that his team are all further away and busy and he contemplates killing the enemy. He should really kill it. That’s what they do. They kill them.

‘You are cruel,’ the infected says.

Danny keeps staring at it. Blinking at the sight while thinking he really should be killing it now.

‘We are not cruel,’ the infected woman says. The same infected woman they saw yesterday. The one with the skimpy top and the big boobs. The really super pretty one. The one with the nipples showing through the rain soaked top. That infected woman. She smiles at him. ‘Do you like my boobs, Danny?’

Danny nods. Thinking he’ll definitely kill her in a minute.

‘My top is very wet though, Danny,’ she says, looking down at her own chest before looking up at Danny with huge eyes blinking slowly. ‘Will you help me take it off?’

Danny wonders if he’s allowed to help the enemy take their tops off.

‘It’s so wet…take it off for me,’ she purrs the words out and lifts her arms while leaning forward. Bashful, shy, needing his help and about as vulnerable as a wolf.

Danny hesitates and thinks he really should have killed her by now, but then soldering is also about being helpful and nice, and she might catch a chill running about in a wet top. He reaches out with his heart going like the clappers and grips the bottom hem, thinking something will happen. She’ll explode or fly away or attack him. But nothing happens. He starts lifting it up. She still doesn’t explode, and nobody shouts at him either. He lifts more and then, right there, are her naked boobs, and such is the power of boobs that Danny does not think about the friends and family he saw yesterday, or the horrors of the things they did.

Instead, he murmurs softly to himself in the barn while his body reacts in the way that male bodies do when they are preparing to procreate.

‘What the fuck?’ Tappy says, walking into the barn with Charlie and Mo. All three of them coming to a stop at the sight of Danny flat on his back on his bedroll. ‘Jesus. It’s huge…’

‘What is?’ Cookey asks, looking over. ‘Holy fuck!’

‘What?’ Blowers asks, sitting up to gawp.

‘Boobs,’ Danny murmurs.

‘Is that his willy?’ Tappy asks, pointing at the thin blanket straining over Danny’s groin. ‘No way…’

‘What’s going on?’ Paula asks as everyone else sits up to look over at the same time. ‘Oh wow…’

‘That’s not a willy,’ Tappy says, shaking her head. ‘That’s a tent pole…’

‘Boobs,’ Danny says as the hot naked infected woman starts laughing.

‘Danny, cover it up!’ she shouts at him, sounding like Charlie. Danny frowns, fondling her breasts.

‘Don’t let Meredith see it…’ she says in a voice that sounds remarkably like Cookey’s. ‘Or Blowers…’

‘Danny! Roll over for god’s sake,’ the woman adds, now sounding like Paula. ‘Leave him alone, he’s a young lad…’

‘OI TENT POLE, WAKE UP!’ she shouts, now sounding like Nick as she sniggers in the voice of many.

‘Paula, wake him up.’

‘You bloody wake him up, Marcy…actually, no, on second thoughts. You’re the last thing he should see with that thing ready to go off…or Tappy or Charlie…Blowers, he’s in your team…’

‘Fuck that.’

‘Yeah go on, Blowers,’ Cookey laughs.

‘It’s so big,’ Tappy says, still shaking her head and nudging Charlie now turned away. ‘Have you seen it?’

‘I do not want to see it, thank you,’ she says primly, having already seen it and glancing back quickly before turning away again. ‘Somebody wake him up.’

‘With a happy ending…’

‘Cookey!’

‘Sorry, Paula…OI TENT POLE…ARE THEY NICE BOOBS?’

‘Yes,’ Danny says out loud, frowning in his sleep at the explosion of laughter.

‘Right! Come on, poor lad…he’ll never live it down…Danny…Danny!’

Danny smiles at the naked woman as she grabs his shoulder and shakes him.

‘Danny!’

‘What?’ he asks, opening his eyes to stare up at Paula’s face. Confusion in his eyes as she struggles to stop grinning. ‘Morning, Paula,’ he says, smiling at her.

‘Morning honey,’ she says softly.

‘Watch out, Paula…it might go bang…’

‘Cookey!’

‘Negligent discharge…’

‘Nick! That’s enough.’

‘Beat it with a stick…’ Cookey adds.

Danny smiles as Paula tuts and glares about the barn then wonders why Charlie is standing a few feet off to the side facing away while Tappy is gawping at him.

‘You need to go outside for a few minutes,’ Paula says quietly.

‘With a big box of tissues.’

‘COOKEY!’ Paula snaps, breaking off into a laugh as the giggles roll about the room. Danny stretches then feels a sensation in his groin and the blanket across his lap feeling taut and trapped. Then it hits. The realisation. Panic in his eyes and he looks down to see the blanket bulging up from his erection.

‘Oh fuck…oh fuck!’

‘Tent Pole’s awake everyone,’ Cookey calls out.

‘Oh bless him,’ Marcy says as Danny launches up and grabs the blanket to cover his groin. He sprints out past Tappy, Mo and Charlie and runs into the yard and the rain, turning first left then right and not knowing which way to go.

‘RIGHT!’ Charlie, Tappy and Mo all call out at the same time.

‘That’s left, Danny,’ Paula calls as Danny about turns and runs the other way.

‘DON’T TRIP OVER IT,’ Cookey shouts.

‘That’s enough,’ Paula says. ‘Don’t give him a hard time.’

‘He’s had a hard enough time already this morning.’

‘Tappy Drinkwater. I expect that from Cookey, not from you,’ Paula chides as Reginald smiles to himself while giving thanks to a young man waking up with an erection. Gosh no, that’s an awful thing to think. He doesn’t mean he’s giving thanks for the erection, but rather the immediate sense of play it invokes as the world wakes up to move on. He scored a point against the other player yesterday, then it drew level with that dirty trick, but today is a new day and the game goes on.

‘Right, come on,’ Paula calls, clapping her hands before spotting Booker staring about with a slightly taken aback expression. ‘Alan, I’m Paula. We were all out of it yesterday…whatever, you’ll catch up with everyone,’ she says, waving a hand in his direction. ‘Do you need anything right now? Underwear? Socks? Your clothes look ruined. We’ll bin those and get you some new stuff…’ she stops in front of Mo, tutting at his split lip.

‘S’fine,’ Mo says. ‘Got caught by Dave, accident though,’ he adds quickly.

‘My Little Mo getting all beaten up…’ she kisses the top of his head. Mo takes the hug, wrapping his arms about her and softening into the cuddle without trace of shame or embarrassment. Nobody other than his grandpa ever called him Little Mo. ‘You are scrummy,’ Paula says, finally breaking off. ‘Go and rinse off, you’re all sweaty. Ladies, we have our own toilet and washing section to the left end of the barn. Lads, you’ve got the right side…’

‘Danny’s dick has the right side.’

‘Very funny, Cookey,’ she says drily, rolling her eyes. ‘Both ends have hoses…’ she trails off, realising what she just said and looks back at Cookey. ‘Go on then.’

‘What?’ he asks innocently.

‘Make a hose joke.’

Cookey shrugs, seemingly not biting and looks away. ‘Danny has a hose…’ he adds quietly, timing his joke to perfection and playing to his audience who all chuckle.

‘I give up, Mr Howie, sort your team out. I’m going before I wee myself.’

‘Everyone do stuff,’ Howie orders, earning a round of affirmatives in response.

‘Why are you wet?’ Cookey asks Charlie and Tappy.

‘Me and Charlie pumped our guns up,’ Tappy says.

‘What the what now?’ Cookey asks.

‘Pumped our guns up,’ Tappy says, looking at him as though it should be plainly obvious. ‘We worked out,’ she adds, flexing her arms like a body builder. ‘See? Yeah, the beach is that way…’ she strikes another pose, pointing off to one side. ‘And the shops are that way,’ she adds, flexing and pointing the other way. ‘We’ll be like Mads soon, all buff and muscly. Mads? Check out my gun show…you benching bro? you doing protein bro?’ she asks, mimicking a California surfer voice.

Maddox rolls his eyes while gathering his kit. Too cool to laugh.

‘Go on, let me see yours,’ Tappy calls.

‘Do one,’ Maddox replies, unable to hide the smile touching his lips.

‘Come on! Give us the gun show…’ she calls out. ‘Charlie, let’s see yours…’ a chorus of laughs ring out as Charlie rolls her eyes as though this is all beneath her before moving into a flexing pose to tense her arms, showing the muscles off.

‘Mads! Come on,’ Tappy shouts, swatting Maddox with her rolled up bedding. ‘Do it…’

‘I’m not doing it,’ he calls, dodging the blows.

She moves in closer, standing over him and using her bedding as a bat. ‘Flex ‘em up, big boy.’

‘Get off!’ he laughs, on his back as she strikes down while the others watch on. Tappy doesn’t have their history and so to her, Maddox is just another lad in the team.

‘You benching bro? Protein up bro! Seriously, I’ll be like you in a few days. All hench and huge with a six pack…have you got a six pack?’

‘No,’ he says.

‘He does,’ Mo calls out.

‘Interesting,’ Tappy says, winking at Maddox before pulling back. ‘Mind you, new guy has some arms too, eh new guy?’ she adds, strolling over to Booker sitting on a spare bedroll pulled from the Saxon. ‘I’m Tappy,’ she holds a hand out.

‘Booker,’ he says, taking the handshake.

‘You benching too bro?’ Cookey asks, mimicking Tappy’s surfer voice.

‘He’s proteined up bro,’ she says.

‘Hench bro,’ Cookey adds.

‘Buff bro. So you knew the lads from before yeah?’ she asks Booker.

‘Yeah, er…Salisbury. We joined up together.’

‘Cool,’ she says. The darkness inside all of them. That haunted expression deep within all of their eyes as they joke and make play to push it away. ‘How’d you find us then?’

‘Howie?’ Paula calls before Booker can reply. ‘We need to get up and move out fairly pronto.’

‘Before coffee?’ he asks with more than a touch of alarm.

‘We’re nearly out of food and clean kit, and I don’t bloody care if it’s the end of the world but I am not running about in dirty undies.’

Howie blinks in panic. ‘Before coffee?’ he asks again.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ she mutters.

‘I know,’ Howie says, clicking his fingers. ‘We should have coffee and then move out…how’s that for a plan?’

She goes to argue and say explain that they really need to get going while it’s early and they can be at the fort in no time and drink coffee there. But then she remembers what they did yesterday and the night they had. She also knows that if she pushed it, they would comply and do what she said and so she sighs instead. ‘Okay, quick coffee then we are going. Come on! Get moving. Who needs toilet roll? Tappy, catch. Danny, take this one for your side. Quickly now. We are moving out in less than ten minutes!’

‘Morning, Dave,’ Howie says as the younger ones rush off and out. ‘You okay, mate?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie. Simon needs to be a sergeant now.’

Howie pauses at Dave’s directness and lack of greeting or small talk. ‘Do we really need to do that?’

‘He’s got a big team,’ Clarence says.

‘I get that, but do we need ranks?’ Howie asks. ‘We’re not the army.’

‘They are,’ Clarence replies, nodding towards the space left by the lads. ‘They’re squaddies. Nick, Cookey, Blowers, Booker too. Danny was a cadet. Mo’s getting that way. Tappy too, and Charlie’s background is similar to the military…’

‘She was a hockey player,’ Roy cuts in.

‘She was on the national team,’ Clarence says. ‘That requires the same level as discipline as the military. What I’m saying is that a bigger team needs a greater degree of regimental attitude. It needs a ranking structure. You’ve got some strong characters in that lot. Tappy, Maddox, Cookey…they need to know there’s order and rules and who’s in charge of them. When it’s okay to piss about and when they need to shut up and listen.’

‘Okay,’ Howie says, nodding at Clarence and Dave. ‘Makes sense.’

* * *

On the right side of the barn, Danny groans at himself with his head under a weak flow of cold water while he tries to wash the shame from his cheeks. They’ll think he’s some raving pervert waking up with a hard-on like that.

‘Tent Pole!’ Cookey calls out, rushing around the corner ahead of the others. ‘Where are we pissing? I’m gonna burst…’

Danny points to the side, standing in his underpants as the others come into view.

‘That was bloody funny,’ Nick laughs, striding over to clap a hand on Danny’s back before joining Cookey.

‘Danny, you okay?’ Blowers asks, patting his shoulder as he goes by. ‘Don’t worry about in there. It’s fine. We all wake up with hard-ons. Learn to sleep on your side or front…’

‘Or have a wank before you go to sleep,’ Cookey calls.

‘You’s done with that?’ Mo asks, nodding at the hose in Danny’s hand.

‘Yeah sure,’ Danny says, handing it over.

‘Tent Pole,’ Cookey laughs, setting the others off.

‘You’s alright yeah?’ Mo asks Danny who thinks he doesn’t want to be called Tent Pole.

‘Here he is,’ Nick calls out as Maddox walks down towards them. ‘You’s hench bro…’

‘You proteining up, bro,’ Cookey laughs.

‘Fuck off,’ Maddox says with humour in his voice, taking the jokes as he strips off to wash.

Danny takes Booker in. Seeing he’s mixed race with a skin colour a bit like Charlie’s. Short black hair and a few days worth of growth on his jaw. He’s like Cookey, Nick and Blowers. That same manner. The same size. He even walks like they do. Like a squaddie.

‘Right, sod off,’ Nick says, making a lunge to grab the hose from Mo.

‘I ain’t finished,’ Mo says, trying to pull it back as the spray goes everywhere.

‘Danny, you got any toothpaste?’ Maddox asks.

‘Who’s got deodorant?’ Blowers asks.

‘Blowers, we shaving now?’ Cookey asks.

‘No time. Just get rinsed and changed. Danny? You good?’ Blowers asks.

‘Yes, Corporal,’ Danny says, pulling the toothbrush from his mouth.

‘Cool. Mo, hand that fucking hose over before I beat you with Danny’s dick…’

Nick sprays toothpaste. Cookey lets rip and even Maddox can’t help bursting out laughing.

Danny remembers his dad telling him that a squad won’t rip the piss out of anyone they’re not sure of and realises he’s in the middle with the lads all jostling him and joking. Using his kit. Letting him use theirs. His toothpaste doing the rounds. Someone’s deodorant going the other way. Socks thrown about. Boots kicked. The lads pushing each other. Even Maddox is getting it a bit more.

A thud from the end brings them all to silence as a combat boot lands a few feet down the side of the barn.

‘Oh no,’ Tappy calls out. ‘I have dropped my boot. I shall have to go and get it…oh hello boys,’ she adds, grinning as she strolls into view. ‘Don’t mind me. Maddox does have a six pack,’ she yells over her shoulder. ‘And Nick too. Should see it. It’s like one of those stripper stage shows…’

‘TAPPY!’ a few of them yell at the same time.

‘PAULA!’ Cookey shouts. ‘WE’RE BEING SEXUALLY HARASSED…’

‘Okay,’ Paula shouts from the other side of the barn.

‘Yeah you are,’ Tappy says, laughing as she gets her boot. ‘As you were boys…’ a wink and she goes off, leaving the lads gawping at each other. ‘Do the boxers come off too?’ she asks, peeking back to a chorus of shouts.

‘STOP PISSING ABOUT,’ Paula shouts.

A rush from the lads all tugging trousers on and grabbing kit before running up the side and into the barn to see Paula spooning coffee into mugs while a pan of water is heated over a camping gas stove and Dave waiting for them.

‘Corporal Blowers is now Sergeant Blowers…’

‘Bollocks. I was hoping you’d forget.’

‘I never forget, Sergeant Blowers. You will address him as Sergeant.’

‘Or just Blowers,’ Blowers says as Dave stares ahead in such a way that nothing in the world dares move. ‘But um, sergeant is also good.’

‘Good,’ Dave announces. Which means everything is good. It must be. Dave said it is. ‘As you were, Sergeant Blowers.’

‘Yes, Dave,’ Blowers says smartly, snapping to attention with a salute.

‘I’m not an officer. You don’t salute me,’ Dave says, walking off.

‘Yep. Knew that,’ Sergeant Blowers says, rolling his eyes as Cookey and the others try not to smile.

‘Bless,’ Paula murmurs, turning back to spooning coffee into mugs.

‘Booker,’ Howie says, walking over with his hand stretched out. ‘You’ve caught us on the hop, but thanks for last night. That was good timing.’

‘Mr Howie,’ Booker says, taking the handshake. ‘I almost gave up. Been looking for a couple of days.’

‘Why didn’t you just go to the fort?’ Cookey asks.

‘Er, yeah, probably would have done that to be honest,’ Booker replies.

‘Roy said he checked you over last night?’ Howie asks. ‘You’ve been bitten?’

‘Back of his right thigh. Big bite mark,’ Roy says. ‘And on his left shoulder…and the back of his left arm too, plus various lacerations that appear the same as the ones we have made by finger nails.’

‘I hate those,’ Charlie says earnestly. ‘You know, I think I actually prefer being bitten to being cut by fingernails.’

‘Same,’ Tappy says, nodding at her. ‘There’s something gross about it.’

‘You prefer mouths to fingers?’

‘Cookey!’ Paula, Clarence and several others say at the same time as a few burst out laughing.

‘I meant injuries,’ Cookey says, rolling his eyes. ‘You lot have got minds in the gutter.’

‘Why didn’t I turn into one of the zombie things?’ Booker asks Howie.

‘We don’t use the zed word,’ Clarence calls.

‘That’s a good question,’ Howie says.

‘Boss, I’ll fill him in when we get going if you want,’ Blowers says.

‘Do that,’ Howie says. ‘We don’t know a lot, but…they’ll get you up to speed. Sorry, I need to plan for today. You okay?’

‘He’s fine,’ Paula says, handing Howie a mug of coffee.

‘Mr Howie,’ Booker says politely as Howie steps away and the lad thinks back to only a couple of weeks ago when they were on Salisbury and how Howie and the others look so different. Harder. Leaner. Blowers has lost and eye and a finger. Dave looks the same though. He wants to ask about Jamie and Curtis and Smithy and Tucker, but guesses he knows what the answer will be.

Howie heads out of the barn with some of the others following after. A battered packet of cigarettes handed out by Nick with plumes of smoke soon billowing up and away into the sky.

‘What’s the plan then, boss?’ Clarence asks.

‘Well,’ Howie says, a coffee and a cigarette now in his hands. ‘We were offered a get out last night by a woman called Cassie speaking through an Indian chap that said we can all live happily ever after and make babies in the fort retirement village if we stop killing her zombies.’

‘Good lord, that is a remarkably astute and succinct summation of a very complex conversation,’ Reginald says, strolling over in his smart trousers and shirt.

‘No idea what you just said but it sounded like a compliment, so I thank you kindly. And she also said we’ve got a day to think about it before Booker ran them over.’

Clarence stirs, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he thinks. ‘How do you know it’s not a trap? We head for the fort and she has us in one place. That was always the point of being out and about wasn’t it? So they can’t track us.’

Howie shakes his head. ‘That Cassie, or the infection or whatever it’s called. It knew where we were yesterday and was literally charting our course.’

‘We maintained a linear route,’ Paula says. ‘It was bloody obvious where we were going and look what happened. Look what was waiting for us.’ she trails off into a silence broken by coffee being drunk and boots scuffing the ground. Jess eating oats mixed with water in a bucket. Meredith chomping on tinned fish emptied into her bowl.

‘Okay.’ Howie says finally. ‘Reggie, unless you think otherwise, my plan is that we head for the fort. I think they’ve got the right to know what’s been said. And, if we decide to keep fighting then we might have to consider evacuating it, and Heather will be getting the immunes back there soon. Listen, this sounds harsh, but those immune people need to survive even if everyone else doesn’t. If it goes the way of a trap then we can pick a fight and get attention while the fort evacuates,’ he pauses, grim-faced and dark eyed. ‘Then whoever is left from that works with Heather to find and protect the rest of the immunes. Agreed?’

Reginald lifts his eyebrows at the remarkable simplicity of what appears to be an increasingly complex set of circumstances. ‘I agree; however, it still feels like we’re missing something,’ he says quietly.

‘What can we do? You don’t know what you don’t know,’ Howie says. ‘And until we know more then we can only react to what we do know. Fuck me, that sounded like gobbledegook…’

‘It didn’t,’ Charlie says.

‘Even I kept up with that one,’ Cookey says.

Howie drains his mug, wincing at the bitter taste of the instant coffee. ‘Come on, we’ll head back in. At least Lilly will be pleased to see us…and it’ll cheer Nick up. Plus she’s got that nice coffee machine…get loaded, we’re moving out.’

Chapter Two

Day Twenty Six

Henry wakes in the single bed in the small room at the top of the isolated house. Listening to the gentle rain and seeing the sky outside is still dark.

He rises from the bed and crosses to the window to stare first at the raindrops beading down the pane of the glass, and then beyond to a land made dark by the absence of cars and street lights. No house lights glowing in the distance. No airplanes in the sky.

He moves to the small basin at the side of the room and runs the cold water, filling the bowl as he strips down to body-wash. A lean bald man of average height. Late fifties. Maybe older. Maybe younger. He avoids the sun and so his face remains free of wrinkles and lines. He exercises, avoids excess and keeps himself trim. A polite man whose manner sometimes touches on effeminate, but never camp. Softly spoken. His voice cultured and educated.

It was Henry that bought this house. An old run-down fisherman’s cottage perched on the bluffs overlooking the sea.

This was the RVP. The rendezvous point. This was where they all agreed to gather when it happened. Because they knew it was coming. Henry, George, Frank, Carmen and Howard. Except Howard isn’t here, and that pain now shows in Henry’s eyes as he takes in his reflection.

Henry blames himself. He should have got out of London faster, but the rate of spread was too much. George was in Greece and that only left Frank and Carmen, and by the time they got south Howard had made a run for his son. Frank and Carmen found the note in Howard’s house.

Why Howard didn’t go to Tesco for Dave is unknown to Henry, but he does know Howard is gone. He didn’t make it. That’s all there is to it. It’s been twenty-six days and Howard would have got here by now. But then Howard was never a field agent. He could fire a sidearm and knew the basics of weapon handling, but that was it. He was never tactically trained. He was never a soldier or an operative like the rest of them, and that adds to the guilt Henry now carries. They knew this was coming and he failed to train Howard. He should have done it. He should have got Frank or Carmen to drill Howard in how to handle himself. But then they thought they had more time and Howard kept joking that they’d fix it and stop the outbreak from happening.

‘The Office Of Fiscal Studies never fails, Henry. You mark my words, we’ll get this sorted.’

But they didn’t. They failed. Henry failed and now everyone is dead, and the world has fallen, and if there’s any consolation to be had it’s that it wasn’t just Henry failing. They all did. All of the intelligence agencies. All of the black-ops teams. All of the hidden deniable assets secreted in every country in the world and never in Henry’s career has he ever heard of such a thing going from planning to fruition without a bloody clue of how to stop it.

They were there too. That’s the most galling thing. Frank and Carmen were undercover in the mountain facility when the scientists were all brought in for a theoretical study in the hypothetical release of certain types of viruses. Doctor Neal Barrett was there. The UK’s leading statistician. Carmen seduced him, and that speaks of how big this is for Carmen to use herself like that. That’s how dangerous they knew this would be.

Frank and Carmen got him on side and helped him escape with the list of people with immunity. The research facility was destroyed immediately after and nearly all of the scientists were killed in a freak accident. The whole thing was simply shut down and the intel ceased entirely. Nothing. Nada. Not a scrap of a whisper. Not a thing coming from any source anywhere.

Henry still felt confident though. He thought Neal would show up somewhere or that one of Howard’s sources would let something slip. That was Howard’s role. He was the informant handler and it was his job to deal with snitches and the spies of other countries. To get information and pay who needed paying. But again, nothing. Neal never surfaced. An untrained statistician evaded them all and remained off the grid.

But it was still okay. They still had time. They’d win. They always win.

And then they lost because the virus was released and now 98% of the planet will either be infected or dead.

A heavy sigh, so heavy it mists the mirror then he lifts his head because he still has a job to do.

He shaves with a cut-throat razor, drawing the blade over his skull and dresses in dark trousers and clean boots. He tucks his shirt into his trousers and checks his clothing is not creased. He fastens his holster just so on his right side and slides the 9mm semi-automatic pistol in. A knife on the other side.

Finally, he takes the assault rifle and heads out into the quiet corridor and makes his way down through the house to the kitchen. A lamp burning low. The water in the pan on the gas-stove still hot. He brings it back to the boil because Henry likes his tea scalding.

A brew made and he moves through the dining room to the front door and eases it open to slip out. He closes the door behind him and stands under the shallow awning, protected from the rain and inhales deeply, filling his lungs.

‘Amazing, isn’t it,’ Carmen whispers at his side. ‘The air is so clean now. I didn’t notice it before. Now I can’t stop breathing it in…’

He turns to look at the beautiful black woman. An assault rifle held across her arms. Her feet planted. ‘Good job really. People tend to die if they stop breathing.’

She looks at him, arching her eyebrows.

‘My apologies. I made a Frank joke. Pleasant night?’

‘Pleasant enough. I watched the rabbits. Then a fox came and the rabbits all ran off. Oh and hedgehog walked past.’

‘A hedgehog you say. Don’t see them so much now. Right, well I’ll take the watch now, Carmen. You can stand down.’

‘Roger,’ she says, stretching her back with an audible click. She groans and yawns, visibly relaxing from being stood down. ‘Are we moving out today?’

‘We are indeed. I think we’re all feeling a bit cooped up.’

She nods and heads inside while rolling her head side to side, easing the tension from her shoulders after holding the rifle for a few hours.

Into the kitchen and she makes a fresh cup of tea and opens a tin of rice pudding to eat. Short black hair. Natural and afro. Athletic but still with curves. Physically strong. Physically beautiful. Very smart and very capable.

It was that beauty that almost cost her life.

She was in a hotel room in London. She was young. Just eighteen and still a teenager. She thought she knew it all. Street-wise beyond her years from living hard on the streets. A broken home. A broken education. Broken everything. She had beauty though, and she sold that beauty to men.

She told herself, back then, that she was the one in control. That the men paying her for sex thought they were the alpha dogs. They thought they had the power but she gave them only what she wanted to give them, and in return she took money. She told herself it was empowering.

She didn’t walk the streets either. She worked for an agency that were supposed to vet the men. She was messaged on her phone and told where to go and what time to be there. She went to the hotel. It wasn’t the best hotel in London, but then it was far from the worst too.

She found the room and hid the disappointment inside when the hotel door opened to a fat businessman with a strong accent. She smiled and went inside. He slammed the door and grabbed her arse. She laughed and pushed him back. Faking the humour.

‘Money, honey.’

‘I have money,’ he snapped the words out, pulling a wad of banknotes from a pocket that he threw in her face. Disdainful. Sneering. ‘I have money. You whore. You suck cock…’

‘I’m not a whore…I’m an escort,’ she said.

‘Is whore. I pay for fuck. You suck cock.’

He unzipped and took it out while pushing her to sit down on the bed as he stepped in close. ‘Suck.’

It was too much, he was too rude, and it went against her ideology of being in control, of being empowered. ‘Okay, you know what, actually I have to leave,’ she pushed him back and stood up, smoothing her dress down.

‘I pay! You whore.’

‘I’m an escort!’ she snapped and tried to push past him. A hand on her arm gripping tight. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ she shouted, trying to wrench free. ‘I’ll scream this fucking hotel down…’ a hand across her face. Hard and stinging. She flew across the bed. Another interior door opened. Another man striding in. Big and muscular. A pistol in a shoulder holster. She tried to scrabble back. He grabbed her arm and pulled her up then clamped a hand over her mouth before she could scream. Another man came into the room. Three of them talking fast in a language she couldn’t understand. She squirmed and tried to pull free and was struck again. The fat guy grabbed her backside. One of the others pawed at her chest. She was not empowered, and she was not in control. She couldn’t scream or break free. She was pushed down to her knees and struck again. They kept hitting her head every time she made a noise. All three of them standing over her. Unzipping themselves. Taking their dicks out. Her phone was in her bag somewhere on the floor. There was no way out.

‘Please…don’t…’ that’s all she said and the hotel door crashed open with three noises sounding out. Like gunshots but not quite as loud. Hot blood splashing across her face and the three men fell down before a man walked over and executed them with head shots. One after the other while Carmen stayed on her knees on the floor with that hot blood dripping down her face until the man stopped and looked at her.

‘Henry’s gonna go nuts…bloody covert. This isn’t covert now is it.’

She didn’t reply but looked at the bodies then up at the man and his wild shock of hair. ‘I won’t say anything,’ she said in a remarkably calm tone of voice. ‘Not my business…you don’t have to kill me…’

‘What the…’ another voice said from the door. Another man walked in holding a disposable cup in each hand. ‘I only went for fecking coffee, Frank,’ he added, his accent lilting and Irish.

‘They attacked her,’ Frank said, motioning at Carmen.

‘What’s Henry going to say now? You’ve shot them all in the head, Frank. Miss, are ye okay now? You’ve some blood on your face so you have. Here, Frank. Take the coffees while I sort the wee girl out now.’

And so, Carmen met Frank and Kyle, and then, a short time later and in a different hotel room in a different hotel, she met Henry. She signed papers to say she’d never speak of it. They offered her money. She declined. She wasn’t scared or shocked. She was fascinated.

‘Right. We are all done,’ Henry said after a while. ‘Was there anything you wanted to ask before you go?’

‘Yes,’ she said firmly and pointed at Frank. ‘I want to do what he did.’

She left a few minutes later, having been told that such a thing was just not possible but perhaps she could look to a career in law enforcement or perhaps the military.

She did too. She applied for both the following day. Then, a week later, she was in her bedsit in North London when someone knocked at her door. It was Henry and another man. He said his name was George. She was too embarrassed to invite them in and see how she lived. They went for a drive in a car. Henry said they needed someone to do something. He said it was a role for someone who had certain skills. Carmen sagged, feeling like a whore. ‘Who is he?’

‘He?’ George replied.

‘You want me to fuck someone for you. Get some information or something.’

‘Good gosh no,’ George sputtered, blanching at her.

‘That’s not the case at all,’ Henry said calmly. ‘We’d never ask that.’

‘We’re not blasted yanks you know,’ George said. ‘Or Russians. They do that sort of thing. Have sex? Good grief. We want you to just be there.’

‘Be where?’ she asked.

‘At the party of course,’ George said.

‘There’s a party,’ Henry said. ‘We need someone on the inside. To tell us when to strike. Well, I say we. I mean Dave. You haven’t met Dave yet. New chap. Very good at what he does.’

‘What does Dave do?’ she asked.

‘Kills people,’ Henry said without trace of humour. ‘Anyway, so that’s the gig. Are you up for it? We can get you in as a waitress. Serving drinks. That sort of thing. Then when our target shows up you let us know. There’s a downstairs toilet you can use. Go in and turn the light off and on three times. That’ll be our signal.’

She looked from George to Henry. ‘And then Dave comes and kills the man.’

‘Yes,’ Henry said.

‘That’s right,’ George said. ‘And others too, if they get in the way I mean. You don’t have to say yes. You can say no, and we won’t…’

‘Yes,’ she said quickly, blurting the word out. ‘I want to do what Frank does. I applied for the police and the army like you said…the police said I don’t have the right school grades though and the guy in the army place just wanted to ask me out.’

‘Tell you what,’ Henry said after she saw George give him a discrete nod. ‘Do this for us and we’ll talk about it. Okay? Can’t say fairer than that.’

She did what they asked and that evening she went to a big swanky house out in the countryside. None of the other serving girls paid her any attention, but none of them knew each other either. She served drinks. The target male arrived. Just a normal guy. She went into the toilet and turned the light off and on three times then waited. Nothing happened. She counted to a hundred and still nothing happened. She counted to a hundred again and finally slipped out, figuring maybe it was a test or that something had gone wrong.

That’s when she met Dave. He was in the big room where the main party was being held. Standing in the middle. A knife in his right hand. The other serving girls were all clustered at one end, sobbing and terrified. Everyone else was dead.

‘Are you Dave?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Dave replied.

‘I’m Carmen,’ she said. Dave didn’t say anything.

She was eighteen. They took her on. Trained her. Educated her. Drilled her relentlessly. Henry took what she was and made her better. He gave her worth and value, and in return, she gave him loyalty. He was the family she never had. They all were. George, Howard, Frank and Kyle.

That was fifteen years ago and now she eats cold rice pudding in an old fisherman’s cottage at the end of the world. It’s been a strange experience too. She thought the whole end of civilisation would make her feel wretched and awful, and although she mourns the losses and feels terrible for the suffering, she’s never felt physically better. It must the rest and being here with regular meals. She just feels good. Healthy. It’s nice. She yawns and stretches again then heads to her room to get another couple of hours sleep before they move out for the fort.

Chapter Three

Day Twenty Six

Lilly wakes first, but then she always does. The thing inside her, the infection, it makes her stronger than she was before.

She sits up to stretch with a soft groan escaping her lips that she snaps off for fear of waking everyone else. The children all splayed out like starfish, snoring gently. The adults, Joan, Sam, Pea and Lenski all the same. She glances to the bedroll next to hers and the mass of wild red hair on the pillow and the sleeping face of Mary caught in the faint glow of the night light at the far end of the room.

Mary stirs and rolls over while murmuring soft words that go lost and unheard. An urge inside Lilly to get in bed with Mary. They held hands last night. When the light was dimmed and everyone else was asleep. When they were sure nobody else would notice.

She forces herself to think about Nick and tries to summon the previous warmth and rush of emotions she had for him.

Nick isn’t a bad guy. Lilly knows that. She remembers his nerves around her, his shyness and the way he tried to stop swearing so much which only made him swear more. Nice things. Nice memories. But the fact remains that she gave herself to Nick, and he then chose, whether that decision was right or wrong, to go with Howie and leave her, and that festers in Lilly’s mind. Taking roots and changing the way she thinks.

She pushes to her feet and heads out into the main offices and sets water to boil over the gas hob while thinking about what Cassie said. That the fort can live in peace if Lilly tells Cassie what Howie is doing. They can have land. They can live in safety. Was that a trick? A lie? Would she sell Howie out? Lilly knows, without doubt, that she would do anything to protect her brother and the fort.

She makes coffee and walks up through the fort towards the back room she checks every morning, pausing at the door and offering a silent prayer before crossing the threshold as that prayer floats on past the heavens as unheard as all the others.

A middle-aged woman this time. Empty packets of pills scattered on the floor. Another death. Another suicide. Another life lost from someone who could just not go through with that transition from the old world to the new.

Lilly kneels at her side, remembering when she punched the cat-lady in the face after thinking she was dead. She reaches out with yet another prayer that this will be the case again. That this lady will be alive. She’s cold though and her eyes stare up, devoid of life. Devoid of the spark within.

Footfall from behind. ‘Another one is it?’ Mary asks.

‘It is,’ Lilly says.

Mary tuts again and thinks to tell Lilly she wanted to check the suicide room so that Lilly didn’t have to. Instead, she looks down and sighs sadly. ‘She looks young. What is she? Forty do you think?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t even recognise her. How bad is that? I should know everyone here.’

‘It’s a big fort. You can’t be thinking to know everyone.’

‘Bugger,’ Norman says, rushing into the room. ‘I was trying to get up here before you, Lilly.’

‘Same,’ Mary says.

‘Is there another one?’ Kyle asks, coming into the room. ‘Ach now, will ye look at that. Have you checked her?’

‘She’s dead,’ Lilly says. Kyle moves in anyway, taking a knee beside Lilly.

‘I’m not doubting you, Lilly.’

‘It’s fine,’ Lilly says. ‘After what happened with cat-lady.’

‘Who is she?’ Norman asks.

‘We just said we don’t recognise her,’ Mary replies.

Norman nods, thinking how awful it is to come in here and die like that. In a strange room in a strange place.

‘You think maybe we should be locking that door?’ Mary asks, nodding to the door in.

‘I don’t think so,’ Norman says. ‘If someone is that determined they’ll do it anywhere. I tell you what we could do though. We could put some armchairs in here, maybe a sofa. Some lights. Some books. Get some of the kids to draw pictures and put them on the walls. Call it a night-room or something, so if someone comes in they can see positive things instead of just shadows and empty cat boxes…’

‘There you are,’ Sam says, walking in with Pea and Lenski. ‘Figured you be in here.’

Pea tuts, shaking her head. ‘Another one? Who is it? That’s such a shame, she only came in yesterday.’

‘What was her name?’ Mary asks Lenski.

‘I think Trudy, maybe Judy. No, is Trudy. Yes, Trudy. Damsa spoke to her. She told me this lady was looking for family. I guess they are not here.’

‘Appears not,’ Lilly says quietly.

‘Is sad, but is life now,’ Lenksi says, as pragmatic as ever. ‘I get Alf to move body before people see. Have you said the prayer yet?’

‘Not yet,’ Mary says ‘Father?’

‘Mary, I’m not a Father. I’ve said that enough times now.’

‘Ach, get off with you and say the words,’ she says as Kyle stands up, shakes his head and clasps his hands together at the front as everyone else does the same and closes their eyes. All apart from Lilly who just stares down and thinks about Cassie and the infection and Howie and making her wall a lot bigger.

‘Amen,’ Kyle says, closing the prayer.

‘Amen,’ the others murmur.

‘Norman had a good idea, Len,’ Mary says. ‘He said we should make this room lighter and get some furniture in here. We could ask the children to make some drawings for the walls. Put some books in here, that sort of crack…’

‘Make it a night-room,’ Norman says, cutting in. ‘Somewhere people can come if they want to read or…I don’t know, it’s just so dark and awful in here.’

Lenski nods. ‘I do this. Is no problem. I ask Jaspal to put lights in. This make me think, Lilly. I think to ask many times but is so many things happen I forget. What are we doing when the people from Heather’s list get here? Do we give them rooms in walls or tents like everyone else? And do we tell Damsa or other people?’

‘Heather’s list?’ Norman asks, spotting the slight wince in Lenski’s face that suggests she just mentioned something she shouldn’t have. ‘My apologies, I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘It’s a list of people with immunity,’ Lilly says, figuring Norman has earned the right to know.

‘Immunity? Like the gypsy people?’

‘No, normal people,’ Lilly says.

‘Are ye saying gypsy people aren’t normal?’ Mary asks.

‘You know I didn’t mean that. I meant as in other people that aren’t gypsy people…’

‘Do you want a shovel there, Blondie?’

‘We don’t know more than that before you start throwing questions at us, Norman,’ Kyle says. ‘The wee fella Reginald that works with Mr Howie, he has this list of people that have natural immunity. We don’t know who made it, only that there is one. Heather has it and while Howie is off making a fuss to draw attention, Heather and her partner are rounding the immune people up to bring them here.’

‘Here? What are we supposed to do with them?’ Norman asks.

‘Look after them,’ Kyle says.

‘Look after them? What does that mean? What are we looking after them for? For who?’

‘We just said, we don’t know,’ Kyle says.

‘Jesus,’ Norman says. ‘Who else knows about this?’

‘Just us,’ Lilly says, indicating the others in the room.

‘Right,’ Norman says. ‘Does Anne know? The doctors? Are we testing them or anything?’

‘What part of we don’t know are you not getting there, Norman?’

‘Er, pretty much all of the we don’t know theme is currently foxing me, Kyle.’

‘Is it foxing you now, Norman?’

‘Yes. It is, Kyle. And how did these people get immunity?’

‘My turn,’ Mary says, holding her hand up. ‘They don’t fecking know, okay?’

‘No!’

‘Well it’ll have to be okay,’ Mary says.

‘Fine. Whatever. Immune people. Great. Who is this person bringing them here? Heather and her…her partner. Are they immune too?’

‘Probably not,’ Lilly says.

‘Right. So why is a non-immune person risking their life to find immune people?’

‘Because they’re probably infected,’ Lilly says. ‘And when I say probably, I mean they are. At least one of them definitely is anyway.’

‘Hang on, you said there’s immunity, but now we’ve got infected people too?’

‘Yes,’ Lilly says.

‘Bingo,’ Mary says.

‘Right,’ Norman says again, looking at the faces of the others staring at him. ‘Right,’ he says again. ‘Infected you say.’

‘But they’re not eating other people,’ Pea says.

‘Um, well, Paco might have chomped a few,’ Sam says. ‘We don’t know really. He doesn’t exactly talk a lot.’

‘Paco?’ Norman asks.

‘Heather’s partner,’ Pea says. ‘Paco Maguire.’

Norman blinks. Everyone else watches him. ‘The Paco Maguire.’

‘I know right,’ Mary says. ‘I couldn’t believe it myself when Blondie said. I was like, Blondie, you can’t be meaning the actual Paco Maguire now can you, and she was like, Mary, I do mean the actual Paco Maguire from the Hollywood movies.’

‘He looks a bit different now though,’ Pea says, gently indicating her own throat. ‘Got a few cuts.’

‘Meredith bit his throat out,’ Sam says.

‘She thought he turned,’ Pea adds.

‘He did turn,’ Sam cuts in. ‘Then chased Heather while she was on her period, but they became friends.’

‘More than bloody friends,’ Pea says. ‘Lucky cow. He’s still very handsome,’ she adds, looking at Norman.

Norman blinks again. ‘Right. So, to be clear. Heather is possibly infected and working with the Hollywood actor Paco Maguire who is definitely infected and who had his throat bitten out by Howie’s dog. And they, they being Heather and Paco, are looking for the immune people on a list that nobody knows where it came from or who made it, and they’re bringing those immune people here.’

‘You’ve got it,’ Mary says. ‘I think. Has he got it?’ she asks Lilly.

‘Yes,’ Lilly says.

‘You’ve got it,’ Mary tells Norman.

‘Right,’ Norman says again. ‘Question. How do you know this Heather is infected?’

‘Ach, I’m not answering that one,’ Mary says. ‘That’s on you, Blondie.’

‘Okay, Norman,’ Lilly says. ‘Stay calm and…’

‘Why am I suddenly very scared at Lilly telling me to stay calm?’

‘Ach, it’s fine. You can’t catch it.’

‘Catch what?’ Norman asks.

‘What Lilly has,’ Mary says.

‘What?’ Norman asks.

‘Mary,’ Lilly says with a wince.

‘How do you know we can’t catch it?’ Sam asks Mary.

‘Because we kissed…’ Mary goes to say as Lilly kicks her in the leg. ‘Feck it! I mean…right. Ha! I’m a gypsy and I’m immune so…does anyone want a coffee now? I’m very thirsty I am…’

‘What?’ Norman asks again.

‘Jesus,’ Lilly says, closing her eyes as Sam and Pea stare from Lilly to Mary.

‘Did you two kiss?’ Sam asks.

‘Did we bloody kiss?’ Mary asks, clearly very offended. ‘Kiss? What’s that about?’

‘Forget the bloody kissing,’ Norman says. ‘What about this infected immunity thing? Lilly, are you infected?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’

‘Okay. Probably.’

‘Don’t get all flappy, Norman. I said I kissed her and I didn’t get sick.’

‘You’re bloody immune, Mary. You can kiss her all you want.’

‘You two kissed?’ Sam asks again.

Joan cuts in. ‘Move on from the blasted kiss. They’re young woman and likely to experiment. We’ve all done it…’

‘Have we?’ Sam asks.

‘Um,’ Pea says, looking innocent as Joan gives them a silencing glare.

‘Norman is a barrister so we can stop patronising him. Norman, Lilly is infected, as is Mr Howie and his entire team, but it is most likely they have a different strain of the virus. One that aids them and makes them heal faster…’

‘That’s why you look so good all the time!’ Norman says, clicking his fingers as he looks at Lilly. ‘I knew something was different. I bloody knew it. Nobody has that much energy and wakes up after two hours sleep looking like that.’

‘I’m with you on that, Norman,’ Mary says a bit too enthusiastically. ‘Anyway, are you up to speed with the whole infected immune thing?’

‘God no. Not one bit.’

‘Norman,’ Lilly says. ‘There is a lot we don’t know.’

‘What do you know?’ he asks, spotting Mary dropping her eyes and the way Lilly keeps her expression wholly passive. Norman has sat with murderers and with terrorists. With exceptionally intelligent people that have deep secrets to hide and his instincts tell him there is another one here.

‘Reginald just said they are to be protected if they come here, but my view is that everyone in the fort is to be protected, regardless of immunity,’ Lilly says at length.

‘Understood. Is there anything else?’ he asks.

‘No, nothing,’ Lilly says as Mary looks down at her hands and again Norman reads the body language, knowing there is more to this. ‘Sure?’ he asks.

‘For now,’ Lilly says with a look in her eyes that says don’t ask me again.

‘You know what?’ Mary asks. ‘I think it’s time for a coffee…are ye all coming?’

They follow her out, pulling the door closed behind them and a full minute goes by as the body of the deceased woman lies silently on the floor. A faint noise from the back rooms. An inhalation of air. A voice whispering in the darkness.

‘Lilly…’

The faint light from outside falls across Pamela’s face as she shuffles from the shadows to stare through the grimy window to Lilly walking off with Mary.

Chapter Four

The loose floorboard in the corridor outside her room creaks, bringing her instantly awake a second before the knuckles rap on her door.

‘Carmen?’

Carmen glances at the window to see the day is now here proper. The sky outside low and grey. ‘It’s open,’ she says before clearing her throat.

‘Made you some tea,’ Marion says, walking in with a steaming mug. ‘Sleep okay did you love? Henry said it was time to wake you, I think we’re getting ready to leave. Frank said the correct terminology is moving out. I told him to be quiet and eat his porridge,’ she crosses the room and hands the mug over as Carmen shifts to make room for the older woman to sit down. ‘Feeling okay?’ Marion asks with evident care.

‘Fine,’ Carmen says, sipping from the tea. ‘Lovely tea, thank you…’

‘Oh it’s nothing.’

‘Nobody has ever brought me tea in bed before. No, actually, Frank brought me tea once when we were on an operation…’

‘Anywhere nice?’

‘Not really. Middle East somewhere. And he only did that because he’d used the last bit of toilet roll and didn’t want me yelling at him.’

‘Well, it’s good that you travelled. I always said to my Georgy. That was back when he thought I didn’t know he was a spy and was moaning about going on business meetings. Bless him. I did love that game.’

‘I don’t know how you did it,’ Carmen says. ‘Weren’t you ever tempted to tell him?’

‘Oh goodness. Lots of times. But I knew George would fret if he thought I knew. He’s very sensitive like that is my George. Anyway. We’re going to the fort today so you get up and I’ll make you some porridge.’

Ten minutes later Carmen descends the stairs to a hubbub of chatter and the air thick with the scents of coffee, porridge and gun oil.

‘Frank, why are you cleaning that thing at the table?’ Marion calls from the kitchen.

‘So it shoots straight,’ Frank grumbles, looking up from the stripped down assault rifle as Carmen walks in. ‘Morning princess, sleepy time over is it?’

‘Piss off old man,’ she says, whacking his arm as she walks by. ‘Henry, George.’

‘Morning, Carmen,’ George says, standing with Henry at the end of the table.

‘Sleep okay?’ Henry asks.

‘Fine,’ Carmen says, taking the bowl of porridge from Marion. ‘Ah thank you.’

‘Okay, that’s the primary route then,’ George says, pouring over a set of maps with Henry. ‘What about the secondary…and are we using the cottage as the first fall-back point?’

‘I think we will,’ Henry says.

‘Secondary fall back?’ Frank asks. ‘There’s that old post office in the village down the way. Nice and secure.’

‘Agreed on that,’ Henry says. ‘Post office in the village is the secondary fall-back point.’

‘Are we having a third?’ George asks.

‘We should have a third,’ Frank says as Carmen nods her agreement, her mouth full of porridge.

‘Not close though,’ George says, leaning closer to the maps. ‘How about this town, it’s a good distance up the coast. Bit of a trek but it puts distance between us and whatever is going on.’

‘Camber airstrip is up there. They’ve got a good tower and back-up power. I know it from the drone club…’

‘Since when have you been into drones?’ Frank asks.

‘I’m not. I like nerds, and drone clubs are nerd heaven.’

‘Fair enough, well done, Carmen,’ Henry says. ‘Camber airstrip is the third. Everyone know it?’

‘Yep,’ Frank says as George nods.

‘Marion?’ Henry calls.

‘I’m listening, Henry. Yes, I know it. My friend Julie and I used to visit a lovely garden centre near there.’

‘Julie?’ George asks.

‘Julie,’ Marion says, appearing in the kitchen doorway. ‘Married to Peter Thompson…’

‘Old Piper Tomo?’ Frank asks, chuckling away.

‘Piper Thompson,’ George says, a reflective look on his face. ‘Didn’t go well for him in the end did it.’

‘Sadly not,’ Henry murmurs while examining the maps.

‘Died from food poisoning, didn’t he?’ Marion asks as the room falls quiet. ‘Or rather, he was shot by a prostitute in Estonia and bled out in a local hospital…oh you can stop the shocked looks, us wives did talk to each other you know. Anyway, in answer to your question, Henry my dear, yes, I know where the third fall-back point is. Eat your porridge, Carmen, and Frank, I said to put newspaper underneath that assault rifle, you’ll scratch the wood…’

‘Yes, Marion,’ Carmen says, eating her porridge.

‘Yes, Marion,’ Frank says, pushing more paper under the assault rifle.

‘We’ll brief if we’re all here,’ Henry says. ‘Everyone ready Right, listen in. We know why we are here and what’s happened. A virus has been released which we know has spread across the planet. We were expecting the release, but it has come about a good six to twelve months ahead of when we thought. To that end, and before we take further steps, we need to assess and understand the impact this has had on society at large, which brings me to the purpose of the mission today, which is to reach the fort and undertake intelligence gathering. On completion of this briefing, we will commence the shut-down procedure of our base here which includes prepping it for any intrusion after we’ve gone.

‘We will then move out on foot to the vehicle storage shed a mile east on the coastal road and take the Toyota from there. Frank has it all prepped and ready. That gives us a chance to acclimatise and get our lungs working. Once in the vehicle, we shall travel along the primary designated route to the fort, entering through a housing estate situated to the north of the bay. We know the fort shows lights at night, that tells us that there is someone using it. To what end and to what level and for what purpose we do not know. I repeat. The sole purpose of going to the fort is to gain intel and understand the real-time impact the release of the virus has had at ground level. We will not be drawn into anything that sits outside of our primary overall purpose which is to find the cure.’

He pauses, looking to each in turn to visually see the affirmations coming back.

‘Good. Moving on. Back-story. We’ve been over this so a quick run-through will suffice. George, Frank and I are all retired soldiers that kept in contact when we left the service. Marion is George’s wife. Carmen served with Frank. That explains our connections. Howard called us all when the outbreak started, and we all agreed to meet here at my holiday cottage. Howard did not make it. As for the weapons. Any military person will see we are not armed with standard British army assault rifles. We’ve got Special Forces equipment. If questioned on that, then we say Howard was still in logistics and he directed us to a cache. We know enough of them to be plausible. I repeat, and I must make this absolutely clear. We do not know anything about the outbreak. We are there to see what’s happening. If in the eventuality this fort appears hostile, then we leave it and start heading North. Understood?’

‘Understood,’ they murmur as one.

‘You will each carry your own weapons, ammunition and water. You will each carry a first-aid kit. Clothing is civilian. So far?’

Murmurs again.

‘Risks. Everything is a risk, but the primary danger is infected persons. One drop of bodily fluid is fatal. We’ve all agreed that should any of us become infected then we will be executed by the others. If we all become infected then we detonate our grenades as one unit and take as many with us as we can. Agreed? If we have to engage then head shots or overwhelming force to the body. Non-infected people are also a risk. They may want our weapons, vehicle, food and supplies. Carmen is attractive and that may invoke the attentions of men…’

‘And the ladies might see me and want a bit of action,’ Frank adds in a serious way to a room of tuts and eye-rolls. ‘What? I’m charming and roguish.’

Chuckles in the room and even Henry, a stickler for rules and no jokes during briefing smiles at the interjection.

‘Questions?’ Henry asks. ‘Basically, we get to the fort. See what’s what and then get on with it.’

‘And get preached at,’ Frank says.

‘The chances are he’s not even there, old chap,’ George says.

‘He’ll be there,’ Frank says.

‘Are we talking about Kyle?’ Marion asks as Carmen nods.

‘God-bothering twat.’

‘Frank,’ Marion tuts. ‘I like Kyle.’

‘One word. Mogadishu.’

‘The world is over, Frank,’ Henry says. ‘None of that matters. And if we see Kyle then we get him into the team. We’re a small unit against some very unfavourable odds and god only knows we’ll need every bit of help we can. Is that clear? Frank, is that clear?’

‘Clear, boss,’ Frank says with a nod.

‘Good. Questions?’

‘I have one,’ Carmen says, lifting a hand. ‘Do I have to travel with Frank? He smells of piss.’

‘Cheeky sod,’ Frank says mildly as the formal air of the briefing slides back to the familiarity born from sharing a space for over three weeks.

Marion looks about the room then at the guns on the table. ‘What do you think we’ll find? At the fort I mean…’

‘I don’t think we should expect much at all,’ George says as Frank and Henry nod in agreement. ‘Experience has taught us that in times such as these, and without very strong leadership, then it’s every man for himself. The world we knew is gone. What’s left will be a hostile, violent place where a simple mistake can have fatal consequences. Millions will be dead already, not just from the virus, but from each other. From hunger and the need to take what is needed to survive. I’m sorry, my dear, but we need to mentally prepare ourselves that our days ahead will be very dark indeed, and that we should only expect to see the very worst of humanity at this fort…’

Chapter Five

‘Can’t you hear that?’ Howie asks again, driving the Saxon. ‘That rattle? When I push the accelerator down…hear it?’

‘No,’ Clarence says, craning his head to listen.

‘There,’ Howie says, speeding up and slowing down as those on the bench seats slide forward then back.

‘Do it again,’ Tappy calls, tilting her head to listen while feeling the vibrations through her feet. ‘Sounds like something’s clogged, like she’s not getting enough air or fuel intake.’ She instinctively looks to the front where the engine should be then remembers the outside front is all sealed. ‘Where’s the engine access?’ she asks, looking at Nick.

‘Access panel in the passenger foot well.’

‘Gotcha,’ Tappy says. ‘And when was she last serviced?’

‘Er, well you know,’ Clarence says, trying to turn his enormous frame to look back down the Saxon. ‘Been a bit busy.’

‘End of the world thing going on,’ Nick says. ‘But we did figure out how to get power into coffee machines to brew up.’

‘Which is also very important,’ Tappy says with that lop-sided smile. ‘It’s cool. We can do it at this fort place.’

‘We?’ Cookey asks.

‘Yeah, me and Nick,’ she says.

‘Hmmm, something tells me Nick might be doing other things with his dipstick.’

‘Cookey,’ Nick snaps, leaning forward to glare at him.

‘Oh Nicholas,’ Cookey says, effecting a female voice. ‘Is that a dipstick in your pocket or just a big erection?’

‘Fucking twat,’ Nick mutters.

‘And it’s so oily too…’

‘Okay, stop there,’ Paula says, pointing at Cookey.

‘That’s what she said,’ Cookey says.

‘Oh my god, I give up,’ Paula says, throwing her hands up. ‘Do what you want.’

Cookey pauses, reading his audience. ‘She said that too,’ he adds with perfect timing. ‘Mind you, if we’re talking about big erections,’ he says leaning over to look at Danny as everyone else does the same.

‘Leave him alone,’ Paula say, seeing the lad squirm on his seat. ‘Bless him.’

‘Bless him,’ Cookey says. ‘You could have auditioned for porn, Danny.’

‘Alex!’ Paula snaps as everyone else laughs. ‘That’s not appropriate.’

‘That’s what they said on the porn set when Danny got it out…whoa! Holy fuck that’s not appropriate…put it away! Can you imagine it? Danny Tent Peg starring in My Lover Was A Zombie…scourging the planet of hot zombie chicks armed only with his huge penis. I’m joking! Danny, I’m only playing mate. I’m just jealous cos I’ve got a little willy.’

‘Your willy’s fine,’ Charlie says, still laughing from the jokes as both she and everyone else realises what she just said. ‘Oh god, I said that out loud didn’t I.’

‘When did you see Cookey’s willy?’ Tappy asks.

‘We had a moment,’ Cookey says with mock seriousness.

‘We did not have a moment,’ Charlie cuts in. ‘There was a thing in a hotel room…no! not like that. Oh screw it. I shall tell you later.’

‘She shall tell you later she shalleth,’ Cookey says. ‘With much shalling.’

‘Watch out for dribbling,’ Marcy says.

‘Dribbling?’ Tappy asks. ‘What’s dribbling?’

‘Willies dribble,’ Cookey tells her. ‘Marcy gave us sex-ed after Mr Howie threw a grenade into a camping gas shop and Clarence got bit on the arse.’

‘Jesus,’ Paula groans at the flow of quips pouring from Cookey and looks across to Booker. ‘Was he like this before?’

‘Booker’s as bad as me,’ Cookey laughs. ‘He’s just being polite and shy.’

‘Nobody is as bad as you, Cookey,’ Blowers says.

Charlie leans forward, smiling down the Saxon at Booker. ‘You knew the lads before, is that right?’

‘Er yeah,’ Booker says as the attention shifts to him. ‘I Joined up with Cookey, Nick, Blowers and er…’ he pauses for a second. ‘Others too. Tucker, Curtis…Jamie. Blowers said they didn’t make it. When we went for a piss. I mean the toilet, ma’am…’ he says with a look to Paula.

‘Bless, it’s fine. I’m used to Cookey and Nick swearing like troopers. And I’m sorry for the loss. What about you? What happened?’

‘Went looking for my family,’ he says. ‘After Salisbury…’ Paula waits for him to continue, reading the emotions on his face and knowing she doesn’t need to ask. ‘I found them,’ he continues, his voice dropping a notch as he looks down at his feet. ‘They were turned.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, rubbing his arm. ‘What about after that?’

‘Er, you know…kinda lost if for a few days. Locked myself in this bar and got smashed for like a week or something stupid. Then I woke up to this woman staring down at me. She said I smelled of puke and piss…cos you know, I’d pissed myself and puked everywhere…’

‘That’s a lovely image,’ Paula says, thinking this day is already topping the weirdness charts.

‘Long story short, we hooked up and…then we didn’t hook up and…’

‘Whoa, slow down, tiger,’ Marcy says, making Booker turn and realise she was listening. ‘You hooked up then didn’t hook up?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How does someone hook up and then not hook up?’ Marcy asks.

Booker shrugs. ‘Like normal, I guess.’

‘What the fuck?’ Marcy asks. ‘Are you related to Howie? He does that too. Hooks up and then doesn’t hook up. Normally by having sex in an armoury while everyone listens. It’s the end of the world, you should be bloody grateful at meeting someone.’

‘I was. I mean…she was lovely, but…’

‘So why are you here and not with her?’ Marcy asks.

‘We split up.’

‘Split up? Who fucking splits up with all this going on? I’m sorry, I’m prying. I know, but what the actual fuck? Did you run out on her?’

‘What? No!’

‘You did. You so did. You run out on her…’

‘I didn’t,’ Booker says, clearly getting flustered. ‘She was nice. She was lovely, then we met this group. She wanted to stay with them. I wanted to find Mr Howie. We parted company. End of. End of story. The end. That’s it.’

‘Seems logical to me,’ Blowers says.

‘Makes sense,’ Cookey adds.

‘Happy with that,’ Nick says.

‘What!? No!’ Marcy says.

‘Right. We’re drilling into this,’ Tappy says, waving the others to be quiet. ‘You got drunk. Like way drunk and lost days…then you wake up having pissed yourself and covered in puke…which is highly unlikely.’

‘It’s not,’ Blowers says.

‘He did it on that bender after our first weekend assessment camp,’ Nick says. ‘We went out after to a nightclub. Messy. As. Fuck.’

‘Tucker ate my kebab,’ Cookey says. ‘I said it was mine. I bloody told him. I said Tucker, don’t eat my kebab. I got back from the toilet and the fucker was eating it.’

‘Tucker was a good lad,’ Booker says earnestly, glad of the attention diverting from him.

‘The best,’ Nick says. ‘That spatula…remember that? We’re all tooled up with sticks and knives. He comes out with a spatula.’

‘He laid into them with it though,’ Cookey says, laughing at the bittersweet memory. ‘Jamie too, and Curtis…fuck me…’ he trails of into a sudden hard silence as the four lads swallow and nod slowly.

‘Anyway,’ Blowers says. ‘Booker got slaughtered on Vodka in the nightclub then pissed his bed…’

‘And puked everywhere,’ Nick adds.

‘It’s a thing,’ Booker says with a shrug.

‘Yeah, you’re good-looking, new guy, but that is so not attractive,’ Tappy says. ‘Anyway. What happened with this girl?’

‘Fuck me. Is it always like this?’ he asks, leaning past Tappy to look at Blowers.

‘Yep.’ Blowers says.

‘You’re so evading the subject, Booker,’ Tappy says, whacking his arm. ‘The girl. What happened?’

‘Booker, you’re squirming like a worm on a hook,’ Marcy says. ‘You so ran out on her.’

‘No! I said. It just didn’t work out.’

‘Didn’t work out my arse,’ Marcy says. ‘What was her name then?’

‘Tamarra.’

‘What! Fuck off. Tamarra?’ Tappy says. ‘That’s so not a real name. What was her surname?’

‘I don’t fucking know!’

‘You don’t know her surname?’ Tappy asks.

‘Hang on, I don’t know Charlie’s surname,’ Cookey says.

‘It’s Doyle,’ Tappy says. ‘And how do you not know that?’

‘Cookey,’ Marcy tuts.

‘Yeah, Cookey,’ Blowers says, adding his own tut. ‘How do you not know that?’

‘Fuck off. Is it really?’ Cookey asks as Charlie nods.

‘My great great grandfather was Irish. He married a black woman from America…and yes, you should have known that,’ she adds to a few jeers.

‘You lot can fuck off,’ Cookey says. ‘Alright, what’s Mo’s surname then?’ he asks Tappy.

‘Are you taking the piss?’ she asks.

‘Ha! See.’

‘Mate,’ Blowers says, covering his face with his hands.

‘Dude, even I worked that out and I just joined,’ Booker says.

‘What?’ Cookey asks.

‘Alex,’ Paula says, rolling her eyes.

‘What?’ Cookey asks, looking at Mo laughing and shaking his head. ‘What the fuck? How do you all know his last name?’

‘Is Mo Mo innit,’ Nick says, impersonating Mo.

‘Yeah,’ Cookey says. ‘That’s his first name.’

‘Fuck me,’ Blowers says. ‘Seriously, Cookey? How do you function? It’s Mohammed.’

‘That’s his first name,’ Cookey says again.

‘Mo. Mo,’ Nick says, pronouncing each slowly and clearly.

Cookey nods, listening to Nick then looking round. ‘Yeah, I’m not getting it…how does that mean you know his surname?’

‘Jesus,’ Tappy says into the laughs. ‘At least you’ve drawn attention from Booker though.’

‘Cheers, Cookey,’ Booker calls.

‘So not finished with you, New Guy,’ Tappy says quickly, giving Booker a look. ‘But, Cookey? What the fuck?’

‘Don’t,’ Blowers groans. ‘Just don’t bother…’

‘Charlie? What’s Mo’s surname?’ Cookey asks.

‘Don’t tell him,’ Blowers says. ‘I need to see how long it takes.’

‘Charlie! Tell me,’ Cookey urges.

‘But alas, my sergeant has given me an order.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Cookey says, huffing while he looks down the Saxon. ‘Is it Smith?’

‘Really?’ Mo says, staring at him.

‘Jones?’

‘Bruv. Just don’t,’ Mo says again.

‘Ah is it like a Muslim name?’ Cookey asks. ‘Cock it. I don’t know any Muslim names…er…’

‘You need shooting,’ Blowers says, staring at Cookey. ‘You actually need shooting. Like in the face.’

Cookey grins. ‘You’d love to shoot in my face. Don’t all groan! And you Tent Peg eh, you mucky sod. We know who’d you shoot in the face. A zombie woman with big boobs.’

‘Cookey!’ Paula says.

‘Alex.’

‘Sorry, Dave. Sorry, Paula,’ Cookey says before winking and nodding at Danny. ‘Ha! Look at his grin. That’s right in your wankbank isn’t it mate.’

‘COOKEY!’

‘Alex!’

‘Fuck’s sake. Sorry, Clarence. Sorry, Dave.’

‘We’re not far from the fort,’ Clarence calls. ‘Start switching on now.’

‘Okay, my team listen in,’ Blowers says. ‘We fuck about when we’re on our own but not in front of everyone else at the fort. Got it? They’re going through hell so watch your language. Nod and say hello to people. Call them sir or ma’am. Be polite. Don’t let anyone touch your weapon…’

‘Did you hear that, Danny?’ Cookey whispers, nodding at Danny’s groin.

Blowers rolls his eyes and continues. ‘And keep your weapons with you at all times. Danny, you need to shave. Mo, you’ve got a few hairs too. Booker, you just need a fucking good scrub mate. Shirts tucked in. We’re representing Mr Howie now, and that means something. Got it?’

Murmurs all around as Tappy studies Blowers closely with a micro-crush blooming inside. Nick is tall and chiselled, but Blowers is different. Harder. Tougher. His arms are just insane too. Not big like Maddox, just toned and bloody hard, and when he switches from pissing about with Cookey to being all in charge. God yes. That’s hot. A nudge to her leg and she blinks over at Marcy winking at her as though reading her thoughts. A smile between them. He’s hot, Tappy mouths. Marcy smiles wider, chuckling softly. They all are, Tappy adds.

‘What?’ Paula asks, seeing them laughing. Marcy leans in to whisper into Paula’s ear, making her smile and grin over at Tappy making a joke of fanning her face.

‘You hot, mate?’ Blowers asks, showing concern as Marcy and Paula burst out laughing at Tappy going wide eyed. ‘We’ll be back in a bit.’

‘I’m okay!’ Tappy says quickly.

‘Our house is good though. You’ll like it. We all kip downstairs in the main room. Ah, but yeah, maybe you and Charlie should have separate quarters. Leave it with me. I’ll get something sorted.’

‘I’m fine,’ Tappy says, cutting in. ‘Like more than happy to sleep in with the boys…’ she adds, breaking off into a laugh as Blowers gives a confused look.

‘Okay, er, well just say if need anything.’

‘You gonna tuck me in?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Eh?’

‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing! Like…I’m all tuckered in, like yeah, phew, what a day.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Blowers says, looking at Marcy now turned away wiping the tears from her eyes.

Howie smiles at the chat and jokes coming from behind him and pulls his mind back to watching the road ahead. Cows in a meadow off to one side chewing the grass. Howie thought cows died if they didn’t get milked, which in turn makes him remember that Dave blew a cow up. That makes him think of Dave and how they’d all be dead if it wasn’t for him, and that same thought process comes back. That all they need to do to win is to give Dave a knife and point him at the enemy.

But what about the cows? Maybe they should take the cows back to the fort. But what for? For milk? Does anyone even know how to milk a cow? You just tug on its dangly bits don’t you? Maybe they could just eat the cows, but the thought of killing a big-eyed docile grass chomping furry cow makes Howie feel a sudden urge to run back and hug one.

‘You want to hug a cow?’ Clarence asks, staring at him.

He drives on while pressing his lips together to make sure none of his head-thoughts spill from his mouth while still thinking of cows and Dave and if wrapping his head in cooking foil will stop the telepathic shit going on.

‘Probably not,’ Clarence says.

Chapter Six

They reach the edge of a village and Carmen slows the speed as they look ahead to the lie of the land before proceeding. Frank leaning close to the open window to listen for any noises. Sniffing the air too. Using all of his senses and training. ‘At least it’s stopped raining,’ he murmurs.

‘Indeed, it certainly has,’ Henry says quietly, sitting behind him in the back and doing the same by leaning into the open window to hear and see and smell. ‘Okay, Carmen. Carry on.’

It was an easy walk to the local town after they’d prepped the cottage to make sure nobody could break in, and Henry was right. It gave them time to acclimatise a little and get their lungs working while absorbing the world about them after so many days spent in the cottage.

Carmen pushes the speed up. Their expert eyes picking out the destruction from the first night, now over three weeks ago, and the damage and carnage caused more recently by the storms. Houses burnt out from lightning strikes hitting thatched roofs, and with no fire service to rush in and douse the fires, so the embers danced about, bringing more destruction with whole streets now nothing more than slag and ashes.

Debris everywhere. Slate tiles and satellite dishes blown off from houses. Cars smashed into walls and each other. Old blood smears showing on white UPVC doors and windows. Shops fronts smashed through, either from being looted or just from the pure violence that ripped through during those first few days.

Corpses in the street. Some under cars and one poking out from under a fallen chimney stack. They see more that have been picked up by flood waters and carried to be dumped near drainage points, leaving grotesque piles of twisted limbs writhing with maggots and thick clouds of flies hovering above them.

Those things bring home the awfulness of this new world, while also, at the same time, they hear birdsong and smell the pure clean air.

The grass looks greener than ever before too. Flowers bursting with colour and they spot rabbits running about in a side street covered with the first hints of green weeds and plants sprouting up from the cracks in the pavements. The heat and rain aiding growth everywhere. A glimpse into the future where the streets and towns will be hidden within forests.

‘You remember Chernobyl?’ Frank asks from the front.

George snorts a blast of air as he looks about. ‘Quite so old chap. We had a mission there a few years ago,’ he explains to Marion. ‘Big nuclear site in the Ukraine. Had a whole town for the workers that were evacuated when the reactor went pop. Just upped and left. It’s like this,’ he adds, looking out the window.

‘I know what Chernobyl is, Georgy,’ Marion says after a few seconds of silence. ‘I did watch television you know…’

A moment or two later and they sweep out from the village back into the countryside to bask in the utter beauty of a land now vacated of people but with life everywhere. Hedgerows teeming with insects and birds. Crickets making sounds. Foxes barking. They pass a vast field filled with sheep all chewing the lush grass without any sign of distress at being left to their own devices. A swollen stream off to the one side, meandering through a field and filled with horses drinking deep. A foal in amongst them all that will grow in a world suddenly made free and quiet. A busted down gate a mile down the road suggesting the place the horses got out from.

Into a town. Bodies everywhere and Carmen eases the speed off, bringing the vehicle to a stop from a silent order coming from Henry. They drop out to scout the ground. Seeing the action here was from days ago. Spent casings everywhere. Assault rifles and heavier general purpose machine gun rounds. 9mil pistols rounds too. They spot bodies cut open now festering with maggots and half eaten by rats, birds or whatever else finds them meaty and tasty.

‘Someone’s had a go back,’ Frank says. ‘These are NATO rounds. Five point five six. Must be SA80’s…and beltfed gimpy rounds too. Got to be an army unit.’

‘I’d agree,’ George says, seeing the same thing. ‘Then it’s come down to hand to hand combat,’ he adds, viewing the way the bodies are cut and the epi-centre of the battle.

‘That’s a risk,’ Carmen says. ‘Unless they’re in hazmat suits and I wouldn’t fancy a close-quarters scrap fight in a hazmat suit.’

‘Could have been a small detachment from a local barracks,’ Henry says. ‘Out scavenging and they’ve got caught out. Anyway, we should press on. I dare say this won’t be the last of this sort of thing we’ll see.’

Back into their four-wheel drive Toyota. The type always favoured by Henry as being reliable workhorses with solid frames. Back into the country lanes and back into an empty world as they work south.

‘Take the next left,’ Henry says from the back a while later. Carmen complies, slowing the car as she spots the junction ahead and a big signboard advertising the various business located within the marine industrial estate.

They pass warehouses and vast buildings with yards full of yachts, ribs and boats on stacks. A glass-fronted show room stocked with small high-end speedboats and jet skis. Chandleries and stockists of all manner of things that people who love the sea need.

She parks up in the lee of a big building, tucked up in the shade in a gap between old vans and big hulks of boats.

A few minutes later and Henry nods for Frank and Carmen to lead the way. The two taking point with weapons up and ready as they head to a restaurant that Howard used when he met informants. Henry remembers the balcony overlooked a small river running to the shore and the view of the fort in the near distance.

Frank slows less than a minute later, staring down at the muddied footprint on the wooden decking running around the building. Another one beyond it. More after that. Someone stepped from the dirt road onto the decking during a period of heavy rain. He drops to look closer. The boot print is dried. It wasn’t last night. It’s older. Then he spots more near it. Newer and not so deep. They were made more recently when it was raining but not heaving it down. Maybe in the last day.

He reaches the corner and looks around to see the main entrance door has been forced open but is now propped closed. A signal back to Carmen who signals back to Henry that Frank might have something. Henry nods, giving the order for them to proceed.

Frank and Carmen go in, sweeping inside to commence room clearance with the feel of an empty building. A downstairs eatery filled with chairs and tables. A bar. Kitchens. Store rooms. Up the internal stairs to the top floor. Another room filled with tables and chairs for dining. Sliding doors leading out to the balcony. Cigarette butts on the decking. Mugs left in situ. Signs of people being here recently.

‘Last couple of days,’ Frank says a few minutes later once joined by Henry, George and Marion. All of them looking down to the spot on the balcony where someone set up an observation point and a high-powered scope set on a low tripod pointing towards the fort.

‘Someone was watching the fort,’ George says.

‘Indeed they were,’ Henry murmurs, lowering down to look through the scope. ‘George, you’ve been here before. Wasn’t there a housing estate north of that bay?’

‘There was, old chap,’ George says, using a pair of less-powerful binoculars. ‘It’s not there now though.’

‘Are you sure?’ Carmen asks.

‘You can see it’s not there with the naked eye,’ George says.

‘No, I mean are you sure there was one there before?’

‘Quite sure,’ George says. ‘But yes, certainly not there now. Looks like movement though, and what is that multi-coloured thing running around the outside?’

‘That is a big wall made of shipping containers. They’re building it now. I can see them putting the last couple in place,’ Henry says while watching a person standing on a container being lifted by a crane towards the wall. ‘It’s rather good actually. And George, do you remember the land between the estate and the fort? That’s gone, and they’ve got a big camp filled with caravans. Kids running everywhere. Dogs too. And a few goats tied up eating grass.’

‘I like goats’ Frank says.

‘You smell like goats,’ Carmen mutters.

‘May I carry on?’

‘Sorry, Henry,’ Frank says.

‘Sorry, Henry,’ Carmen says.

‘Two roads going in. One from the northern side, and one along the shore. Both run through the container wall. I can’t see the shore road end, but the northern side access certainly has armed guards, but again, they don’t look like military, and there is certainly a sense that people are moving about freely inside.’ He pulls back and shuffles over. ‘George, you take a look.’

Frank takes the binoculars as George lowers to the big scope. Both staring across and seeing, by degrees, the things Henry saw. A busy place for sure. Vehicles moving about inside and even from this distance, Carmen and Marion can see the boats looking like dots as they move between the fort and the beach.

Minutes pass. Long minutes with broken conversations as they all take a turn to view, and even Marion goes down to look through for a while. ‘They’ve got washing pegged out to dry,’ she informs them. ‘That tells me there is a family structure within that camp, and I can see women moving between fires. They’re obviously cooking and preparing food. No, you are right, Henry, my love. That’s not an army camp under duress. That’s normal people.’

‘What of it then, Henry?’ George asks. ‘Fancy taking a gander inside? Or shall we push on now we’ve seen it?’

Frank clears his throat, giving Henry a look. ‘Send me and Carmen in, or just one of us.’

‘Frank, we’ve been through this. We’ll approach like we said. We have our cover stories. We go in. See what’s what then bug out to crack on with the main mission. Agreed? Good. Let’s get moving.’

Chapter Seven

‘Next bend and we’re home,’ Howie calls.

‘It ain’t home,’ Blowers mutters, looking about at the Saxon and thinking this is home.

‘Someone ahead,’ Clarence says, leaning forward as they approach the last bend. A single, solitary figure at the side of the road. A thin middle aged man with short greying hair standing his face turned to the sun, seemingly caught in the bliss of the warm rays shining down.

‘Infected,’ Howie says knowingly. ‘Betcha.’

‘Probably,’ Clarence says. ‘Seeing if we’re running back with our tails between our legs. You stopping?’

‘Aye, why not?’ Howie says, bringing the vehicle to a stop next to the man who shields his eyes and turns to look up at the Saxon door opening and Howie staring down at him. ‘Morning. Can you tell your zombie grand master Cassie that we’re back safe and well and all ready to chitty chat about our super-duper nice truce.’ He stops talking as the man just stands there shielding his eyes. ‘Right,’ Howie says slowly. ‘I think this one’s broken, he seems a bit gormless.’

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ the man says politely. ‘I don’t think I quite understood what you said…’

‘Oh shit. I’m so sorry,’ Howie says with a wince at seeing the man has normal eyes. ‘Mate, I’m so sorry. I thought you were a talking zombie thing sent from a woman called Cassie who lives in the north with a kid, cos like, last night when we took cocaine, she spoke to us through this Indian man and…’

‘Stop talking,’ Paula says, poking out between Clarence and Howie. ‘Hiya! I’m Paula…his eyes aren’t even red, Howie.’

‘He was shielding them!’

‘HELLO!’ Clarence shouts, leaning in to help the situation.

‘Dear god,’ Paula groans, pushing Clarence back. ‘Both of you stop scaring the poor sod and ask him if he needs a lift.’

‘Do you need a lift?’ Howie asks.

‘DO YOU NEED A LIFT?’ Clarence booms.

‘Hi! Did you want a lift?’ Paula asks nicely.

‘He won’t fit in here,’ Marcy calls from the back.

‘He can go in the van,’ Paula yells. ‘You can go in the van,’ she tells the man.

‘We’re a bit full in here,’ Howie says. ‘But we’ve got a van. And a horsebox trailer thing. Mind you, that’s got Jess in it and she’s quite bitey…’

‘AND KICKEY,’ Clarence shouts, still thinking to help the situation.

‘And kickey,’ Howie adds. ‘Jess that is. Who’s a horse, not a woman. It’s not like we put bitey kickey women in horse boxes.’

‘Of course,’ the man says again, looking down to the van and the horsebox behind it. ‘Right,’ he says again.

‘Er, so…did you then?’ Howie asks.

‘Did I what?’ the man asks.

‘Need a lift to the fort?’

‘The fort? Oh I see. No, no thank you.’

‘He doesn’t want a lift,’ Howie tells Paula.

‘What’s he doing here then?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well ask him. No, shush, I’ll ask him.’

‘WHY ARE YOU HERE?’ Clarence shouts.

‘Why are you here?’ Howie asks at the same time.

‘What are you doing here?’ Paula also asks.

‘Fuck me, that poor bloke,’ Marcy says from the back.

‘Sorry,’ Paula says, rolling her eyes and adding a polite laugh. ‘We’re all mad here haha!’

‘This is just painful,’ Marcy says, leaning onto the others pressing down on Howie. ‘Hi, I’m Marcy. Why are you hanging about outside our fort?’

‘It’s Lilly’s fort now,’ Howie gasps from underneath the pile.

‘Stop being pedantic,’ she fires back as the man takes in the four faces staring expectantly at him.

‘I’m just checking,’ he says politely. ‘For my friends. They’re hiding in a house we found. I said I’d check the route and then…you know, go back and get them. Then the sun came out and I rather got caught out for a moment. It’s a beautiful day, you see.’

‘Cool, seems fine to me, bye then,’ Marcy says, smiling as she disappears out of sight.

‘It is a beautiful day now isn’t it,’ Paula says, looking out to the sea and the sky. ‘Right, well we’d better get on. Is there anything we can do to help you?’

The man frowns and smiles up at her with a rapt expression. ‘What a lovely thing to ask someone. Thank you. But no, I’m fine. I shall report back to my friends and we shall head to this fort.’

‘See you down there then,’ Howie says, gasping in relief at the other two getting off him.

‘Sure thing. Nice meeting you, er, Mr Howie is it?’

‘Yep, I’m Howie. Who are you again?’

‘Me? Oh, I’m Keith. Very nice to meet you all.’

‘Bye, Keith!’

Keith stares after the vehicles with a manner of absolute stillness radiating from his core while thinking over what must be the strangest sentence he has ever heard:

You can tell your zombie grand master Cassie that we’re back safe and well and all ready to chitty chat about our super-duper nice truce.

‘Very interesting,’ he murmurs into a silence broken by the distant faint bangs of metal on metal coming from Lilly’s wall under construction. He saw it when he was exiled with the other twenty one people that survived Tommy’s riot.

A moment’s pause and he sets off back to walk back to the long, low chalet nestled in the countryside where his fellow exiles all wait for him.

A zombie grand master and a truce.

Whatever does that mean?

* * *

The Toyota navigates the last bend and comes onto the final straight leading to the wall. All of them taking in the different coloured containers and the distinct lack of a housing estate that was there only a month ago. Henry and George share a look, both knowing the kind of ordnance, skill and power that would be needed to destroy an area that size.

‘It’s bigger up close,’ Carmen says, marvelling at the height of the wall.

‘Women always say that to me,’ Frank says with a full second of silence before they all snort the laughs they were trying to suppress.

Lilly spots them coming while riding the top of a container being lowered onto the wall. A glance and no more, and for a second, she just sees another car full of new arrivals coming along the road, but then she looks again and notices something different about the Toyota. The slow steady speed and the way it holds the centre of the road to ensure good vision on all sides and then how it comes to a gradual stop a good fifteen metres away from the wall.

‘I’ll go and say hi,’ Frank says, his hand already on the door handle.

‘I’ll go,’ Henry says.

‘Henry,’ Frank says as Henry starts opening his door.

‘I’m a big boy, Frank. I’ll be fine…’

Lilly watches as the rear passenger door opens, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. An older man with a bald head getting out. Lean and tidy in combat trousers, boots and a checked shirt. A tac-vest about his body and an assault rifle hanging from a strap to his front while his hands remain out from his body to give a non-threatening stance. Even from this distance she detects the aura of professionalism about him, and in that second, she knows it’s the man Henry that Kyle has spoken out. A glance to the car and she spots another older man with a mop of thick hair poised as though ready to burst out from the front passenger door.

‘STAY WHERE YOU ARE NOW,’ a deep shout from the guard at the gate seeing Henry’s weapon. ‘HE’S ARMED SO HE IS…’ more men rushing to the gate.

‘Lilly to the north gate, I’ve got you in view. Ask him if he’s called Henry.’

‘ARE YOU HENRY NOW ARE YOU?’ A lilting accented voice shouts out and Henry half smiles, now knowing where Kyle is.

‘Did you hear that?’ Frank grumbles, sitting in the car with one hand on the door, ready to surge out. ‘The bloody god-botherer’s in there. We should find another fort to check…’

‘YES. I AM HENRY,’ Henry shouts. ‘AND SAY HELLO TO KYLE FROM ME.’

‘Ask ‘em if a twat dressed in black has been handing out god leaflets,’ Frank calls.

‘You’re not helping, Frank,’ George murmurs from the back.

‘Lilly, it’s the gate here. The fella says he’s Henry, but then I thought maybe I should have asked him his name before I asked him if he’s Henry. I mean, he could be called Dick or Harry but now just pretending to be Henry…’

‘It’s Henry,’ Kyle cuts in with a wry smile at hearing the voice shouting out.

‘Let them through,’ Lilly transmits. ‘Ask them to go straight down to the corner and wait there.’

‘They’re armed to the teeth, Miss Lilly. Are ye sure now?’

Lilly nods at the gate guard who shouts over to Henry. ‘Lilly says to go straight down to the corner. Bobby’ll show you the way. You can keep your guns, but word of caution fellas, point them anywhere and you’ll be full of holes quicker than anything. Do ye understand me?’

‘Loud and clear,’ Henry calls and turns to look up at the wall to the young woman with blond hair staring down. He smiles and nods at her. She doesn’t respond.

‘She looks like a happy bunny,’ Frank says as Henry gets back in.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ Carmen asks. ‘It’s the end of the world.’

‘Is it? I didn’t get that memo, Henry, have you heard about this end of the world thing going on?’

‘Fake news, Frank,’ Henry says, getting back into the car. ‘Nice and slow, Carmen. Bobby is going to show us to the corner.’

‘Who’s Bobby and where’s the corner?’ Carmen asks.

‘I have no idea,’ Henry says, glancing up to the woman on the wall now staring off into the distance as they pass between the container ends and into the bay.

‘Are you Bobby?’ Carmen asks a moment later when a young face smeared with grime appears at her window.

‘Aye,’ Bobby says, grinning at the beautiful black woman. ‘What’s your name then?’

‘I’m Carmen,’ she says with a smile at his cheeky grin.

‘Are ye married?’

‘Am I what?’

‘I said are ye married? Ye a fine looking woman you are. Tyson’s single. Patrick too. Good lads, or ye can wait for me. I’ll be sixteen one day so I will…we’ll make good babies.’

She bursts out laughing. ‘Okay, I shall keep that in mind, Bobby.’

‘Ach, we’re betrothed then. I’ll remember that I will and fight any man for you. Anyways, Lilly wants you down at the corner she does. What you got in there? Assault rifles? Are you soldiers? You look too old to be soldiers, apart from you Miss. I like them vests. Do you want to sell them? Or the hardware. Anything you’ve got, come and find me. They said I had to take you down but stuff that, I’ve got five cars to syphon off and a load more stacked up on the beach waiting to come up. Anyway, everyone here has a gun to shoot you with if you do anything daft. Do you want a Snickers now?’

‘A what?’ Carmen asks, blinking at the rapid flow of words as Bobby produces a handful of chocolate bars. ‘They’re nice and cold mind. Ach, go on, consider it a wedding present,’ he winks again, making her laugh once more. ‘Straight down the road to the corner. You can’t miss it…nice car too. Bye, Carmen my love!’

‘What the…’ she says, laughing at the Snickers bars in her hands as Bobby grins, winks and runs off. ‘Did that just happen?’

‘I approve,’ Frank says, plucking one of the Snickers from her hands.

‘Approve what?’

‘Your fiancé. Good match,’ Frank says. ‘Marion? Snickers? They’re nice and cold they are so it is…’ he adds, mimicking the accent.

‘Congratulations on your engagement, Carmen,’ Henry says, taking a Snickers from Frank. ‘And when you are ready, we can proceed to this corner and hope we don’t get shot for not having an escort.’

On they go. Driving into a vast space behind the wall. The area that used to be the housing estate and now a car park. Kids syphoning fuel. More kids working on engines. More men and women. More plants machines driving here and there. Trucks with containers waiting in line. Empty trucks driving out. Cranes lifting containers. Sparks and arcs of light from cutters and welders. Industry abound and they drive through it all without an escort. A car full of heavily armed people, and again, that tells Henry and the others that Kyle is here, and not only that, that Kyle told them to expect Henry and that he would be safe to enter. That also tells Henry that the fort isn’t being run by a despotic ruler.

They hit the road proper and transition from the housing estate to what was once the flatlands. The sprawling gypsy camp to the left. The beach ahead. Open land to the right and a single solitary house now the only structure remaining on the bay.

People and trucks. Vans and pick-ups. Busy chaos but with order too. Henry spots people with clipboards giving orders while holding radios next to their heads to hear transmissions. Boats going back and forth across the sea to the huge fort now standing alone on an island.

‘I think that must be our corner,’ Henry says, leaning forward to look ahead to the point where the North Road meets the Shore Road.

* * *

‘What’s going on?’ Norman asks, rushing to keep up with Lilly, Kyle and Mary walking towards the camp.

‘Some friends of Kyle’s have just turned up,’ Lilly says.

‘Friends? What friends?’ Norman asks, clocking the way Kyle peers through the gaps to the road and the black Toyota driving slowly along. Tension in his face and manner. A sudden change in Lilly too.

‘Okay, very briefly,’ Kyle says. ‘I was a government operative for a covert unit run by a man called Henry,’ he pauses to look at Norman, expecting a surprised retort then remembers that Norman is a barrister and well versed at having to grasp information quickly. ‘Henry got a message to me some months back saying to stay close, but I never learnt what he meant. Then all this happened, and I eventually ended up here.’

‘Got it. And this Henry is here now?’

‘Aye,’ Kyle says, dipping his head in recognition of Norman’s smarts.

‘Okay. Well that’s good news isn’t it? Or not,’ he adds, seeing the looks on Lilly’s and Kyle’s face then the other look shared between Lilly and Mary. ‘You know what? I love floundering about in the dark. Shall I just go back and build the bloody wall?’

‘Ach, quit ye sulking. There’s reasons why I didn’t say anything.’

‘There always is,’ Norman mutters.

‘Howie’s father worked for the same team,’ Lilly says.

‘Howie’s father? You mean this Mr Howie?’

‘Aye, that’s the one,’ Kyle says.

‘Is that why Howie’s leading the fight back? Bloody hell, this is interesting…I’m guessing he was an operative then.’

‘Not quite, no,’ Lilly says.

‘Howie doesn’t know,’ Kyle says.

‘He doesn’t know what?’ Norman asks, looking from Lilly to Kyle.

‘Any of it,’ Lilly says.

* * *

‘This will do, Carmen,’ Henry says from the back as Carmen brings the vehicle to a stop a good ten metres back from the corner.

Four doors of the black Toyota open from which the five emerge. Carmen and Frank from the front, both making a point of eating Snickers to show their hands are away from their weapons.

A wall of noise greets them. Heavy diesel engines from vans and trucks. Plant machines going here and there. People shouting out. Radios squawking. Music playing from the camp next to them. Cars and vehicles clogging the road, weaving between the huge trucks holding the containers waiting to be called forward to add their loads to the wall. More cars stacked up by the beach. More arriving. Noise and motion in all directions.

Carmen bites another chunk from her Snickers and chews while turning a slow circle and through the chaos and bedlam she picks out some more of the tanned and tattooed men with guns positioning themselves nearby. One further down by the beach. Another a bit further along. Two more emerging from the camp. More behind them. Others over on the other road. Discreet and non-threatening, but all of them armed and ready.

‘You clocking them?’ Frank asks.

‘Yep,’ she replies.

‘To be expected,’ George says. ‘We are armed after all. But I must say, this is all rather impressive and a lot more organised than I was expecting.’

‘There he is,’ Frank says as Kyle emerges from the camp. ‘Have you heard the word of our saviour Jesus Christ?’

‘You be cool,’ Carmen says, giving Frank a look.

‘I’m always cool,’ he replies, giving her a grin of chocolate covered teeth.

‘Such a twat,’ she laughs. ‘But I mean it, Frank.’

‘Stop nagging. It’s fine. What would I do? Shoot him? Actually, that’s a good question. Henry, can I shoot him?’

‘No.’

‘Can I spit my mouthful of Snickers at him?’

‘Frank, pack it in and watch the flanks…’ Henry says, moving out with a smile as Kyle and three others reach the road towards them. ‘Kyle!’ he says, striding forward with his hand outstretched.

‘Henry,’ Kyle replies, taking the firm handshake as they come to a stop. ‘Ach, what a thing eh? You’re looking well, though. Henry. Ah now! What a sight she is. Marion, my love! My angel. Ach, seeing you safe is something else it is. Come here now…’

‘Kyle,’ she says warmly, taking the hug. ‘It’s so good to see you safe. Georgy, doesn’t he look well. You’ve lost weight too. Your cheekbones are showing. Georgy, don’t you think he’s lost weight?’

‘Ah, a few pounds of lard maybe,’ Kyle says. ‘George! What a sight for sore eyes. Are ye well now?’

‘Well as can be expected, Kyle. Good to see you old chap. Nice set-up here I must say. All looking very organised.’

‘I’ll go through it with you I will,’ Kyle says. ‘Where’s my love now? Ach, there she is as radiant as ever. Carmen! Will ye give an old man a hug now?’

‘Kyle,’ Carmen says, moving in to embrace her old friend. ‘So good to see you,’ she says. ‘Take it easy with, Frank,’ she whispers before pulling back.

Kyle nods, grinning at her then to George and Marion before the inevitable must happen and he turns to Frank.

‘One word,’ Frank says, pointing his half-eaten Snickers at Kyle. ‘Mogadishu. So fuck off and don’t talk to me you god-bothering twat because I promised Henry I wouldn’t lose my shit…and I apologise for my bad language, ladies,’ he adds with a dip of his head to Lilly and Mary. ‘And whoever you are,’ he says to Norman.

‘Norman,’ Norman says, seeing his advantage to press and he strides out to offer his hand. ‘Good to meet you. Norman Calloway. QC. Hello, Carmen is it? Nice to meet you,’ he steps over to George and Marion, offering his handshake and giving his name. His voice strong and confident. ‘Henry?’

‘Yes, Henry,’ Henry says, shaking Norman’s hand. ‘Queens Council?’

‘Indeed I was. High Court normally, now I’m here building a wall.’

Polite smiles. Both smart. Both highly intelligent. Both reading the other.

‘Lilly! It’s Callum…are ye busy?’

A burst of radio transmission blares out as Lilly reaches for her radio.

‘Callum. Lilly here. Yes, I am busy. Call for Sam or Pea unless it’s very urgent.’

‘Ach, right you are, Sam? Pea? Can ye hear me now?

‘Sorry about that,’ Lilly says, turning her radio down. ‘I’m Lilly. It’s nice to meet you…’

‘Lilly,’ Henry says, moving in to offer his hand.

‘She’s in charge here, Henry,’ Kyle adds.

‘I see,’ Henry says, hiding any reaction as Carmen, Frank, George and Marion all look to the young lady with the blond hair. ‘Thank you for allowing entry. I can assure you we do not pose threat to you or any persons here.’

‘Thank you,’ Lilly says curtly.

‘Ah now, this is a good day,’ Kyle says, breaking the silence. ‘Seeing you safe…but I have to ask now, is Howard not with you?’

A pause. A wince from Henry that in turn prompts a look shared between Kyle and Lilly that Henry notices. And in turn, Norman reads those nuances. ‘Unfortunately not,’ Henry says.

‘No sign of him, old chap,’ George cuts in. ‘It’s a rotten thing for damned sure, but I think we may have to assume he’s MIA. My apologies ladies, that means missing in action.’

‘That is bad news,’ Kyle says heavily.

‘Of course, we live in hope he will surface,’ Henry adds.

‘Ach, for sure,’ Kyle says. ‘But Howard. He didn’t have field experience so much.’

‘That is also true,’ George says sadly. ‘A gifted man in many regards, but perhaps not so equipped as us to deal with an event like this.’

‘Speaking of that. I got your message, Henry. I’m assuming it was about this?’ Kyle asks as the small group falls silent with all eyes on the bald man.

* * *

They drive onto the last stretch of road to the fort. The shore road and a route some of them have now taken many times over. It makes Howie think of how they change each time they leave and come back. Blinky was with them when they left. Now she’s not. Maddox was a wanker. Now he’s not so bad. They didn’t have Tappy or Danny with them, or Booker either. Now they do and it feels like this world is changing so fast that if you blink you’ll miss something else.

That feeling is still there too. That pervading feeling that time is accelerating, which in turn brings forth the pressure to keep going forward. That if they stand still for even a moment the infection will take over and win and all of the suffering would have been for nothing.

But still. They at least have a plan now. Find the head of the snake and cut it off. Find Cassie and kill her.

Howie rubs his face, feeling stressed, feeling jaded and worn. Needing coffee. Needing a rest. The jokes still flowing in the Saxon, and the energy is still there, but it feels thin and fragile with gaps of silences where each withdraws into memories that hurt and cause pain. Tappy thinks about her family. Charlie thinks about Blinky and within each mind lies an abyss of jagged and awful thoughts and so when a joke is made, or a quip given, they laugh quickly and loudly, glad of the distraction from their own minds.

Nick swallows and looks ahead while already perched on the edge of his seat. His heart thrumming with weird nerves jangling inside at the thought of seeing Lilly again. He thinks to check his appearance, then worries he smells bad. Then realises they all smell bad.

Paula smiles to herself, seeing the worry on his face. But it’s a nice worry this time. A simple worry from a boy looking forward to seeing his girl.

‘What’s that doing there?’ Clarence asks as the back end of the first truck comes into view. A big one too. The type that carries shipping containers but now empty.

‘Dunno,’ Howie says. ‘Another one though,’ he adds as they pass the first and see more parked up at the side of the road leading to the bay. A long line of them all facing out as though ready to drive away.

‘That’s a lot of trucks,’ Clarence says. ‘What are they for?’

‘That,’ Howie says in a tone that makes everyone in the back shift to see through the front to the huge multi-coloured wall.

Shipping containers end on end emerging from the sea going up and across the beach and verge to the road. A gap wide enough for a truck to get through. Then the wall goes on, snaking out of sight. All of the containers in different colours. Red and greens. Blues and Yellows. Cranes seen working on the other side, hefting more containers into place and building it up from two to three high.

Men and women working on the outside of the wall, using long hooked sticks to tug and drag coiled razor wire from the back of a lorry onto the ground.

The toot of a horn from a truck emerging in the gap between the containers. The driver waving at the armed men walking back from parking their empty trucks up. Good natured shouts and jeers. Radios blasting out. More armed people off to the side. Peter’s men talking to a small group of new arrivals laden down with heavy bags.

‘How long have we been bloody gone?’ Howie asks as a young man walks out from the gap towards them. An assault rifle on a strap across his front. Tattoos on his arms and hands. He doesn’t rush either but takes his time, sharing looks with the other guards and men walking back in from parking trucks who also glance over at the Saxon.

‘Hello mate,’ Howie says, opening his door. ‘I’m shit with names, er…Callum? Is that right? You’re one of Peter’s lads aren’t you.’

‘Aye. Good to see ye back,’ Callum says, his expression not matching his words. ‘Ye liking our new wall are you?’

‘Yeah, it’s er. It’s a good wall. Very big,’ Howie replies, looking from the lad to the wall. ‘Right. Anyway, we’d best get in then.’

‘Aye, for sure. Will you hang on a second while I radio down and see where Blondie wants you?’

‘Blondie?’ Howie asks, but the lad walks off to speak into his radio. ‘Who’s Blondie?’

‘Must mean Lilly,’ Clarence says.

‘Are we being stopped from going in?’ Paula asks.

‘He’s doing the right thing,’ Clarence says. ‘Checkpoint security is important.’

‘I know but…’ she trails off, as stunned as everyone else at the view.

‘Ach, that’s fine,’ Callum shouts over. ‘Lilly’s busy but Sam said to go straight down.’

The lad walks off, again that slow stroll and holding the centre point of ground to stop the Saxon going past and making it go slow until they pass through the container ends, none of them seeing the hard stares coming from the armed men but looking up and out to the bay proper that now looks so different.

The whole area flattened and opened up but still full of things to see. Piles of brick, wood and rubble now all that remain of the expensive beachside houses and structures that once stood here. People working through them, dragging stuff out to stack in huge mounds. Usable goods. Tables, chairs, sofas and beds. Boxes of crockery. Bags of clothing. The contents of the houses next to building wood. More people going through them, taking things to load into pick-ups and vans. Drivers working with them.

Mo opens the back doors so they can see better. Noise flooding in. Horns and engines. Traffic sounds and fumes. Loaded vans snaking down through the trucks and people. More coming back from the other way. Trucks parked up, laden down with containers as they wait to be directed to where they are needed. Plant machines chugging about. Diggers scooping piles of earth against the inside of the wall to add weight and solidity to the base.

The other side of the shore road is all torn down too. Hedges ripped up and in amongst all of that they spot new people navigating their way down the road towards the beach. People on foot with bags and clearly marked out by how frightened and wasted they look in comparison to other people working with purpose.

Then, through the trucks and vehicles, they see the big camp on what was the flatlands opposite the beach. Dozens of caravans with lanes and walkways between them. Smoke seen coming from fires. Clothing hanging from lines.

‘This is amazing,’ Paula says, her face breaking into a huge smile. ‘Look at it! Howie, look at it!’

‘I’m looking.’

‘Look at what she’s done. It’s incredible…’

Howie twists in his seat to the others in the back as Cookey digs an elbow into Nick’s side. ‘Your missus is insane mate.’

Nick just stares, not knowing what to say.

‘Was it like this before?’ Booker asks.

‘No,’ Blowers replies darkly. ‘It was stinking pile of death, mate.’

‘It’s not looking like a stinking pile of death now,’ Booker murmurs, staring out through the windscreen.

‘Danny, you feeling as weirded out as me?’ Tappy asks.

Danny nods, thinking this is not what he expected at all. Not after so many days surviving in that awful place with his family and neighbours. All of them trying to be silent and hiding all the time. Tappy is right; this is like a town.

‘Home sweet home,’ Howie mutters, bringing the Saxon to a stop outside their house. ‘Grab your kit and jump out. And Nick, grab your dog, there’s traffic everywhere.’

‘She’s not my dog,’ Nick says, grabbing the dog as the bum shuffle starts. The sliding along on seats while holding bags, rifles and axes.

Mo drops out with Dave. The two of them turning a circle to assess for threat and risk.

‘Stay with Sergeant Blowers,’ Dave says.

Mo nods as Dave walks off then grins at Maddox heading over with Reginald and Roy. ‘This is nuts, bruv.’

‘It’s different,’ Maddox says, feeling a weird thing inside too. That emotional connection to the place thrumming inside. Lenski is here. Some of the old crews too. The few that are still alive anyway.

‘Wasn’t it like this?’ Danny asks, joining Mo.

‘Nah! Like, Lilly was getting it fixed but not like this,’ Mo replies.

‘Everyone stay close,’ Blowers calls, bringing his team over to him as they all look about at the many things to see.

‘Smell that?’ Tappy says, grinning at them all as she inhales. ‘Haha! That’s traffic…oh my god I missed that smell…diesel and petrol engines…you can feel the heat of the trucks too.’

She nails the sensation with a few words as they all realise what they were feeling. The familiarity of something they haven’t seen for over three weeks now. People and traffic. Noises and smells.

‘ALRIGHT LADS!’ a van goes by, tooting the horn as the driver leans out, waving an arm with a big grin. ‘GOOD TO SEE YOU BACK!’

‘Cheers!’ Cookey shouts back with a wave.

‘MR HOWIE!’ Another voice shouting. More vans and pick-ups sounding horns as people wave and shout over.

‘This is incredible,’ Roy says, joining Howie and the older ones at the front of the Saxon. ‘What a brilliant idea. They’re all the same size and constructed to fit together. Genius! Absolutely genius.’

‘It is,’ Clarence says.

‘Yeah, wow, because of course, they’re all the same size and used to fitting together. All the same length and width and height.’

‘You just said that,’ Paula points out.

‘You can get bigger containers of course, although they are less common. But yes, these would all fit because they’re the same size and…’

‘Got it, Roy!’ Paula says, offering a smile to lessen the edge in her voice. Not that Roy notices. ‘Right, well,’ she continues. ‘This is great, but I need a wash, and a wee, and a coffee…’

‘In that order?’ Marcy asks.

‘All at the same time works for me,’ Paula replies. ‘Lads, let’s get inside and sort ourselves out.’

‘Boss, you seeing that?’ Clarence asks, a full head higher than everyone else. ‘Small armed group in front of a black Toyota just back from the corner on the north road.

‘Everyone’s bloody armed,’ Howie says, spotting lots of Peter’s men with rifles and shotguns hanging from straps. Pistols in holsters. Knives in belts, but weirdly non-threatening and in a way, they just look like working men carrying tools without swagger or boast.

‘No. These don’t look the same,’ Clarence says. ‘Hang on…I think Lilly and Kyle are with them.’

‘Mate, I can’t see anything,’ Howie says, trying to peer through the gaps between the trucks and vans and people.

‘Yeah it’s them. We going over?’ Clarence asks, turning to look at Paula. ‘How desperate are you for that wee?’

‘My wee holding muscles are fine right now,’ she replies with a bright smile at Clarence as Marcy winces, thinking Paula just switched from being hard on Roy to flirting and making eyes at Clarence. Then she spots Roy’s expression and notices he’s lost in a world of trucks and containers and construction.

‘Guess we should,’ Howie says. ‘Lads, come on, we’ll go see Lilly then get cleaned up. Ha! Look at that face,’ he adds as Nick beams a sudden huge smile. ‘Just remember she might not want to be affectionate in front of people. She’s in charge here…’

‘Okay, boss.’

* * *

Henry draws breath, buying time to think amidst the noise and chaos while Kyle waits expectantly for the reply, as does everyone else.

‘Is that a Saxon, Frank?’ Carmen asks, peering through the gaps in the trucks to an army vehicle glimpsed on the other road. ‘Looks different.’

‘Where?’ Frank asks. ‘I’ve got it. Yeah that’s a Saxon. Training vehicle though. They had a couple at Salisbury…’

‘Wasn’t there an exercise on at Salisbury?’ Carmen asks.

‘There was. A big one too,’ Henry says.

‘Yeah look,’ Frank says. ‘Load of squaddies coming over. They with your lot, are they?’ he asks Lilly as she realises she missed the transmission alerting her to them coming back.

* * *

‘Why does it feel like everyone is staring at us?’ Howie asks.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ Paula replies. ‘We’re armed to the teeth and look like we we’ve been run over by diggers.’

‘Diggers?’ Marcy asks, leaning past me to look at Paula.

‘I saw a digger back there,’ Paula says. ‘It was in my head…’

‘Oh,’ Marcy says. ‘I would have said trucks…cos you know, there’s trucks everywhere.’

‘Or vans,’ Howie say.

‘Vans,’ Clarence says.

‘Lot of pick-ups,’ Roy says. ‘And there was a crane back there although I didn’t see the type or load capacity.’

‘I said digger. But feel free to use the analogy anyway you want when you compare yourself to being run over by a large vehicle.’

‘Paula needs coffee too,’ Marcy says after a second of silence.

‘I think we all do,’ Roy says.

‘I thought you were a tea-drinker,’ Howie says to Roy.

‘Normally, but after last night? I think coffee.’

‘Fair one,’ Howie says.

‘I’ve still got yesterday’s knickers on,’ Paula says with a grimace. ‘And my hair, urgh, it’s so matted and dry. Charlie’s got the right idea.’

‘I could see you with a shaved head,’ Howie says.

She grunts and hands Clarence her rifle while reaching up to pull her hair back into a ponytail as the super elite unit of bedraggled and very hungry exhausted zombie killers cross the road and aim for the front of the last truck. Caffeine levels low. Snarky comments high. Patience, tolerance, understanding and compassion for their fellow man now pretty much zero. Sod it. They’ll say hi. Let Nick find somewhere to snog Lilly then head home for tea and medals. Huzzah.

‘Huzzah,’ Clarence, Roy, Paula and Marcy all say at the same time.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Howie mutters.

‘You said it,’ Paula snaps.

‘I bloody did not!’

‘You bloody did,’ she fires back.

‘Dave? Did I say it out loud?’

Dave doesn’t reply but stares unblinking to the people gathered by the black SUV. At Henry, George, Carmen and Frank. At his old team.

‘Dave?’

Dave still doesn’t reply. ‘Mate? You okay?’ Howie asks.

‘I had orders, Mr Howie,’ he blurts quickly.

‘Eh?’ Howie asks, blinking at the reaction.

‘I had orders, Mr Howie.’

‘What you on about?’ Howie asks as they pass the last truck and reach the corner. ‘Dave, what’s up?’

‘I’m gonna let the dog go, she’s seen Lilly,’ Nick calls.

‘Okay,’ Paula shouts. ‘What’s up with Dave? Dave, what’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know,’ Howie says. ‘He’s gone all weird.’

‘Size of that dog,’ Frank says, blanching at the huge animal running free.

‘It’s fine,’ Lilly says, dropping to a crouch as Meredith races in with her ears flat and tail going crazy.

‘Jesus, is she friendly?’ Mary asks.

‘Most of the time,’ Lilly says, smiling as takes the impact of fur and whines and licks and wagging tail.

‘I had orders, Mr Howie,’ Dave says again.

‘Dave, you’re stuck in a loop again, mate, what orders…’

‘Lads, you’re back,’ Kyle calls over, seeing Blinky is gone and new faces in the group. They look battered and bruised too. All of them in torn clothes and covered in bruises and cuts.

Howie turns to look. A convergence in motion. A happening taking place. Three points of a triangle. Henry at one point. Howie at another. Lilly on the third. All of them looking to the others. Nick searching for Lilly. Dave staring at his old team and CO. Howie frowning at the hard expression on Lilly’s face. Henry reading the scene through expert eyes that flick left to right as he tries to determine the dynamics at play here.

‘Two secs,’ Howie calls over, concerned at Dave’s reaction. A sudden nag in the back of his mind. Like Déjà vu. Like he saw something he needs to look at again but too many things start happening at once.

‘Dave?’ Carmen spots him first. Blinking once and shaking her head as though she’s seeing things. ‘Dave! Oh my god…Dave!’

Dave?’ Henry says. His voice shocked but carrying clear familiarity within his tone that Howie and his team all pick up on.

‘It is!’ Carmen says, grinning widely as they all start moving in. Several people all reacting with surprised familiarity collapsing in towards the small quiet man.

‘What the fuck?’ Howie mutters, forced back from the new people swarming in, jostling about Dave. He backs into Paula who steps into Clarence, all of them compressing to make room and none of them detect any threat of violence because it’s very clear these people all know Dave very well.

‘Oh my god,’ Carmen says, rushing in. ‘Come here you!’

‘He doesn’t like being touched…’ Howie starts to say then trails off as the black woman grabs Dave in a hug. Dave takes it too. And doesn’t kill everyone.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Carmen says with a laugh, pulling back to grin at Dave. ‘You’re okay. Of course you’re okay. You’re Dave! Henry! It’s Dave.’

‘Carmen,’ Dave says and such is the surprise that none of them see the rare look of worry on his face.

‘Dave!’ Frank grips his hand, pumping it hard. ‘Thought I was going to be stuck with Carmen on my own…’

‘Cheeky twat,’ Carmen says, whacking Frank on the arm as she grins at Dave again.

Howie stares on. Stunned to the core and he shares looks with the others. All of them showing the same reaction.

‘Dave,’ Henry presents himself, taking Dave’s hand to shake while studying his former operative. ‘So happy to see you. Are you well? You look well.’

‘He does look well,’ Carmen says.

‘He’s Dave, course he’s well,’ Frank says.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Paula asks.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Howie says, looking over at Blowers who shrugs. All of them caught out. Howie moves back and spots Lilly with the red-haired woman, Kyle and another guy. All of them watching on and it’s their pensive expressions that catch Howie’s attention. The lack of smiles. Lilly looks harder too. Older, and far less friendly than before.

Lilly spots Howie looking over with a contrasting mix of emotions inside. Guilt, nerves and worry at the same time with too many things happening.

‘Is that Nick? Are ye bloody blind, Blondie?’ Mary whispers. ‘He’s gorgeous!’

‘Too loud,’ Norman cuts in with a look to Mary. ‘Hi! I’m Norman,’ he shouts to Howie.

Howie inclines his head in response to the greeting. Thinking to say hello. Thinking to say hi. Thinking to give his name and then ask what the hell is going on. Then he looks to Dave again and the older guy with the mop of thick hair and everything else vanishes from his head. ‘You,’ he says.

‘What?’ Paula asks, snapping her head to Howie then blanching at the expression on his face. ‘Howie?’

‘It’s you,’ Howie says again, staring at Frank.

Carmen spots it and nudges Frank who turns to look at the guy with curly black hair staring at him.

‘What?’ Frank asks, thinking the guy is vaguely familiar. ‘Do I know you?’

‘Fuck. It’s you,’ Howie says.

‘Well done. Wanna prize? I’ve got half a Snickers you can have.’

‘How the…I mean…’ Howie stammers, the low caffeine levels and the shock of seeing people know Dave making his mind feel foggy and slow. ‘Fuck me, I can’t even speak.’

‘Lad, are you alright?’ Frank asks, frowning at Howie. ‘Should he have a gun?’ he asks the others with Howie before mouthing the last of his Snickers.

Howie finally pushes his brain to muster the words to come out of his mouth in the right order. ‘You went past my house.’

Frank shrugs and chews his Snickers, not grasping it.

‘That night,’ Howie says, still looking at Frank. ‘The Friday night. The van. That...that that…holy shit I can’t even think. That cash van…you went past my house…’

Frank stops chewing.

‘Then in the town…Boroughfare. You were on top of it telling me to run…’

Frank stares, now grasping it.

‘Holy shit,’ Carmen whispers, reaching a hand out to Frank’s arm. ‘It’s him. Frank, it’s him…’

‘Eh?’ Howie says, widening his eyes as Paula looks from him to Carmen. Henry turns too, from asking Dave to report to a new dynamic unfolding.

‘He crashed the moped,’ Carmen says, looking from Frank to Howie. ‘You crashed the moped then tried to attack fifty infected with a hammer…’

‘What the fuck?’ Howie mouths.

‘That does sound like you, boss,’ Clarence says.

‘She was in the van,’ Frank says quietly, now knowing who it is and Lilly watches on with Kyle, seeing it play out.

‘Howie,’ Carmen says, arching her eyebrows in surprise. ‘It’s Howie…’

Henry looks from Dave to Howie and he too shows the reaction of seeing someone he knows. George, Frank and Carmen too. All of them staring at Howie. It’s him. Definitely him. Howie. Howard’s son.

Connections forming in minds. Howie worked in Tesco. Dave worked in Tesco. Dave is with Howie. Howie is at the front of what looks like an army platoon.

‘Aye, that’s Howie,’ Kyle says, making everyone turn their heads. ‘Howard’s lad.’

‘Good lord, is it really Howie?’ George says.

‘What the…who the…’ Howie flounders, feeling like he’s wading through mud. ‘Who are you?’ he asks in a strangled voice.

‘I’m George, old chap.’

‘George?’ Paula asks, snapping her head over.

‘George,’ George says.

‘George,’ Paula says, her face becoming ashen. ‘Marion.’

‘No, George,’ Clarence says.

‘No, Marion,’ Paula says, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

‘He definitely said George,’ Clarence says.

‘Uncle George…’ Paula says as Marion steps into view from behind George and Henry. ‘Aunt Marion!’

‘My god, Paula,’ Marion says, pushing past George.

‘Is that Paula?’ George asks.

‘What the actual fuck,’ Howie says as Paula and Marion run into each other’s arms. Both of them sobbing. Hugging and holding each other tightly. ‘Man, how much cocaine did we take last night?’

‘Not the thing to say out loud, honey,’ Marcy says.

‘Uncle George, I can’t believe it,’ Paula says, hugging her uncle. ‘I never thought I’d see you again…but…’ she blinks at George’s guns, then at Frank and Carmen and Henry.

‘George?’ Henry enquires, his face showing the same level as shock as everyone else.

‘My niece,’ George says, clearly struggling himself. ‘My wife’s sister…her daughter…Paula…’

‘Your mother?’ Marion asks, looking at Paula with sudden hope.

‘No,’ Paula shakes her head with tears running down her face. ‘She didn’t make it…she turned…I saw her, I’m so sorry…’

Everyone reels from the hits coming thick and Lilly holds perfectly still. Watching Howie’s expression with a vicious surge of anger. Of rage. Of something close to revenge for leaving her to deal with this on her own. Fuck him. Fuck Howie. Fuck Paula. Fuck Henry and all of Kyle’s old buddies. They hid or went off. The fort is the only thing that matters now. Her Fort and her rules because this is the new world where old soldiers do not rule.

Frank casts his eyes over Howard’s lad again and in so doing, he spots the bite marks on Howie’s elbow. Then he spots more up and down Howie’s arms and on his neck. He looks to the others. Seeing the same thing. Bite wounds on all of them. Fingernail scratches too. He looks to their weapons. SA80 assault rifles that fire 5.56 rounds. A glance to the Saxon. The gimpy on the top that fires 7.62 rounds. Axes on their backs and big knives on their belts. He thinks back to the bodies they found and casually, ever so casually, as is the way with Frank’s skill and manner, he nods at Charlie. ‘What happened to your ear, love?’

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ she says, bringing her hand up to touch her ear. ‘It’s only the top.’

‘Knife?’

‘Teeth, unfortunately.’

Howie blows air from his cheeks, shaking his head with even more things happening, all of them too fast. The planet spinning too quickly. He watches Paula, feeling a rush of happiness then glances to Henry and George with another stab of recognition. He blinks, thinking it’s the shock of the moment. Is it? He can’t think straight. Why isn’t Lilly saying hi to Nick. Why was that guy driving past his house? Why was that woman in the van with him? Why is Paula related to them? How the fuck does Dave know them?

‘What happened to you?’ Marion asks, looking closer at Paula. ‘You look so different…’

‘I…’ Paula stammers, as stuck as Howie in what to say or think. ‘Why are you here? Why is Uncle George armed like that?’

George falters the same as the rest of them and looks to Henry for orders while thinking the backstory they had ready is now useless.

‘Dave?’ Howie says quietly. ‘Did you work with these people?’

Dave looks at him, swallowing nervously and blinking with the greatest show of human reaction Howie has ever seen in him. ‘I’m not allowed to say. Mr Howard said.’

‘It’s Howie, Dave,’ Howie says.

‘Mr Howard, Mr Howie,’ he says.

‘Fuck!’ Howie mutters, closing his eyes to stop his brain from imploding. ‘Dave, I’m Howie…Howard is my…’ his eyes snap open as the synapses fire in the right way, lighting the neural pathways as his brain processes a billion memories to seek a match. He looks again to Henry and George. He has seen them. He knows it now. ‘The retirement party…’ he says. ‘My dad’s retirement party…you were there…both of you… my dad…you worked with him. The treasury department or something… but like years ago…fuck. What the fuck?’

‘Jesus,’ Marcy says.

‘They’re not civil servants…’ Clarence says.

‘Howie,’ Henry says, as shocked as everyone else. ‘What on earth are you doing here? Is your dad here?’

‘My dad? Why the fuck…my dad?’

‘What about your mother? Did you see them?’ Henry asks. ‘We went for them. Frank and Carmen…’

‘There was a note,’ Carmen says. ‘It said they were going for you, that’s why Frank and I went past your house. Have you seen him?’

‘My dad?’ Howie asks, blinking and struggling, shaking his head as he flounders at it all.

‘Howard,’ George says. ‘Where’s Howard?’

‘Mr Howard,’ Howie whispers as he looks at Dave again. ‘You said Mr Howard, Dave. You meant my dad…’

‘I had orders, Mr Howie.’

‘Dave. You said Mr Howard. I’m Mr Howie. Howard is my dad…’

‘I had orders, Mr Howie.’

‘Dave. You said Mr Howard. Don’t fuck about now, Dave. Be straight. You’ve got to be straight now…’ it feels like a gut punch, like Howie can’t breathe, his legs feel weird and his head clogged and slow. ‘Dave,’ he whispers. ‘My dad…did you know my dad? Be clear now, Dave. You’ve got to be clear…’

‘Mr Howie.’

‘Dave, say it!’ he snaps. ‘You have to say it. Did you know my dad?’

‘Howie,’ Henry says.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Howie snarls as the tension ramps. ‘Dave, did you know my dad?’

Still Dave doesn’t answer and just stares at Howie, trapped between orders and discipline and needing to answer.

‘Yes, he did, Howie,’ Henry says.

Marcy’s hand goes to her mouth. Everyone staring. Clarence as stunned as everyone else and it’s like the world stops spinning but Howie’s head keeps going. The ground suddenly uneven beneath his feet. The air too thick and he casts about, trying to think. ‘I’m not getting this. I’m not. Dave would have said. Dave, you would have said. Kyle would have said. What the fuck? Kyle?’

‘Lad, I’m sorry. Honestly, I am.’

‘You didn’t say. You didn’t fucking say,’ he turns from Kyle to Dave. ‘Mate…’

‘I had orders, Mr Howie.’

‘Stop fucking say that! Ah man, my head. Shit. Okay. Dave. Mate, you would have said. You would have told me, Dave…’

‘I had orders, Mr Howie.’

‘Did you work with them?’ Howie asks, pointing at Henry and the others. ‘Dave! Did you work with them?’

‘He did, Howie,’ Kyle says.

‘And you?’ Howie asks, looking over at Kyle, the anger biting inside. The rage starting to bubble. ‘I asked you a fucking question.’

‘Aye. I worked with them,’ Kyle says, wishing he’d spoken out sooner. ‘And your father…’

Howie glares at him. At the man he took into his confidence and trusted. ‘Did you know who I was?’

‘Howie…’

‘DID YOU KNOW?’ Howie roars and the area falls silent as Lilly feels a vicious flash of spite at seeing Howie flounder while at the same time feeling wretched that this is happening to him.

‘I did, Howie,’ Kyle says. ‘I knew who you were. Not at first mind, but after…I never worked with Dave though. Dave didn’t know me...’

‘Just a cook yeah?’

‘Ach, now, Howie…’

‘Just a fucking cook yeah, Kyle?’

‘Howie, listen now, son. I’m an operative so I am…or I was…with Henry. He’s the CO now. That man there. George too. Frank and I, we were operatives. Enforcers if you like. Dave was too. I knew Dave, but Dave never knew who I was. This is new to you, I know that. And we worked with your father. He was on our team he was…’

Howie grows still. Suddenly very, very still and the gods laugh in mirth. Relishing the pain and suffering as they look down upon the weak and withered. Urging them all to pick a side. To pick a team. Pick a line to stand behind. Pick a cause to fight for. Choose a weapon. Choose the ground to fight on. Choose life. Choose death. Choose to be hurt and bloodied every day. Play the game and know you have no real choices because the Gods will divide you. They will give you values and make them meaningless. They’ll give you ethics and morals and render them worthless, and then they’ll muddy it all with petty emotions that only bring confusion and pain and suffering. And then, at the very point you think you know the way forward, they’ll bring forth the darkest times and make you realise there is no right or wrong, and right then, right there, they’ll make you pick a side to pick a team so you can pick a fight. That’s how it feels to Howie. Like another cheap, dirty trick is being played. That the people he trusted the most lied to him and Paula. That he let Kyle hold his head under water and pray over him. That Dave has stood by his side through all this hell and never said a word. That everything is wrong and broken and dirty, and his eyes grow dark. The brooding menace pouring from him as the air charges.

‘Clarence,’ Paula says softly, motioning for Blowers to get in close as they ready for the reaction that will surely come.

‘I just want coffee,’ Howie says quietly, wiping the back of his arm across his face. ‘Sergeant Blowers, make sure your team get new kit and their weapons cleaned. Get the vehicles fuelled and checked over. Eat and hydrate. Stay close and stay in radio contact and be ready to deploy. Clear?’

‘Sir, yes sir,’ Blowers says.

‘Reginald, make arrangements here please. I’m going over to the house.’

‘Of course, Mr Howie,’ Reginald says, seeing the monumental effort within Howie to stay calm and to defy the expectation of the reaction that everyone thought would come. But the power shows. That thing that Howie has that make people follow him. That inner glow. That strength inside now shining bright. Henry’s team look sharp and ready for business, and Lilly has many people on her side, whereas Howie’s team look battered. Filthy, torn, ruined, broken even, but to the last they show pure discipline with heads high and backs straight with weapons carried correctly as they about turn and file after Howie and Dave.

‘Lilly,’ Reginald says. Pulling attention from Howie to him. ‘We shall need to discuss some matters.’

‘I can go and speak to Howie,’ Kyle says.

‘I think perhaps now would not be a good time,’ Reginald says. ‘Shall I contact you shortly? Perhaps we can come over to the fort. Would that be in order?’

‘That’s fine,’ Lilly says.

‘And you, sir,’ Reginald says, looking at Henry. ‘I don’t know your plans or your intentions, but perhaps we could talk at the same time. When the initial reactions have eased.’

‘Understood,’ Henry says, nodding in respect at the polite man in the shirt and tie.

‘Marvellous. Until then I shall bid you goodbye. Paula?’

‘I’m coming,’ she says before turning to Marion. ‘Don’t go. Promise me?’

‘I shall stay, of course,’ Marion says. ‘Go, it’s fine. Go.’

‘Or come over to the house…I just need to…Howie!’ Paula calls out, running to catch him up then blanching at the look of fury now blazing in his eyes. ‘Right…er…go out the back with Dave. The lads don’t need to hear it.’

Howie nods, swallowing as he walks down the hallway to the big kitchen then out into the garden. Clarence behind him. Marcy behind Clarence. Reginald in the line and Dave at the rear. Howie stops, turns and notices the ground floor windows are open and that the team will be able to hear. A grunt and he about turns to walk on through the gate at the bottom and out onto the beach, striding across the sand towards the shoreline.

Clarence pauses after going through the gate, reaching out to hold Marcy back as they stop with Reginald while Dave walks on towards Howie. Paula behind them in the garden. Everyone else in the house silent and listening.

They come to a stop by the sea. The sun shining down and the gentle waves lapping the shore. Gulls crying out. ‘You lied to me,’ Howie says.

‘I had orders, Mr Howie.’

‘YOU LIED TO ME.’

Marcy goes to move in. Clarence stops her.

‘I had orders, Mr Howie.’

‘How do you know my father?’

‘I…’

‘Dave! Fuck me…everything we’ve been through. How do you know my father?’

‘Mr Howie,’ Dave says, his face twisted up in worry and angst.

‘How, Dave? HOW?’

‘I can’t…I had…’

‘FUCK!’ Howie spins away, too furious to structure the questions so Dave will answer. ‘You knew my dad…’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘YOU KNEW MY DAD, DAVE! Over three weeks. Over three fucking weeks, Dave! Not one word. Nothing…’

Dave stays silent. Not knowing what to say. Not able to read and understand the nuances as Howie flits from angry to not angry. Dave grasps anger. He knows when Howie is filled with rage, but this is different. Confusing. He frowns and looks down. ‘I had orders, Mr Howie.’

‘What orders? What fucking orders? Who is my dad? Where is he? Is he dead? We went to my house, Dave. To their house. I fucking took you there. I found you in Tesco stacking bodies up and took you to THEIR FUCKING HOUSE.’

‘Howie,’ Marcy says, moving in as Clarence pulls her back again.

‘I…’ Dave hesitates, finding Howie too intense to look in the eye. It’s too much. He feels weird. Scared even and can’t cope with so many questions at once. ‘I had orders…’

‘STOP FUCKING SAYING THAT.’

‘I had orders, Mr Howie.’

‘I SWEAR TO GOD…SAY IT ONE MORE FUCKING TIME…’

‘Get off me,’ Marcy shouts at Clarence, pulling free and almost tripping from her boots sinking in the soft sand.

‘WHAT ORDERS?’ Howie shouts.

‘That’s enough,’ Marcy yells as Paula pushes through the gate, her own face etched with worry.

‘It’s not enough,’ Howie fires back. ‘IT’S NOT ENOUGH. HE LIED. HE FUCKING LIED. THREE WEEKS. THREE WEEKS, DAVE. Who the fuck is Kyle? Who the fuck are you?’

‘Howie,’ Marcy snaps, reaching for his hand but he pulls back.

‘THREE WEEKS! Not a word. He fucking lied. You fucking lied to me. Mates don’t lie, Dave. They don’t fucking do that to each other. But we’re not mates are we. We’re just fucking orders to you aren’t we…AREN’T WE…’

‘I had orders, Mr Howie,’ Dave says, the tears spilling from his eyes. The most dangerous man any of them ever knew now crying from being shouted at, from being unable to form the words to give the answers to make this better.

‘Mates don’t lie, Dave. They don’t fucking lie. What orders did you have?’

‘I’m not allowed to say.’

‘ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION. WHAT ORDERS? FROM WHO?’

‘That is enough,’ Marcy shouts.

Dave flounders. His eyes pricking with tears. Scared of Howie. Not of Howie. Of Howie’s anger. No. Not that. Scared of what Howie is doing now. Dave doesn’t know. Only that he feels it inside and doesn’t know what to do. He looks to Howie and almost flinches from the look of intense hate coming back. ‘I had orders, Mr Howie,’ it’s all he can say. Just that.

Howie screams out, the veins pushing from his neck and forehead. ‘WHAT FUCKING ORDERS?’

‘Stop this right now,’ Marcy says. ‘Dave, go inside.’

‘WHAT FUCKING ORDERS?’

‘Dave! Go inside.’

‘I had orders, Mr Howie.’

‘I’LL FUCKING KILL HIM! WHAT FUCKING ORDERS?’ Howie roars out, spittle flying from his lips, surging forward, fury pouring from every pore of his body. Marcy blocks him, pushing him back.

‘Dave. I said go inside! Howie, that’s enough. Get back…I SAID GET BACK…’

‘GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY. HE’S A FUCKING LIAR.’

‘HE’S AUTISTIC YOU STUPID PRICK,’ she pushes him hard, sending him back a step then lashes out with a ringing slap across his face then feels her head yanked back from Dave gripping her hair and pushing a pistol into her throat.

‘DO NOT TOUCH MR HOWIE…’

‘DAVE!’ Clarence shouts, bringing his rifle up to aim as Blowers runs across the garden. Everyone else behind him. ‘LET GO,’ Clarence’s huge voice booms out. ‘LET GO NOW!’

‘You do not touch, Mr Howie,’ Dave says, pushing the pistol into Marcy’s neck.

‘Howie, look at this,’ Marcy shouts. ‘LOOK AT THIS…this is how much he loves you.’

Howie snarls, unable to think. Unable to form thoughts. His chest heaving as Clarence strides in, his rifle up and aimed. ‘LET HER GO RIGHT NOW DAVE OR I SWEAR I’LL PUT A ROUND IN YOU…’

‘Dave didn’t lie you fucking idiot,’ Marcy shouts. ‘He followed orders. The same way he follows your orders.’

‘Dave, let her go,’ Howie snaps.

‘Dave!’ Mo shouts, racing past Clarence. ‘Safe, Dave. Let her go, yeah.’

‘Somebody told him to protect you,’ Marcy yells out, still gripped by Dave.

‘NOW, DAVE,’ Clarence shouts.

‘Dave, it’s safe, Dave,’ Mo urges.

‘I SAID LET HER GO,’ Howie shouts. Dave complies, instantly releasing Marcy who falls to the sand and the small man steps back and turns to scan, to see, to look for threat before holstering his pistol. He feels weird and wrong. Unsettled and confused. His eyes darting about. His manner jerky and unfocused from the turmoil inside.

‘You’s okay?’ Mo asks, rushing to Marcy.

‘I’m fine. I’m okay,’ Marcy says, getting to her feet. ‘Paula?’

‘I’m here,’ Paula says, frozen at the gate.

‘Dave,’ Marcy says, swallowing and gasping from the adrenalin. ‘Who is in charge of this team?’

‘Mr Howie,’ he replies instantly, his cheeks wet from crying.

Marcy nods and flashes a hand out to silence everyone else. ‘Who is second in command?’

‘Miss Paula.’

‘Dave,’ Howie says.

‘Not a fucking word, Howie,’ Marcy snaps. ‘Paula, you need to tell Dave…you need to order Dave to answer Howie. You need to tell him he can answer. He has orders. Dave follows orders.’

Paula nods and steps closer, her own heart racing. Howie still glowering by the shore. ‘Dave, do you accept I’m in charge with Howie?’

‘He said yes!’ Marcy says. ‘Stop treating him like an idiot. He’s not a child.’

‘Okay okay,’ Paula says. ‘Sorry, I’m struggling. No, it’s okay. Dave, who told you to protect Howie.’

Dave pauses. He has orders but, in his mind, he accepts Paula can give orders too. ‘Mr Howard,’ he says simply.

Paula nods as Marcy motions for her to keep going then glares at Howie, threatening him to stay quiet.

‘Right,’ Paula says. ‘Er…’

‘Why did Mr Howard order you to protect Mr Howie?’ Reginald whispers.

‘Why did Mr Howard order you to protect Mr Howie?’

‘I don’t know,’ Dave says.

‘Did Mr Howard work with Henry?’ Reginald whispers.

‘Dave, did Mr Howard work with Henry?’

‘Yes, Miss Paula.’

‘What did he do?’ Howie asks.

‘I’m not allowed to say, Mr Howie.’

‘Dave. It’s me,’ Howie says in anguish, pushing his hands through his hair.

‘And that’s fine,’ Marcy says, cutting in quickly. ‘But he didn’t tell you not to tell Miss Paula.’

‘What did Mr Howard do?’ Reginald whispers.

‘What did Mr Howard do?’ Paula asks.

‘He handled informants,’ Dave says. ‘He wasn’t in the team with Mr Henry and Mr George and Frank and Carmen. He worked with them, but he wasn’t in the team.’

‘Okay,’ Paula says. ‘Is Howie’s father…I mean, is Mr Howard…is he still alive?’

Howie tenses.

‘I don’t know, Miss Paula.’

Reginald cocks his head over, half turning to look back over the beach to the corner where they all spoke just a few moments ago and thinking of the terminology Henry used to Dave and how Dave speaks to Mo.

‘Report on what you do know please, Dave,’ he whispers.

‘Report on what you do know please, Dave,’ Paula relays.

‘Mr Henry said I had to retire, and Mr Howard told me I had to work at Tesco with Mr Howie. I was ordered to stay there and if anything happened then to wait there and protect Mr Howie. Then Mr Howie came to Tesco and said I could go with him. Mr Howard said I had to protect Mr Howie…’

Silence. Everyone listening. Everyone absorbing.

‘Mr Howard said something bad was going to happen. He said I had to hold my position and wait. I had orders. Mr Henry and Mr George said I must always follow orders. Soldiers must always follow the orders they are given.’

‘Jesus,’ Howie whispers, stunned to the core and not knowing what to think.

‘Mr Howard told me not to tell anyone. I’m with you, Mr Howie.’

Howie nods, reeling from the hits that keep coming. His mind spinning.

‘I’m with you, Mr Howie,’ Dave says again, looking only at Howie.

‘I know, Dave,’ Howie says, his words but a whisper. ‘You had orders.’

‘I’m with you, Mr Howie,’ Dave says it again, an urge in his tone. A need there that Howie just isn’t grasping. ‘I’m with you, Mr Howie.’

‘Dave!’ he snaps ‘I heard you. You’re here. I get it. You’re getting stuck in a loop again.’

‘Jesus Christ, Howie,’ Marcy says. ‘He’s telling you he chooses you. He’s following you now because he wants to…because he believes in you like we all do. I just asked him! I said who is in charge and he said Mr Howie. How do you not get this?’

‘Mr Howard told me not to tell anyone,’ Dave says with that awful look of angst still etched on his face. ‘I’m with you, Mr Howie. He said something bad was going to happen and Mr Howie would be immune and I had to wait for more orders, but they didn’t come and then you came to work and said I could go with you and…’

‘What did you just say?’ Howie asks, stricken from Dave’s words trickling slowly into his mind.

‘Mr Howard said I had to protect you.’

‘Before that. You said I was immune. You said my dad told you I was immune.’

‘Fuck me,’ Paula whispers as everyone looks from Dave to Howie.

‘Oh my lord,’ Reginald says, thinking furiously, thinking fast. Pulling at the threads in his mind, working each to a logical conclusion. Taking the theory and fact and pushing them together to find a fit to find a way forward, to see where they are now. To see all the pieces on the board.

‘I’m not immune,’ Howie says, shaking his head slowly. ‘I’m infected. Aren’t I? Oh shit!’ he looks to Reginald with a look of utter shock. ‘He vaccinated me. He fucking vaccinated me. That means they had it before it released…they knew it was coming. Dave just said it. He said my dad told him something was coming. They fucking knew and they had a fucking vaccine!’

‘HOWIE!’ Reginald yells, trying to run over the soft sand as Howie turns to stride away. ‘Wait…will you wait!’

‘I’m not gonna fucking wait. I said, Reggie. I fucking said from the start that I will find who started this and kill them.’

‘They didn’t start it,’ Reginald shouts. ‘They knew and they couldn’t stop it.’

‘FUCK THAT,’ Howie yells, turning back to glower at Reginald. ‘They knew. They fucking knew…that’s complicit,’ he strides on, his anger building with each step. The confusion inside mixing with the sense of betrayal from Dave and his own dad. His own dad.

Reginald thinks fast. He has to act now before Howie gets so bad it drags everyone else into the hive mind. That can’t happen. Not now. ‘Howie, stop and think…they didn’t start this.’

‘They fucking knew!’

‘Howie, you told me to stop you if you’re doing the wrong thing. This is the wrong thing! If you go steaming into them, you’ll start something you cannot stop. These are not easily intimidated people, Howie. They are armed and they are proficient, and if they draw then Dave will and this will end in blood and we’ll lose any hope of getting the information we need, so just stop…I SAID FUCKING STOP!’

That does it. Reginald swearing in his prim voice brings Howie to a stop.

‘Good lord man! This is bigger than you. This is bigger than all of us. For the love of god you are a leader now. What you do defines this fight and if you go down here, because you’re too bloody stubborn to think then we’ll lose everything. Everything! And we’ve come too far for that. This isn’t just about you, Howie. This is about all of us. We’ve all lost. We’re all hurting. We’re all infected. We’ve all lost our families. Tappy wakes up screaming from nightmares and Danny’s stepfather was whipping him. Our families came at us. Get some perspective in this because we have all lost. Dave didn’t tell you, but he didn’t tell Paula or Marcy or any of us. Get this. You must get this. Your reaction is natural, but if you continue it will be your pride making decisions and we have come too far for that. If I have any sway here, if I am any form of an executive officer then I insist that you stop and think.’

Howie’s head lowers and a weird shame burns his cheeks from Reginald’s words sinking deep. Everything so raw. So angry. So pumped up. He wants to fight, but that’s his base state of being now. His sister said it. She told him he was enjoying it too much. Becoming addicted to it. He has to stop and think. He has to trust his team and not only that, he has to lead them too.

‘Good,’ Reginald says stiffly, his face flushed from shouting. ‘We need to stop and think, there’s more at play here. A great deal more. Let’s get inside, cool our heads and then we can go and discuss matters calmly.’

‘There’s something else we need to sort,’ Paula says, folding her arms and reeling every inch as much as Howie. ‘Sorry, we need this to be clear in case something happens…so we’re clear on the chain of command here. If Howie goes down then it has to be Clarence taking over. No, let me finish. This whole me being second-in-command thing is fine, but I can’t lead like that. This isn’t about being a woman either. I’d be saying the same thing if Clarence was female. He has knowledge and experience I don’t. We need to be clear on this. If we lose Howie, then Clarence takes over. Agreed?’

Howie nods. Clarence the same.

‘Good. Then Blowers takes over if we lose Clarence.’

‘Eh?’ Blowers says.

‘This has to be clear. We need to know this. Howie, Clarence, Blowers. That’s the chain of command here. I’m second, but I’ll be second to Clarence or to Blowers.’

‘Agreed,’ Howie says.

‘Agreed,’ Clarence says.

‘Not agreed,’ Blowers says.

‘Tough,’ Paula says. ‘Reginald, if we lose you…god help us if we lose you.’

‘Charlie will take my place,’ he says instantly.

‘Charlie,’ Paula says, looking at the shaven-headed young woman.

‘Then Maddox,’ Reginald adds.

‘Agreed,’ Howie says as the others murmur.

‘Dave, do you accept this chain of command?’ Paula asks.

‘Yes, Miss Paula. If I die then Mohammed will take my place in protecting the leader.’

‘Are you with us, Dave?’ Paula asks.

Dave pauses, looking to Marcy who he just threatened to kill but who strangely seems to know what he should say now. She nods. Dave nods. ‘Yes, Miss Paula.’

‘Right,’ Paula says. ‘Okay then.’

‘What about you?’ Marcy asks her.

‘Me?’ Paula asks. ‘If I die, you’ll all be running about in dirty pants and odd socks eating cold beans. Good luck with that. Right. Enough. Coffee. In we go. Things might be awkward and strained but we’ve still got a war to win…’

‘Paula?’ Marion calls, walking from the side of the house. ‘I knocked the front door but…is this still a bad time?’

‘No,’ Paula says. ‘It’s fine. We’re just going in. Er…everyone, this is my aunt Marion.’

Chapter Eight

‘As salaam alaikum,’ Henry says as they disembark on the beach, greeting Damsa with a fluent tongue.

‘And unto you peace,’ Damsa replies in English, dipping her head. ‘My name is Damsa. It is my honour to meet you. Come please. I will show you through into the fort…that man is my husband’s brother. His name is Bashir. He is a soldier with authority to be armed.’

‘I can see he’s a soldier,’ Frank says, nodding at Bashir on duty outside.

‘Over there are the offices,’ Damsa says, guiding Henry and his team in through the gates. ‘Normally I would show you to Colin to get food and allocate you a space, but I think the message was to take you to the canteen. This way please.’

They look about, seeing the size of the interior. Tent city at the far end. The circular walls. The upper section. The doors set within the walls. The thickness of the defences, the distances, access points, hard cover, where to run, where to shoot from. A back gate glimpsed at the rear. They spot people moving freely about inside. Some new and sullen and silent. Others with the vibe of having been here for longer. People talking as they work. Wood being carried in and stacked on the far side of a big central building freshly constructed. Newer building taking place with frames being erected.

Lenski walks from the offices and spots the small group. Four armed people. Three older men and a younger woman. Why are they armed? They shouldn’t be armed. She knows it must be the man Kyle used to work with, but it doesn’t matter. A rule is a rule.

‘Ah, and this is Lenski,’ Damsa says, holding her hand out to Lenski coming in fast.

‘Why have guns? No guns in here.’

‘Oh, my apologies. Lilly did not say,’ Damsa says.

‘Is not your fault. Why have guns?’ she demands, glaring at Henry then to George and the others.

‘Hello, my name is Henry. We used to work with Kyle,’ Henry says.

‘No guns in here. Many people they die. Children they see too much guns. No need to see men with guns now. We have Bashir and Donald. They are our guards.’

‘Ah right, yes. It’s just that…’

‘No. Is not your fort. Is Lilly’s fort. Is my fort. We have rule. Howie has guns. Lilly has guns. You, you do not have guns.’

‘But…’

Lenski cuts Henry off with a glare while grabbing her radio from her belt. ‘Lilly. Is Lenski. Three men and woman here with guns. I say no guns in the fort.’

‘Len, it’s Kyle. They’re okay. They’re not bad people.’

‘Is not okay. We have children that do not need to see big guns. We have Bashir and Donald. Is enough. This is inside the fort.’

‘I’m hearing you, Len. Truly I am. Is Henry there? Can he hear me? How about they keep sidearms and put the rifles in the armoury? Would that compromise work for you?’

‘I not happy, but yes, we do this. No big guns.’

‘Henry, it’s Kyle. Would you put your rifles in the armoury at the back?’

‘Or you go,’ Lenski says bluntly, showing not the slightest shred of fear at them.

Ten minutes later and they stand in a line at the big serving table in the canteen with tac-vests and pistols but no rifles.

‘Tea is it my loves?’ Agatha asks. ‘Go and sit down, we’ll bring it over.’

The four ease back and find a table to sit down. People coming and going. Radios still sounding out and even some music playing from somewhere outside on an old stereo. ‘Seen those,’ Carmen says quietly, nodding at the pictures on the walls drawn by children. Loads of them pinned up. Bright yellow suns and blue skies. White dotted clouds. Green grass. Stick figures and flowers. Some darker, showing the trauma of the children making them.

‘They’re rather good,’ George remarks, noticing some others of a man, woman and child. The scale, depth and detail so much better than the others. ‘Milly,’ he says, reading the scrawl at the bottom. ‘Milly’s a little artist I should say.’

‘What now?’ Frank asks quietly, turning to smile at the two chatty women behind the big serving table at the end.

‘We’ll drink tea and wait,’ Henry says. ‘Marion will tell Howie about his father, and I’ve no doubt Kyle is doing the same, then they’ll all be demanding answers quite soon.’

‘Stands to reason,’ George says. ‘Ah, that’s lovely. Thank you, ladies. Very kind!’ he adds as Agatha and Sunnie bring the four mugs of tea over.

‘Alright, gents,’ Pardip says, walking in with Simar and Jaspal. ‘And miss, sorry,’ he adds with a smile at Carmen. ‘How come we don’t get table service?’ he asks with a wink to Agatha. ‘Seen this, John? Kyle’s mates getting table service they are.’

‘Figures,’ John says, walking in behind the brothers with a smile at the new people dressed in tac-vests with pistols on hips. Mind you, they’re not the only ones and Henry watches the four workmen gather at the counter with their own pistols tucked in holsters on their belts. Discreet but clear. A message being sent.

This isn’t your fort.

‘I wouldn’t mind a walk up to the walls,’ George says conversationally. ‘I say chaps. That okay is it? We’d quite like to walk up onto the walls.’

‘Sure, go ahead,’ John says. ‘There’s a ramp just outside. You’ll see it.’

‘You bring those mugs back,’ Aggie calls.

‘I can assure you we will,’ George says as they head back out into the sunshine to the fort proper and over to the long vehicle ramp.

‘Good work, George,’ Henry says as they ascend.

‘Gives us a chance to talk in private,’ George says quietly. They reach the top and head over to the edge to stare down to the shore and the busy people. Then across the bay to Howie and his group on the beach at the back of the house.

‘I bet that’s an interesting chat,’ Frank says, using his mug to point at them.

‘As interesting as ours is right now I should say,’ George says. ‘Henry?’

‘I’ve no idea, George. They’ve all clearly been bitten. And that action we saw on the way in. The rounds matched their assault rifles and that gimpy on the hybrid Saxon. The axes too, and the knives. Which suggests they’re going hand to hand with the infected without becoming infected.’

‘The list?’ Carmen asks, referring to the list of immune people that Neal Barrett escaped with from the research facility.

‘Perhaps,’ Henry says. ‘How would they find each other? Was Howie on that list?’

‘We didn’t see it,’ Carmen says. ‘Neal got it out.’

‘Perhaps that’s it,’ George says. ‘They’ve found Neal’s list and rounded up some immune people to fight back.’

‘In twenty-six days?’ Frank asks. ‘No, make that twenty-five. Today’s the twenty sixth.’

‘Maybe everyone here is immune from that list,’ Carmen suggests. ‘Or, Neal could have found them before, got them here and formed a unit from soldiers to send out.’

‘Howard would have known if his son had been approached by Neal, and Kyle would have said if Neal was here.’

‘Would he?’ Frank asks, giving Henry a look. ‘Kyle didn’t have a clue about any of this. He doesn’t know who Neal is, and where is he now? Kyle I mean. He didn’t exactly stay with us did he.’

‘Kyle did seem different,’ George says. ‘Still friendly, still chatty, but different, and he never took his eyes off that girl Lilly either. But then he knew about Howie, so perhaps he was concerned about that. Certainly a lot to think about, old chap. The question is, just what the hell do we tell them.’

Chapter Nine

Day Twenty-six

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, her hand on his chest as they lie in bed.

Gregori stares into her eyes. A man that can strip, clean, rebuild, load and fire any weapon ever made. An expert in hand to hand combat, in knives, in how to kill someone in just about every way imaginable. A man that was taken as a child and tortured until he became an unstoppable force. A man with near surgical abilities that can cut and remove organs from the body so fast the person he’s doing it to will see a whole big bunch of them before they pass out and die. A man without mercy, without care, without love or compassion. A killer through and through who fears nothing and who right now flounders at the conversation underway. He frowns at her. At the concept. At the awful realisation of what she just said.

‘We have been going at it quite a lot. Seriously, you try having a big willy poking in and out of you like five times a day. I can’t even pee without it hurting.’

Gregori screws his face up, thinking this is too much information.

‘The lips are swollen too.’

He looks at her mouth.

‘Not those lips, my vagina lips.’

‘It has lips?’ he asks, thinking he’s seen her vagina quite a lot but really cannot recall seeing a mouth or lips.

‘The bits either side. They’re the lips. I’ll show you.’

‘No!’ he says quickly as she starts manoeuvring, thinking Cassie’s vagina is beautiful when he’s horny and can put his penis in it, but maybe not so much when he isn’t and certainly not when he can’t.

‘I just need a day of rest, maybe two. Unless,’ she says, giving him a slow smile and sultry wink. ‘We pop into town and get some lube…you know…if you wanted to.’

‘Loob?’

‘Yeah. Only if you want to. I mean. I’m happy to try it.’

He nods, watching her closely. ‘What?’

‘You know.’

‘No.’

‘You know!’

‘I not know.’

‘The other way.’

‘What other way?’

‘Dear god, the other way. Jesus, Gregori. I’m not saying it out loud. I do have some bloody dignity you know.’

Gregori frowns with no clue what she’s talking about. ‘With mouth?’ he asks, pulling the sheet back from his groin with sudden hope.

‘No!’ she says, covering his genitals. ‘I meant we can get some lube and try it the other way,’ she adds while dipping her head to one side. ‘You know…the back way…’

‘What back?’

‘Are you being serious? The backside.’

‘Backside?’ he asks.

‘Anal! In the arse. Up the chuffer. Poke it in the back door garden. In the bum. Spear the puckered rose. In the shitter. Fudgepacking backdoor slamming brown dick dipping arse ramming rodgering anal bloody sex! Do you want anal sex with me?’

Gergori stares at her, at the outburst and the way she stabs at her air with two fingers extended. ‘No,’ he says when she finishes.

‘Great! Now I feel stupid. Thanks, Gregory.’

‘Is Gregori. Wait,’ he says as she turns to leave the bed in a huff.

‘What?’ she snaps.

He pauses. Thinking of good food and the nice cuddles she gives and how his day will be a living hell with a screaming banshee if she’s upset and pissed off. ‘Maybe we try this.’

‘Really?’ she asks, her tone instantly softening.

He shrugs then nods. This is a brave new world. He’s tried mushky peas and dancing and doing all sorts of things he never did before. ‘Okay,’ he says, rolling on his front and pulling the sheet back to expose his backside. ‘I no try this before. Go slow.’

‘What the fuck! Me you idiot. Not you. I’m not shoving anything up your bum you weirdo. Jesus! I’m going for breakfast. Talk about a mood-killer.’

He looks over as she storms off, grabbing her dressing gown and leaving the room. Another frown and he blows air from his cheeks while thinking that being an international serial-killing assassin was much easier than this.

Cassie grimaces on the toilet as she urinates. Wincing at the sting before rinsing off under cold water and going downstairs in the bum-fuck-no-where cottage in the north.

‘Bumfuck,’ she snorts, rolling her eyes at the choice pun. ‘Morning!’ she says brightly, seeing the boy at the table eating cereal from a bowl. ‘How’s my gorgeous little man?’

‘What’s a fudgepacking backdoor slamming brown dick dipping arse…’

‘Never you mind,’ she says, cutting him off. ‘That’s a song. That adults sing. For adults. Who are…you know…not children. Anyway! Coffee? Ha! You can’t have coffee. What do you want? Juice? How’s the cereals? Quick, hold this apple so Gregori thinks you’re eating fruit.’

The boy takes the apple as the feet come down the stairs and Gregori walks into the kitchen with a nod of approval at the boy eating fruit. ‘Is good. Healthy.’

‘Coffee, Gregory?’

Gregori pauses, lifting an eyebrow. ‘Gregori. Yes, coffee. We go to town today.’

She busies herself at the stove. Lighting the gas to heat the water.

‘To shops,’ Gregori adds.

Cassie hums softly, spooning coffee into mugs.

Gregori scowls and thinks. ‘Look for clothes?’

She pauses and hold still.

‘And…hats.’

She keeps on humming.

‘No hats. The make-up for face. We get this…and the smelling things. Perfumes. And…and…music. And the lube…’

‘Okay! That’s enough of that. We’ll go shopping. Well redeemed that man,’ she says, walking over to kiss his cheek.

‘I go check,’ he says. ‘Outside.’

‘Okay dokay. Have fun,’ she smiles as he checks his pistol then goes out the door and glimpses after him to see a gentle rain falling.

‘Howie is at the fort.’

She hears the instant change within the boy’s voice but doesn’t turn to look. ‘It’s raining.’

The boy stays quiet. She stays looking out the door, sensing the thing inside the boy doesn’t know how to respond.

‘Rainy days always made me sad before. London isn’t pretty in the rain. It’s grey and dull with buses and taxis splashing filthy puddles and everyone puts their hoods up or hides under umbrellas so you can’t see their faces. The tube too, urgh god I hated that on rainy days.’

‘Howie is at the fort,’ the boy says again.

She marvels at the change in the voice when the thing inside speaks out and the way it robs the infancy from the tones and inflections. The boy’s voice lilts and plays with words. He draws vowels out and over emphasises certain sounds. The E. He stretches that out. Gregoreeee. Casseeee. She likes it when he does that. It’s cute. Everything about him is cute and she feels that rush of absolute love inside that makes her want to scoop him up and smother him in kisses. To never let anything happen to him. To never let harm come his way. But then Cassie also knows when she’s being played. Her dad did it all the time. He was a government minister. A member of the cabinet for the British Government, and you don’t get more highly skilled manipulators than that. Her mother also did it. But then everyone in society in London does it. Speaking without saying the thing they really wanted to say, with everything conveyed in hints, in nuances, in expressions, but never anything nice. Distaste, disapproval, dismissal.

Still. They’re probably all dead and she’s here with a sore vagina from being over-sexed by a hotter than hell Albanian hitman with killer abs.

‘Howie is at the fort.’

She stays where she is, staring out and showing no reaction. ‘It looks nice up here though. The rain I mean. And it’s not cold either, which is nice. Is it raining at the fort?’

A pause. ‘Yes.’

‘Who needs a weather app when you’ve got a hive mind.’

‘Howie is at the fort.’

‘Yep, heard you the first ten times,’ she says, crossing the room to sit down at the table with the boy.

‘It was not said ten times.’

‘How do you know Howie is at the fort?’

A pause. The boy stays still as that thing in his eyes seems to defocus for a second. ‘I have seen him. I am many.’

‘How many?’

A pause.

‘Forget that actually. Go back to my first question. How do you know Howie is at the fort? I mean you here. How do you know? Can you see him?’

‘He is inside the fort.’

She pauses, thinking that anything she asks prompts a literal response. ‘Can you see the fort?’

‘Yes.’

‘You now. You here. Can you see the fort?’

‘Yes.’

‘And me. You can see the fort and you can see me. Is that correct?’

‘Yes. I am many. I see many things.’

‘Great!’ she says with a big smile. ‘That’s lovely. Right, what shall we do today? Fancy the park? Or, seeing as it’s raining maybe we can find one of those indoor play things. You know, with the big ball pits and slides.’

A pause. She keeps on smiling as though expectant of the answer.

‘Howie is at the fort.’

‘I’m very happy for you,’ she says, still holding that smile. ‘Come on, eat your cereals, then we’ll get you dressed and ready. Is that water boiling?’

‘Howie has one day to decide,’ the boy says, the infection says, tracking Cassie as she walks over to the stove.

‘Yep, it’s boiling. Ooh, nice cup of coffee. I wish we had pastries and some freshly baked croissants. Actually, rainy days in London were okay once you got into the coffee shop. There was this lovely one in Chelsea. Like everybody went there. Actors. Singers. You name it. They even had a security guy on the door to keep normal people away…’

‘Howie has one day to decide.’

‘He does indeed. Hope it all works out for you,’ she says, pouring water into the mugs.

The boy stares at her. The infection inside stares at her. Trillions of nuggets of information within the collective. Billions of memories accessed through the minds and brains of the host bodies. A near infinite supply of data pouring in. Everything a host knows; the infection can access. Humans cannot do that. The infection knows it is better than humans. They are weak. The infection is not weak. It has life. It exists and it has power over many hosts and right now it accesses those billions of memories and minds to try and understand why Cassie has changed. Why isn’t she responding the way she did before? The infection does not know. ‘Howie has one day to decide.’

‘Okay cokay,’ Cassie says, flashing a quick smile over. ‘Come on, get eating.

‘I know where Howie is now.’

‘Yep, he’s at the fort. You just said.’

‘I can send many.’

‘Great. Did you say you wanted juice?’

The boy pauses. The infection pauses. ‘I have juice,’ it says, looking at the carton on the table with a straw poking out the top. ‘It is orange juice. I can send many.’

‘I’ve got some tropical fruits juice if you wanted that.’

‘I have orange juice. I can send many. I know where Howie is. The fort has a wall.’

‘Shipping containers. You told me yesterday when we spoke to Lilly. Gregori! Your coffee is in here. I’m going to get dressed. Right young man, I’m not telling you again. Eat. Drink. I want to get going before the day is wasted,’ she kisses the boy’s head then heads to the door with her coffee.

‘I can send many…’

She stops and smiles. Detecting a slight change in the voice. Just a tiny alteration with a slightly more rushed feel that hints at frustration. ‘And how did that work out for you before? Hmm? You keep on sending them and Howie’ll keep on killing them,’ she looks back at the boy’s eyes, at the thing inside as Gergori walks past the windows towards the back door. ‘Right! I’m not telling you again. Cereals. Juice…coffee’s on the side, Gregori,’ she walks off with that smile holding in place. The infection and her father aren’t the only ones that know how to manipulate.

* * *

Music playing from the speakers in the top-of-the-line Range Rover. The sun dappling the windscreen and Cassie looks out at the fields and trees that seem even more vibrant today than they did yesterday. The rain has given them life again and made everything pop and burst with motion and colour.

She looks over to Gregori. Marvelling at how immersed and in-the-now he becomes with everything he does. When he eats. When he walks. When he drives. When he fucks. Everything. She’s never met anyone so wholly and fully committed to the thing they are doing. Cassie certainly never had it. Her life was empty before now. Shallow and meaningless, where each day was spent flitting between base emotions, and normally involved her being a victim in some form or another. Mainly to her mother and father to get more from them. Everyone else has more than me. My car is so old now. My clothes are embarrassing. My apartment is tiny. Pity me. Give me more.

She played the victim to a tee, especially towards men. Using them like they were accessories, pushing buttons to get reactions to make them angry to further enhance the whole victim experience.

I hate your mother. Your family are disgusting. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. You’re weak and a dickless wonder. Don’t look at me. You don’t deserve me. Urgh, the thought of fucking you makes me sick.

She’d do that for days on end to whoever she was dating, starting small and building up to full on needling. Undermining everything they said and purposefully taking a contrary view. She’d flit between adversarial to whining to accusatorial then to sulky and petulant then bitchy and cold. Mock fawning was a good one. She excelled at that. Oh wow, you are so manly and heroic. She even sounded sincere until she added the vicious not at the end.

Then the eventual pushback would come, and the guy would finally snap. If she timed it right, and she normally did, they’d be somewhere in public. A restaurant or a wine bar and she’d keep going until eventually the weak but wealthy beta male would tut with exasperation. ‘Hey now, look, Cassie. Just stop that. It’s really unpleasant…’

She’d blink and pull back with a complete change of character from sassy and awful to wide eyed and timid. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she’d rush the words out and lick her lips then drop her head. Submissive and scared.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ he’d ask in complete confusion at her sudden switch. Then she’d wilt away with scared looks from him to anyone else in the area. ‘Okay, look…you’re really scaring me now.’

‘What!?’

‘Please don’t…’

‘Don’t want? What the hell?’

‘Stop shouting at me. I’m really scared. You’re being so angry…honestly, I didn’t know you were an abuser.’

‘I’M NOT ABUSING YOU!’

Boom. Perfect.

She’d melt back or flee while sending cryptic messages to friends or post online. I’m with Roger. Something’s happening. I’m so scared. Then she wouldn’t reply and just leave the bait hanging so people would come running to her aid.

That would be worth weeks of attention. She knows her mother did it to her father. Especially when she caught him fucking rent-boys. Wow. That was premiere league manipulation that one. She often thinks her mother arranged to catch her father, just so she could become a lifelong vampirical parasite sucking away at his bank account.

She frowns as she thinks back and realises that she was slowly turning into her mother. Learning the skills needed to sustain a life in high society and waiting for the right mug to come along to bleed him dry by undermining his entire existence with forever guilt.

She looks at Gregori again, watching him drive. The way he scans the road ahead and constantly flicks his eyes to the mirrors. His awful pock-marked skin. His bulging eyes. The muscles in his arms as he stretches out to hold the wheel. His gnarled hands that have killed so many people.

Cassie can’t imagine ever playing a trick like that with Gregori. Not to the extent she did before. Maybe little bits like this morning when she pretended to be offended during the anal sex conversation. But no, it wouldn’t work with Gregori. He’d just turn her round, tug her jeans down, pull her knickers aside and fuck her.

God that’s so horny. The thought of it. Yeah, they really need to roleplay that one when her vagina isn’t so sore.

But then would he do that? Gregori is a brute of a man. Incredible violent. But she cannot ever imagine him forcing her. But then it wouldn’t be forced because she would be like super willing. Or, more likely, he’d just stare at her in that way he does. All broody and silent. Then he’d walk off. Cool as anything. Yeah, he’d do that. Or shoot her. Not the sex thing though. She wishes it was the sex thing. She shrugs, figuring she’ll test it when they get a chance.

She looks at him again, so wishing she’d met him before and taken him out to meet her friends and family. They’d have been terrified of him. She could just imagine the golf playing dickless wonders with their swollen bellies and their upturned collars on their pastel coloured polo shirts wilting back from his pure alpha animalistic aura.

But no. The days of being a victim to that degree are gone, and if anything, she doesn’t even see the appeal now. Being a victim is weak. Triumph and victory don’t come from cowering back and blaming everyone else. They come from aggressive progression and taking what you want. Like Gregori. Like the infection. They don’t ask for what they want or need. They take it.

And Cassie knows what she wants.

She turns in her chair to smile at the boy looking all gorgeously scrummy and there it is. The rush inside. She can feel the endorphins releasing that fill her with love, and she does love him. She loves him with the entirety of her being, apart from one tiny bit that was honed by years of being a selfish bitch. And it’s that tiny bit that she focusses on now, that selfish-bitch gene that enables her to know that although she loves the boy, she will bloody get what she wants from the thing inside him.

‘You okay?’ she asks, reaching back to tickle his leg. ‘We’ll soon be there.’

‘Okay, Casseeee,’ he sing songs the words as Gregori drives on through the winding lanes and long country roads. Choosing a route they haven’t taken before to reduce the threat or risk of anyone waiting for them. His mind focussed on the task at hand. His eyes forever scanning for danger. And maybe just a bit of him thinking about lube and anal sex and if it means you get poo on your penis. Wouldn’t that smell? It’s kind of a nice thought while also very disgusting and he doesn’t quite understand why it makes him think of mushky peas.

A small town ahead. Houses and streets bordering a centre where the usual stores front on to the road. Gregori slows the car. Both hands on the wheel. One of his pistols in the door side pocket. He listens. He scans. He sniffs the air and looks to every doorway, at every window, at every entrance to every alley and lane.

‘This is nice,’ Cassie says. ‘If you like crappy quaint northern towns, which previously to now I positively hated, but strangely am now finding myself…’

‘No speak.’

He cuts her off. She falls silent, thinking she was right, he wouldn’t turn her round and tug her knickers aside. He would literally just tell her to stop talking.

‘We listen now,’ he says quietly. ‘What do we see? What do we smell? We look to the doors. Windows. Is people watching us? Is people here? Is things here?’

‘No, Gregoreeee,’ the boy says.

Cassie knows there are no hosts here. She’s got them all massing a few miles south of here with Daudi. Or at least, that’s what she told the boy to do. ‘The things don’t hurt us anyway,’ she says quietly.

Gregori grunts but stays silent. Staring out and using his senses.

‘They helped us in that hotel. Remember? When the Albanian men were going to…’

‘I remember,’ he says bluntly. ‘I get out. I look. Stay here.’

‘Really? There’s nobody here. Okay, fine.’

He gets out and closes the door quietly before moving out to scan and listen.

‘Howie is at the fort,’ the boy says from behind her.

‘Yep, you said before,’ she murmurs and deploys the selfish-bitch gene to resist the urge to turn and show utter love to everything the boy says. She swallows. Her eyes looking left and right while waiting for it to respond.

‘Howie has one day.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘We can kill him now.’

‘Sure.’

‘We have many now. More than before.’

‘Okay dokay. Good luck with that,’ she says, checking her nails. ‘Question,’ she finally turns to smile at the child. ‘Am I infected?’

The boy stares at her.

‘With what the boy has? Do I have it?’

A double-edged question. She just referred to the boy in the third person thereby distinguishing the infection from the human it exists within.

‘Yes.’

‘Why aren’t my eyes red?’

‘You have a rare genetic type that has mutated what we are to become something different but the same.’

‘Okay. We need to work on your sentence structure, but I think I understand. Is it like a cold? You know, when people get colds? That’s a virus too. One person might react differently to another person. Like one could have a sore throat and another could have a blocked nose. No, hang on. You’d get immunity to the cold as otherwise we’d all just always have colds wouldn’t we. So, you get a cold, get ill, but then get immune to it, then the cold mutates, or changes and we get it again, but in a different way. There were people like that who always had colds or coughs, then some would get chest infections and get really sick whereas some people never got anything. Bloody hell, where’s Google when you need it. Is Google still working? Ah, no of course not. We tried downloading music didn’t we but there was no connection. Got it. Is Howie infected?

‘Yes.’

‘Can you control Howie?’

‘No. Howie is not the one true race. We are the one true race. We do not cause people to suffer…’

‘Honestly, you can stop the propaganda with me. I get it. I’m in. I’m sold. So, Howie has a mutated version of the virus too. Interesting. Can you control me? Like you do with normal hosts?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why am I not controlled like them?’

The boy stares at her. The infection within so clearly struggling to answer the question. It knows the answer. It knows many things. Trillions of facts. Countless streams of data.

‘You don’t know what you are do you,’ she says softly, seeing the uncertainty. Like a precocious gifted child able to recite vast swathes of impressive literature without any idea what it means. ‘You said Marcy was a host.’

‘Yes.’

‘Now Marcy is not a host. Are her eyes red?’

‘No.’

‘Were they red before?’

‘Yes.’

‘When Marcy was a host, was she controlled like Daudi?’

‘No.’

‘Did Marcy retain her own mind when she was infected? Could she think for herself? Could she remember who she was and talk, like we are now?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m like Marcy then. I’m infected, but my genetic structure has mutated the virus, so I am able to think and be me.’ She thinks for a second before smiling that bright smile. The same one she used at breakfast. ‘Great! Thanks for the chat…’

‘Howie is at the fort. He has one day…’ the boy cuts off as Cassie ignores him and gets out the car. Calling over to Gregori with that cheery voice.

‘Are we safe my handsome lover?’

‘Yes,’ Gregori calls.

‘Bingo. Out you get then my little squidgy potato,’ she opens the boy’s door and leans in to unclasp his seatbelt.

‘We can send many.’

‘Yeah? And how many hosts will you lose in the process? Even if you win you might lose another ten thousand. You might think that’s okay but those ten thousands soon add up. And what if he escapes? He’ll get angrier and keep coming back and all that time we’re losing our hosts and diminishing what we are.’ She sets off down the road, holding the boy on her hip while pointing to the shop she wants Gregori to open first. ‘That one please! They do these lovely bath bombs and candles.’

‘Bomb?’ Gregori asks in alarm.

‘It’s like this ball of smelly stuff you put in the bath. I’ll show you, they’re lovely. We’ll put some candles on and have a bath later. Right, down you get my lovely. You’re heavier than a heavy thing.’

She plonks the child down and walks on, feeling the urge to rush back and pick him back up and smother him in kisses. The infection watches her and despite that staggering wealth of knowledge, it cannot grasp why Cassie is being different. It triggers the release of chemicals within her, pumping her full of endorphins and she feels that urge inside grow. The absolute need to always and only ever love the boy. She has to turn back and cuddle him. She has to show him adoration.

She clenches her hands and drives her nails into her palms while grinding her teeth to resist, deploying the selfish-bitch gene to counter what she is being made to feel. A silent battle of wills in an empty street. The boy glaring at her. His fists balled at his side. His face a mask of a tantrum waiting to detonate. She faces away, the veins pushing through her forehead, through her neck. Her breathing coming harder. Just seconds. Just mere seconds while Gregori looks for bombs attached to bathtubs.

Still she refuses to turn back and the boy’s face flushes red. The infection inside knowing it has triggered the chemicals that will make her love the child.

‘Pull it back,’ she says quietly. Gregori turns. ‘Pull it back,’ she says again. Gregori looks about, trying to figure out what he has to pull then she spins to face the boy. ‘DO NOT PLAY ME…PULL IT BACK…’

Gregori sees it. The thing inside the boy’s eyes. That look. That expression. The way the child is flushing red with a tantrum with his little fists balled at his sides. Gregori stiffens, tightening the grip on his pistol.

‘It go. Now,’ he growls the words out, deep and low.

Cassie lifts her chin. Emboldened at having Gregori at her back. ‘We’re in this together. Pull it back…’

‘You go,’ Gregori says, thumbing the hammer back on the pistol that starts to rise to take aim. ‘I make you go.’

The stand-off holds. An unstoppable force against an immovable object.

The boy the infection.

The woman the nurturer.

The man the protector.

The boy grins. His face lighting up. His eyes his own and the tension fades back as Cassie sags on the spot to gasp air before rushing over to hoist him up. Gregori releases the hammer, grunting in satisfaction at the thought he made the bad thing go away because the boy will be a boy, not a killer.

He turns back to the shop door and Cassie swallows, holding the child close, her whole body trembling from the chemicals inside. A faint smile touching her lips at the first step towards getting what she wants.

Chapter Ten

The man reaches the crest of the hill and comes to a stop to stare down upon the village below. If anyone looks up, they will see only him and not the many thousands of hosts gathered behind him on the other side of the hill.

The man, and the infection within him feel the sunlight of the new day bearing down. They hear the birds singing and pay no heed because neither the birds, nor any other wildlife, are of interest to them.

Only the village below and the man inhales deeply. Filling his lungs with air that carry scent into his brain now changed and able to detect and discern things he previously could not. He catches the scent of woodsmoke and knows that smell means there are people here, and as his gaze sweeps over the village, so he spots a family in the rear garden of a cottage at the base of the hill. They look like stick figures from this distance. Two adults and some children. The man watches them for a few seconds then sweeps his gaze on, spotting someone else rushing through the village streets and a spire of smoke coming from a chimney.

He pays no thought to their lives or to who they are. The concept does not register. The idealogy of it simply does not exist to him or the infection within him. The only thing that matters is the primary function to survive. And to survive they must take more hosts. He sets off down the hillside. Building from a walk to a run and if anyone looks up, they will see only him. That is until the many thousands of hosts breach the apex of the hill and start pouring down it. Filling the fields and meadows with darkness that seems to ripple and snake as the lines and ranks keep coming. They keep coming and coming. Thousands of them and so many that even the family in the garden of the cottage finally spot them. They cry out and run inside. Locking doors and barricading windows. Grabbing knives and an old shotgun while telling their children to be silent.

But the end is ordained, and they will be taken. Because the man, and the infection within him, have a simple plan to move forever forward and take everything in their path.

Chapter Eleven

Time does not exist. It is an abstract notion. A concept. An idea. A thing invented to measure the passage of life in accordance with the motion of the planet.

Time does not exist, and yet there is never enough of it.

‘Was Howie’s dad a spy?’ Marcy asked Marion in the kitchen once they got in from the standoff on the beach.

Marion shook her head while pouring water into the coffee mugs from the pan she took from Paula who was just holding it, still too stunned to think. ‘Howard wasn’t a spy. Not like that. The Office of Fiscal Studies is a government department within Her Majesties Treasury Department. It’s an official department with ministerial directives…’

‘That’s who my dad worked for,’ Howie said.

‘He did,’ Marion said. ‘As they all do. Henry, George, Frank, Kyle…’

‘And who’s that pretty woman?’ Marcy asked.

‘Pretty woman? Oh Carmen. She’s lovely.’

Sixteen people, a dog and a horse need to eat, drink and either wash or, in the case of Jess, be hosed and rubbed down, and that all takes time.

‘Originally, it was Henry as the CO, George, Frank and Kyle. They were very active too. Henry and George are fluent in Russian, some Arabic dialects, all manner of things. So they spent a lot of time assisting Russians to defect. Then of course, the cold war ended, and Europe expanded which shifted the attention from military to organised crime. Gun running. Human trafficking. Whatever the priority was. By that time, Dave and Carmen were with the team and Kyle had retired but was still working free-lance. Howard was different though. He was what they call a handler. If Henry or Georgy had managed to bring someone in from another country, then it was Howard that ran them. Some of those people were still in contact with their old sources back wherever they came from, so it was vital they had someone to pass that intelligence on to. Howard was a middle man that facilitated the flow of communications.’

‘The cake shop,’ Howie muttered, closing his eyes.

‘Cake shop?’ Paula asked.

‘We used to go this cake shop. Like a father and son thing…in the next village from Boroughfare, but I’d stay in the car and eat it while he went off to talk to an old mate for ten minutes…’

‘Howie, that might well have been true,’ Marion said. ‘Your father was very well connected. But,’ she paused for a second. ‘Howard wasn’t field trained. He hated guns, he could fire one, but he was never trained like say Frank is, or George. In a way, Howard was always slightly separate to the team. Like in a support role I guess you would call it.’

‘He retired though. And he left that job years ago. He worked for a telecommunications company.’

‘That was a ruse to break his connections because Howard needed a company behind him. The company he worked for, they were real, but he never actually worked for them. He was just on their books as a consultant, and, according to Georgy, that’s really quite common.’

‘Uncle George was a spy,’ Paula said, almost to herself. ‘Jesus,’ she looked at Howie, widening her eyes.

‘Did my mother know?’ Howie asked.

‘She did, yes,’ Marion said. ‘I was always briefed when Georgy went on a mission. That said, Howard was not deployed as much and as far as I know, he didn’t leave the UK a great deal either. Perhaps Georgy or Henry will know more. I am sorry, Howie. Your father would never have intended to deceive you, it’s just the nature of what they did. I’m afraid that’s all I can really say. You’ll have to ask Henry if you have more questions. Now? Shall I make something to eat?’

Assault rifles and pistols need to be stripped, cleaned, oiled and made ready. New clothing needs to be sourced, not just for now but for the days ahead too. That means kitbags have to be emptied, cleaned and re-filled with hygiene kits, new clothes, underwear, razors, shaving gel, toothbrushes, paste, flannels and soaps. They need foot powder and deodorant, and of course hair bands. You can never have enough hair bands.

That all takes time, and time is the one thing they will never have enough of, and so the shower in the last house on the bay is turned on and then stays on as they take turns to run up the stairs and wash under the freezing flow.

‘SHIT! THAT’S SO COLD,’ Tappy yelps, shivering then bracing to wash quickly while outside the shower Charlie towels herself dry, thankful that she doesn’t have long hair to wash anymore, and as they go into a side room to dress so Danny goes in to shower.

‘IT’S COLD,’ he cries out, shivering and bracing under the flow. Mo comes in. Danny goes out. Mo washes. Danny dresses. Booker goes in. Mo goes out. In and out. Undress. Wash. Dress.

‘This is so nice,’ Cookey says in the kitchen, wolfing a bowl of delicious food down. Vegetables and beans and meats and things he has no clue about all in a rich sauce made by their new favourite person, Aunt Marion.

‘So nice,’ Blowers says, standing next to him.

‘Is there any left?’ Tappy asks, coming back in all pink and freshly scrubbed with wet hair pulled back. Danny and Mo rush in. Booker a few seconds behind them. Nick and Maddox.

‘So nice,’ Charlie says.

‘So nice,’ Tappy says.

‘Is,’ Blowers says.

‘Any left?’ Nick asks.

‘So nice,’ Charlie says.

‘Is,’ Blowers says.

Marion watches them, shaking her head at the way they stand all together holding bowls in one hand while lifting and lowering spoons.

‘I think Lilly hates me,’ Nick says, eating away.

‘She doesn’t,’ Charlie says, eating away.

‘She was busy,’ Tappy says, eating away. ‘This is so nice.’

‘She literally didn’t even smile,’ Nick says.

‘She was surrounded by dozens of people with machine guns all arguing while trying to big a build a big wall and run a fort,’ Charlie says. ‘And you try smiling when you know the two most dangerous men in the whole country are having a bust up.’

‘Was that the young lady with the blond hair?’ Marion asks. ‘I think she was rather caught out by our arrival my dear.’

‘She was different,’ he says.

‘Of course she’s different,’ Charlie says. ‘There’s a lot going on, what did you expect? That she’ll run into your arms?’

Nick pauses thinking that actually, that was what he was hoping for.

‘She was busy,’ Tappy says again.

‘Haven’t seen Tamarra yet,’ Booker says as many people all turn to look at him.

‘Full of shit,’ Tappy murmurs.

‘Language,’ Blowers says.

‘Sorry,’ Tappy says, nodding at Marion.

‘Quite alright my dear,’ she says and can’t help herself, the opening is right there, the invitation to ask and hear that response. ‘How’s the food?’

‘So nice,’ many people say all at the same time.

‘Right,’ Paula announces, striding in with a big black marker pen. ‘Your bags are all marked with your names. How’s that for organising? And they’re all stocked too. Socks, underwear…blah blah you name it you’ve got it, including sanitary products for the ladies.’

‘My period’s due actually,’ Tappy says.

‘Urgh! Eating,’ Cookey says.

‘Gross,’ Booker says.

‘Tappy,’ Blowers tuts as Maddox shudders and Nick shakes his head in distaste.

‘Are you being serious?’ Tappy asks, looking at them all.

‘We’re eating,’ Cookey says.

‘So?’

‘It’s gross,’ Nick says.

‘It’s just a period.’

‘Urgh! Tappy,’ Cookey says, turning away. ‘Vagina blood,’ he shudders.

‘Don’t say that,’ Nick says.

‘Cookey,’ Blowers groans.

‘Gross, dude,’ Booker says, screwing his face up.

‘You kill people for a living,’ Tappy tells them. ‘With axes and knives.’

‘Yeah but dude,’ Booker says.

‘It’s not vagina blood though,’ Cookey says.

‘Bruv,’ Mo cuts in. ‘Stop saying vagina blood.’

‘You just said vagina blood,’ Cookey retorts.

‘Urgh stop,’ Blowers says. ‘So gross.’

‘So gross,’ Nick says.

‘Gross,’ Maddox says.

‘Sexist twats,’ Tappy says. ‘You’re happy poking your dicks in ‘em when they ain’t bleeding though aren’t you…’

‘Urgh no! Gross,’ Cookey says as the others all screw their faces up and turn away.

‘Ahem,’ Marion says politely.

‘Oh my god, I am so sorry,’ Tappy says, wincing. ‘Forgot you were there, Marion.’

‘It’s fine. How’s the food?’

‘So nice,’ Charlie says.

‘So nice,’ Cookey says.

‘Is,’ Blowers says as Marion winks to Paula who marvels at this weird new world and heads outside to see Howie and the elders all eating eagerly from big bowls.

‘This is so nice,’ Howie says.

‘So nice,’ Clarence says.

‘Is,’ Roy says.

‘Love your aunt Marion,’ Marcy says.

‘So nice,’ Howie says.

‘Bags are all sorted,’ Paula says, holding the pen up. ‘And named too. With names. Got everything you need including sanitary products for the ladies.’

‘Ah cool, I’m due on if Howie hasn’t put a zombie baby in my belly,’ Marcy says.

‘Marcy!’ Howie says.

‘What? We’re not using anything, and Reggie said the pill probably won’t work on us now.’

‘Not that. The period thing. We’re eating.’

‘Gross,’ Clarence says as Reginald shudders while they all hold their bowls with one hand and lift and lower their spoons with the others. Paula blinks and turns from them to the lads inside all doing the exact same thing.

‘How’s the food?’ she asks.

‘So nice,’ Howie says eagerly.

‘So nice,’ Marcy says.

‘Is,’ Roy says.

‘Cool,’ Paula says, trapped in the abstract and surreal for a long few seconds before suddenly thinking of something that makes her turn back to the lads. ‘Did you hear that you lot?’

‘What?’ Blowers asks as many people holding bowls all look at her.

‘Reggie said the pill probably won’t work on us now.’

‘What pill?’ Blowers asks.

‘The contraceptive pill,’ Paula says.

‘I’m not on the contraceptive pill,’ Blowers says.

‘Not you! Us. Women. Charlie and Tappy.’

‘Oh,’ Blowers says.

‘Use condoms,’ Paula tells them.

‘For what?’ Tappy asks.

‘For sex.’

‘I’m not having sex,’ she says, looking at Charlie.

‘I’m not either. Not with my bleeding vagina.’

‘Charlie!’ Cookey says.

‘Gross,’ Nick says.

‘Dude,’ Booker says.

‘What they talking about?’ Marcy asks from the garden.

‘I told them to use condoms if they have sex and Charlie and Tappy said they’re not having sex with bleeding vaginas.’

‘Paula!’ Howie groans.

‘Gross,’ Clarence says.

‘How’s the food?’ Paula and Marion ask at the same time.

‘So nice,’ many people reply eagerly.

‘Is,’ Blowers and Roy say together.

‘Jesus,’ Paula says, smiling as she shares a look with Marion. ‘See what I’ve got to deal with?’

‘When are you due on?’ Marcy asks Paula as the others groan and shuffle about with distaste.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Paula says. ‘Lost track with all this.’

‘I bet we synchronise,’ Marcy says, waggling her spoon at Paula. ‘CHARLIE, TAPPY? I SAID I BET WE SYNCHRONISE OUR PERIODS.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Howie says.

‘Gross,’ Blowers says.

‘What with the whole hive mind thingy,’ Marcy continues. ‘Then you’ll have four very angry and emotional women to deal with,’ she adds with a look at Howie.

‘That’s a bit sexist,’ Paula says. ‘We’re not all emotional and angry.’

‘I bloody am,’ Marcy says. ‘You wait and see,’ she tells Howie.

‘Can’t wait,’ Howie mumbles. ‘Right. Finished. That was so nice.’

‘So nice,’ Clarence says.

‘Is,’ Roy says, finishing his bowl.

‘Plan,’ Howie announces. ‘Lads, come out so you can hear. We need to go over and speak to Henry and Lilly. That’ll be me, Paula, Clarence and Reginald, and Dave of course. Marcy?’

‘Yep, I want to hear it.’

‘Okay, Roy? What do you want to do? We still need the vehicles checked and fuelled.’

‘Put me down for that with Tappy and Nick,’ Roy says. ‘And I might pop down to see Ann at the hospital and have a closer look at that wall. Very clever you know. All those containers the same size, all slotting together. And I’m quite interested in the crane capacities too and how they’re plugging the gaps, and how they calculated for the curvature.’

‘Knock yourself out. Blowers, can you organise getting new supplies from the armoury please.’

‘Will do.’

‘Everyone else stay close in case we need to deploy quickly. Help Tappy and Nick clean the vehicles and re-stock the van. Radios on.’

‘And don’t fight the locals,’ Clarence adds.

‘Fight the locals?’ Marcy asks.

‘It’s an army thing,’ Clarence says as Blowers and a few others nod knowingly.

‘Marion?’ Paula says, ‘ready to go?’

‘Do you need me there?’ Marion asks, figuring what the first meeting will be like. ‘I was thinking I could stay here and clean the kitchen.’

‘We can’t ask you to do that,’ Paula says.

‘Nobody is asking me my dear. You go on and sort your business. One of these handsome young men can escort me over later if need be.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I am. You carry on. I’ll make some tea and potter about here.’

‘Okay,’ Paula says. ‘Ready when you are, Howie.’

The small team sling rifles and set forth through the house and back out into the bay as they head down the busy road. Bodies washed. Bellies filled but with minds still racing to keep up with the twists and changes.

Howie walks on with Dave at his side. Paula, Marcy and Clarence with them. From the road to the beach and down past the line of cars and people waiting to be processed and such is his absorption he doesn’t notice the sheer number of people turning to watch them go by or hear the mutterings that whisper his name.

‘Listen chaps,’ Reginald says, choosing his words. ‘I appreciate there’s been a lot going on, but we must remain calm and in control now. And I would suggest we do not mention Cassie or Marcy and I turning or anything else. Not until we know what we are dealing with.’

‘What do we say?’ Paula asks.

‘We maintain a truthful course and say the infection is evolving and we fear it will gain sentience, and that we are fighting it, but we do not say anything else about our own connections. Not yet.’

‘I’m not lying to my uncle George.’

‘Forgive me, Paula, but neither you nor Howie knew the true vocations of either Howard or George. Of course, they had valid reasons not to say. But right now, I would counsel we have our own reasons not to say. We have to be sure about every step we take now, and we do not have a great deal of time either.’

Time. It all comes back to time and that pervading pressure once more shows true. That urge to be forever in motion and always going forward.

‘Howie,’ Reginald says, seeing that brooding aura in Howie’s eyes as they wait for a boat on the shore.

‘I’ll stay calm.’

Reginald grunts as they stare across the glittering sea to the fort they’ve given so much for knowing full well that asking Howie to remain calm is like asking Cookey not to make dick jokes.

* * *

Across that glittering sea, another boat nudges the beach as Mary jumps the prow and reaches back to hold it steady for the others. ‘Need a hand, Father?’

‘Mary, will ye quit calling me Father,’ Kyle says, ignoring her hand to vault the front and land on the shore and he too grabs the prow for Lilly and Norman to jump out.

‘Thanks, Sandy,’ Mary says as the boat starts chugging back to turn. ‘Right, Blondie, what’s the crack? We’re talking to Henry and Howie and then what?’

‘I have no idea,’ Lilly says.

‘I think you do,’ Norman murmurs, lifting his eyebrows at Lilly with a look as they head towards the gate. ‘Listen, whatever happens, just stay calm and in control. Getting wound up and gobbing off won’t help anything.’

‘Why do I have the feeling you mean me when you say that?’ Mary asks.

‘Because I do mean you, Mary.’

‘Ach, I’m calm as you like.’

‘Mary,’ Norman says.

‘Said I’m fine, Norman. Stop your worrying. Where are we having this chat anyway? Over in the canteen?’

‘No,’ Norman says before Lilly can reply. ‘I’d suggest our offices. It’s a lot quieter, we can speak openly, and it also puts us at a psychological advantage as it’s our home ground. Not that we need a psychological advantage because we’re just having a chat and not getting wound up…Mary.’

‘Hearing you loud and clear there, Normski.’

‘You are back,’ Lenski calls, striding over as they start across the fort towards the offices. ‘Howie, he come back yes? Does he know about father and Dave? Is he angry?’

‘I thought he took it well all things considering,’ Kyle says.

‘Maddox? He is back too?’ Lenski asks with a pensive look.

Lilly nods, ‘not Blinky though,’ she thinks back to the night she woke when she knew in her gut that Blinky was dead from the connection she shares. And that single thought right there makes her pause to examine if that connection is still holding. How would she know? She hasn’t felt anything about them since Blinky died.

‘Maddox is your fella isn’t he?’ Mary asks.

‘No,’ Lenski says bluntly. ‘We had sex. That was it. Nothing more.’

‘Right, fair play,’ Mary says, sharing a look with Norman while Lilly thinks maybe that’s the best approach to make her brain think of Nick the same way. They had sex. That was it. Nothing more.

‘We have meeting now?’ Lenski asks. ‘In office yes? I make room. Is all ready. I ask Damsa to bring Henry over.’

* * *

Damsa smiles at the table of armed people as she walks into the canteen. The sight of them not unfamiliar from spending so much time on military bases in Afghanistan and seeing mercenaries, private soldiers and Special Forces. ‘Forgive my intrusion,’ she smiles as she speaks, her open face so calming and pleasant. ‘I have been asked to take you over to the offices.’

‘Of course, glad to,’ George says, pushing his chair back. ‘Ladies, that was marvellous tea, thank you kindly,’ he calls to the counter then follows the others out into the bright sun of a glorious day and a fort filled with activity. The people they saw with pistols in holsters now all working on constructing new wooden framed structures in the area of all the tents. New people moving about within those lanes, dumping bags under cover before stopping to look about and chat with each other.

‘It’s a bit like a refugee camp,’ Carmen says quietly as they follow Damsa.

‘That is exactly what it is,’ George says. ‘Albeit a very organised one. I did expect far worse than this.’

‘I think we all did,’ Henry says, dropping back a step to speak quietly to his team. ‘We need to remain sharp in this meeting, and that means no stupid comments, Frank.’

‘Got it,’ Frank says.

‘Or at least try and limit them to an absolute minimum,’ Henry adds.

‘Got it.’

‘Just give him food,’ Carmen says. ‘That shuts him up.’

‘I like food,’ Frank says. ‘And making stupid comments. But I prefer food.’

Chapter Twelve

Fifteen chairs about the big table in the old police offices. Fifteen mugs filled with coffee and fifteen people now gathering about that big table with awkwardly polite conversations. Lilly at the head. Lenski on one side. Norman on her other. Mary and Kyle completing that end. Henry’s team on the other side opposite Howie. Henry in the middle. Howie’s team on the other side.

Dave stands behind Howie with his back to the wall, and whether that is a strategic placement, or a show of loyalty is not mentioned, but it is noticed.

‘Right, well, er, here we are then,’ Norman says, thereby assuming the role of chairperson by being the first person to speak out into the tactical silence. But then he is at the head of the table and therefore claimed that psychological advantage instantly, which was also not unnoticed by either Henry or Reginald. ‘Great. Everyone got coffee? Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Norman Calloway. I was a QC barrister before er, well, before this happened. I arrived here a few days ago and have been assisting Lilly and the others with getting the fort up and running. I’m certainly by no means…sorry, yes? Er Frank is it?’ he asks as Frank lifts a tactical hand with a tactical interruption.

‘Sorry, anyone opening them biscuits?’ Frank asks, nodding at the packets in the middle of the table.

‘Oh right, no of course, please help yourself. There’s digestives and…er…some custard creams I believe.’

‘I was eyeing those chocolate hobnobs,’ Frank says.

‘Hobnobs. Yes. Well, please carry on,’ Norman says as everyone watches Frank lean over to grab the hobnobs then set about trying to open the sealed packet by fiddling and plucking at the ends for a few very long seconds.

‘Jesus,’ Carmen says, leaning over to draw a knife from her belt and she reaches over to slice the packet open.

‘Cheers,’ Frank says, taking a chocolate hobnob whole in his mouth that he starts crunching loudly. ‘Hobnob?’ he asks Carmen. She shakes her head. ‘Hobnob?’ he asks Henry and George.

‘I’m fine, old chap,’ George says.

‘Hobnob?’ Frank asks, holding them out for the people opposite.

‘Might have one,’ Clarence says with a tactical decision to disrupt the supply chain of the other team. He leans over to take one, mouthing it whole and crunching loudly.

‘Para?’ Frank asks with a mouthful.

‘Yeah,’ Clarence replies with a mouthful. ‘You?’

‘Was. Before I did this. Big Chris’s unit weren’t you? I heard he had a big lad back in the day.’

Clarence nods. ‘You knew him?’

‘Everyone knows Big Chris,’ Frank says, mouthing another hobnob while offering the packet to Clarence who takes another. ‘He make it?’

Clarence shakes his head, showing regret and remorse in that soldierly way. ‘No. Died here actually.’

Frank tuts. Clarence tuts and the air fills with the sound of chocolate hobnobs being crunched. ‘Hobnob?’ Frank asks, offering the packet to the other side in a tactical show of being nice.

‘Ach, ye know what, I’m partial to a hobnob I am,’ Mary says, figuring that the other two sides shouldn’t get all the supply of hobnobs and that her side need to be progressive in these matters. She stands up to reach over and takes one whole, crunching loudly. ‘You were in the army before being a spy then?’

‘I’m not a spy,’ Frank says with a mouthful. ‘But yeah, I was.’

‘Ah,’ Mary says with a mouthful, taking another biscuit before sitting back down. Clarence does the same as Frank lowers into his seat with a strategic victory already achieved by retaining possession of the packet, albeit the now much emptier packet.

‘Okay, great,’ Norman says with a polite smile, thereby once more pulling attention back to the head of the table. ‘Er, so, I’m guessing we have a few things to go through, but can I just say that I’ve heard incredible things about all of you. Mr Howie, Lilly has spoken very highly of you and the things you are doing, and likewise, Henry, Kyle has given us an idea of his former role within your organisation and I think we’re all very happy to have you here,’ he looks at his side who all nod and murmur.

‘Aye, it’s grand to see you all again,’ Kyle says to Henry’s side before shifting his view to Howie’s side. ‘And I’m sorry for your loss. Blinky was a fine soldier,’ he says as Frank grunts softly and shifts in his seat.

‘Thank you,’ Reginald says, not wishing to be outdone on the politeness scale. ‘Yes, a very great tragedy and even more so given the circumstances of her demise. But I would like to say that how pleased we are that Lilly has such a strong and functioning unit supporting her, and Henry of course, it was somewhat tense when we met, but the lovely Marion has kindly given us all some background so we may better understand things.’

‘Very nice to meet you too, Reginald,’ Henry says, sliding effortlessly into full diplomacy mode following Norman and Reginald’s introductions. ‘My name is Henry, and yes, Lilly, I must say your fort here is a very pleasant surprise and I am very glad Kyle has given you his support in structuring a functioning environment so soon after the outbreak.’

‘Has he told you the word of god yet?’ Frank mutters as Kyle rolls his eyes. Henry pauses. Carmen punches Frank in the leg. Frank says ow and eats another hobnob.

‘Great. Well, I am sure we have a lot to discuss,’ Norman says. ‘I understand there are some connections between some of you. Is that something that is best discussed now?’

‘You said there’s been a development,’ Lilly says, speaking for the first time and so different she is now too. Paula looks at her, struggling to see the same girl that was here before.

‘Indeed. Yes,’ Reginald says. ‘There has indeed been a development.’

‘Yeah, listen, sorry but I’ve got to know,’ Howie says, leaning further over the table to stare at Henry. ‘Did you know?’

‘Perhaps we should discuss things in order,’ Reginald says, turning his head to look at Howie.

‘Did I know what?’ Henry asks.

‘Did you know it was coming?’ Howie asks.

‘Howie,’ Reginald says softly.

‘They knew,’ Lilly says.

‘Lilly,’ Norman says softly.

Howie stirs in his seat and swallows before continuing. ‘What did you know?’

‘We knew very little.’

‘But you knew,’ Howie says.

‘He got a message to Kyle telling him to stay close,’ Lilly says.

Howie grunts and glances at Kyle. ‘Yeah, he’s good at keeping secrets. Bit like everyone else in here…’

‘That better not be a dig at Blondie there, Howie.’

‘Mr Howie,’ Dave says.

‘Ah, feck off. He’s not my Mr Howie now is he.’

‘I’ll ask you again,’ Howie says, ignoring Mary. ‘What did you know?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Henry says. ‘You expect me to walk into a room full of people and explain myself? That’s not how this works I’m afraid.’

‘Where have you been?’ Paula asks, looking at her uncle. ‘It’s been over three weeks.’

‘They have a protocol,’ Lilly replies.

‘What protocol?’ Howie asks.

‘I think we’re getting off track here,’ Henry says.

‘What protocol?’ Howie asks again.

‘Howie,’ Reginald cuts in, sensing the charge rising in the room.

‘Perhaps we can ease things back a little,’ Norman suggests.

‘What fucking protocol?’ Howie asks.

‘Don’t start swearing, lad,’ Frank warns, pointing half a hobnob at Howie.

Henry draws air, his features tightening. ‘In the event of a world-ending scenario the procedure is to lay low for the first four weeks and let the initial devastation play out.’

Howie nods while offering a smile and scratching his nose. ‘Right. Yeah, got it…only that kinda sounds like hiding to me.’

‘That is exactly what it sounds like,’ Lilly says. ‘And you’re professionals too. Trained for events like this.’

‘Nobody is trained for something like this,’ Henry counters.

‘And you think we are?’ Howie asks. ‘I worked in a fucking supermarket. Lilly was at school…’

‘Blondie’s right, you’re bloody trained for this and you hid away.’

‘We did not hide,’ Henry says firmly. ‘There are tactical decisions and strategies we adhere to in the event of…’

‘What fecking tactics are there for zombies? Ye get guns and shoot the fecking things is what you do. Ach, but then ye knew it was coming didn’t you eh? Ye got a message to the father telling him something was coming…’

‘Mary,’ Kyle says. ‘Will ye ease it back a touch.’

‘Mary my arse. He bloody knew. They knew and they hid while Blondie here watched her family die then you turn up here being all fecking la-de-da…’

‘Mary,’ Norman says.

‘I’ll not be Mary’d, Norman. We’ve been through hell we have, and they’re trained for this but they hid away then turn up thinking they got the right to walk in and know things. Stuff that. You’ve no right here lads. None at all. In fact, you give me one good reason why I don’t take your guns and shove them up ye arses.’

‘Because you’d lose,’ Frank says simply, which perhaps isn’t the smartest thing to say given the tension in the air right now.

‘YOU WANNA SEE ME TRY?’ Mary yells. ‘Where do ye think you are? And the hell do ye think built that wall? Blondie did. And you?’ she shouts, pointing at Howie. ‘You fecked off and left Blondie on her own. Who does that? Where were you when she threw grenades into a room full of kiddies and stabbed a guy in the throat for making her suck his dick? Where were you when she got in a flimsy little boat and tried to get back to the fort in the storm? You know what she did? Do ye know what happened?’

‘Mary,’ Lilly says.

‘The fecking boat tipped us over and she fecking swam! She grabbed me and we swam and got into the fort and she grabs a gun and kills a man trying to start a riot …then five minutes after that she’s building that canteen out there so they’s all got somewhere dry to eat. Ach, the lot of ye. The lot of ye are dirty scheming shits so ye are. Ye could have left one, Mr Howie. And that Nick? Where the hell was he? He fecked off with you. And you, Paula? Not one of you could have stayed?’

‘Mary, that’s enough,’ Lilly says.

‘I’ll not be quiet when I’ve something to say, Blondie. And here’s as good as time as any. You all listen to me now so you’re all very clear. This fort is Blondie’s fort, are ye hearing that? and all of you lost the fecking right to walk in here with guns thinking ye can run things. My family have more guns and we don’t fecking hide away on protocol and we don’t feck off and leave a girl on her own…ye’s should be ashamed of yourselves. Grown men. Grown women…ach,’ she trails off, shaking her head, furious to the core.

‘Finished?’ Paula asks quietly, looking at Mary. ‘Have you finished?’ she asks again, seething with anger. ‘My team killed their own families last night. That infection sent people we know against us while we are out there fighting every bloody day to keep them away from this fucking fort! Cookey had to be pinned down while Dave shot his mother, and Nick? Nick was thrown through a plate glass window by his own cousin, and that’s not to mention being tortured in a fucking army base while Blinky was shot. Everyone is suffering…’

‘Ye left her on her own,’ Mary fires back.

‘She had Lenski! She had Joan and Sam and Pea…’

‘That was after,’ Lenski jumps in, adding her voice to the escalation. ‘It was Lilly on her own when crews they take over. It was Lilly that do these things. You no here. You go. You come back. You take and you go again. We stay. We work. We build wall and make canteen.’

‘You coped! You bloody survived,’ Paula shouts back. ‘That’s what this world is now. You fight back or you die, and Lilly fought back. She found you and Kyle, and she survived so don’t you ever put that guilt on us.’

‘I think that’s enough,’ Norman says firmly, pushing to his feet. ‘I’m calling a recess. Everyone here has the right to speak and that’s fine. But we have things that need to be discussed properly.’

‘Lilly, do you really feel like that?’ Paula asks.

‘Aye, she bloody does.’

‘Let her speak for herself then,’ Paula shouts.

‘I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself,’ Lilly says coldly, standing up. ‘Mary is right. You left. Whether that was right or wrong, or whether you had reasons or not, and whether those reasons were valid is subjective to each of us. But you did leave, that was your collective choice and you made it.’ She stands up from the table. Hardened and changed and not the girl they knew before. She walks out with her team. Kyle smiling apologetically to Henry as he rushes after her.

Reginald goes next, leading Howie and their side from the room. A moment passes. A moment of stillness only broken by Frank creaking the table as he leans over to get another biscuit.

‘It’s going well then,’ he remarks mildly.

Henry inclines his head, reaching over to get a biscuit. ‘Seems like they have a few issues to resolve.’

‘People,’ George says, now taking a biscuit. ‘People always have issues, and don’t tell Marion I’m eating biscuits. She says they make me fart.’

‘They do make you fart,’ Henry says as the air fills with crunches.

Chapter Thirteen

‘Tappy and Nick…you two sort the vehicles out with Roy. Everyone else with me over to the armoury. Tappy, I know you want to see the fort, but we need the Saxon ready to go.’

‘Sure,’ she says. ‘I mean yes, Sergeant. Or is it sir now?’ she asks with cheeky grin.

‘Third in command,’ Cookey says, grinning at his friend.

‘Bellends, move out,’ Blowers says. ‘Danny, you don’t need to carry your rifle to the front. Sling it and remember to smile and say hello. Use sir and ma’am. Heads up, backs straight, we move as one unit in order, Booker, hands out of your pockets, mate and tuck your shirt in.’

From the house to the road. Sergeant Blowers in the lead and the others spread out behind him. They only number seven but the uniformity makes them look more. Not only that but the very tough looking young man in the eye patch leading them certainly adds a visual spectacle.

Blowers doesn’t give a shit about being blind in one eye. Losing body parts is just an inconvenience. What he cares about is duty, honour, loyalty, having a crack with his mates, not failing and Meredith. The girl. Not the dog. He thinks of the dog as Bear now and feels a thing inside when the others call her Meredith.

He’s also kept it to himself. He doesn’t know why. Only that there wasn’t the right time to mention it, then things happened, time ran on and now it’s a bit weird to bring it up, and if anything, he’s glad he did. It’s his. Just his. A thing for him and no one else, and she’s always there too. When it gets dark and nasty. When it gets cold and lonely. When he’s down and hurting and feels like he can’t go on. That’s when she comes to his mind and gives him the energy to get up and keep going.

Thinking about the dog makes him turn to see her sitting in the back of the Saxon. He thought she’d go with the boss, but she held back and she’s doing it again now. Maybe she senses something is wrong with Nick.

Meredith does sense something’s wrong with Nick and watches him closely, tracking him with her big brown eyes as he moves to the back of the Saxon and zones out again. Staring into space as he thinks back to seeing Lilly earlier and how different she was. Colder and harder. She didn’t even look at him. He drops his gaze, wondering what he’s done wrong. Wondering what he said or did or didn’t do.

Meredith licks his hand and whines softly while pushing into his body, not liking that Nick isn’t here in the now. Not in this life right here. Humans do that. They become detached from this world and the pack shouldn’t do that. She does know how to change that though and gently, ever so gently, she lifts her front end to rest her feet on his shoulders until she’s above his eyeline, dominating his vision and blasting his face with doggy breath, then she moves in with tactical licking that brings him out of his own abyss.

‘Get off,’ he chuckles, pulling his head back from the sloppy kisses but she keeps going, tracking his movements and planting big wet ones on his cheeks, sensing he’s back in the world. Here in the moment. ‘You’re so big,’ he says with a smile, looking up at her looming over him. ‘Heavy too…aren’t you…aren’t you…’

A movie poster snapshot. Endearing and raw. A searing vulnerability somehow encapsulated within that image of a soldier with his dog that melts more than a few hearts, Tappy’s included as another micro-crush looms large inside and she figures Lilly must be fucking blind. Or stupid. Or both.

‘Lucky dog.’

‘Eh?’

‘I said slobbery dog…like, she slobbers. Okay schmokay dokay, where’s the tools? Ha! You’re a tool. Get it?’ she winces at her own joke as he climbs into the Saxon to open a cubby and start dragging tools out. ‘Roy’s gone to get oil and fuel, and to lick the wall.’

‘Okay,’ Nick says, already sinking back into thoughts about Lilly.

‘And to build a space rocket to take us all to Mars.’

‘Yep.’

Tappy sighs and looks at Meredith. ‘I’m not licking his face,’ she says as Meredith looks into her soul to see the truth laid bare. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Fine. I probably would lick his face.’

‘Eh?’

‘I said this is ace,’ she says, nodding at Nick. ‘Great. Good then.’

‘Access panel’s in the footwell, best if you go in from the passenger side and I’ll go in from the driver’s side.’

Two minutes later and they lie on their bellies wedged on the floor of the cabin. Tappy’s legs dangling out of the passenger door. Meredith now on Clarence’s seat supervising them and Nick wincing from the pedals digging into his side. Faces a few inches apart. ‘At least we brushed our teeth,’ Tappy says. Nick stares at her. ‘Cos we’re like really close,’ she adds as Nick looks past her then she becomes mesmerised as his lips start moving as though he’s talking very softly to himself. ‘Are you praying?’

‘What? Fuck off. I’m trying to read.’

‘Read what?’ she asks and twists round to see a big sign screwed to the bulkhead smeared with dirt and grime. ‘Oh that.’

‘Fuck it. I give up. What’s it say?’

‘Hang on,’ she reaches for a water bottle under the seat and uses it to pour over the sign, wiping some of the filth away. ‘Try now.’

‘What are you? My fucking teacher?’

‘Yep, Miss Drinkwater. Go on, try it.’

‘I’m dyslexic.’

‘So? my dad was dyslexic. Start here,’ she says, wriggling to get a finger on the first letter.

‘Tappy.’

‘Just try it.’

‘I don’t want to fucking try it.’

‘Ah go on,’ she says, giving him that slightly lop-sided grin, nodding and winking. He huffs and tuts, irritated and worried about Lilly. Cramped too, and they need to get on. ‘Fuck’s sake. I can’t, they swim about and change. Like, I thought it was an A but…now I think it might be an 8.’

‘Go with your first instinct.’

‘A then?’

‘Yep. What’s next. Don’t overthink it. Glance and look away.’

Nick looks at her then at the sign then back to her. ‘Er…C? No…hang on…’

‘You were right. It’s C. Trust yourself.’

‘I can’t do the next one.’

‘Why not?’

‘Cos the one before it is like duplicating and making that one look the same.’ She smiles. He frowns. ‘Don’t take the piss.’

‘I will take the piss,’ she says. ‘And it is the same. They’re both C…see, you were right.’

‘Are they the same? Ah fuck, like, that’s what gets me. So, if two letters are together and the same then it throws me off and I think I’m making it up, then I start panicking and…’

‘It’s cool. I get it. You start panicking and you can’t think of your own name. Wanna do the next one? Glance quickly and trust yourself.’

He glances quickly and focusses hard, both of them inches apart in the footwell of the Saxon. ‘Another C. But there was two C’s before so can you have words with three C’s? E. It was E. Is it E?’

‘Yep. E. Nailed it you clever twat. Next one?’

He glances quickly, absorbed in the now, not thinking of Lilly. ‘That’s the snake one…the S.’

‘Yep. S,’ she says, and he glances again then shows uncertainty as he looks back at her. His lips moving. ‘No no no, don’t overthink it. First instinct. Just blurt it out.’

‘Another snake one. S.’

‘Yes!’

‘Ha! Nailed it. Cheers, Tappy.’

‘Welcome. So, what’s it say?’

‘How the fuck would I know that?’ he asks as she bursts out laughing. ‘I’m not Reggie. What’s it say?’

‘A C C E S S,’ she spells the letters. ‘Access…Access Only By Authorised Persons.’

‘I’d never have got all that.’

‘You would. Anyway, we’ve got some bolts to take off. You start that side and I’ll do these.’

They set to work with grips, unfastening bolts to start removing the big panel. ‘Was your dad really dyslexic?’

‘Yep. Dad was really bad. Never stopped him though. If he couldn’t do something, he just found someone that could. He’d stop people in the street and ask them to read text messages on his phone for him, even if they were from mum nagging him about dirty pants on the floor.’

‘Yeah?’ Nick asks, ‘want me to do that one?’

‘Got it,’ she grunts again, forcing it undone. ‘Stubborn fucking thing…yeah, he was a genius with engines. You’d have loved him. Everyone loved him.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Tappy.’

‘Tappy? How’s that work then? Is that like the boss and his dad?’

She shakes her head and glances at Nick before starting on the next one. ‘My name’s Natasha. I er…I just said Tappy when we all met in that garage place. It just came out…feel like a dick now. I don’t know. I just…like I didn’t want his name to die. Ah shut up, Tash.’

‘It’s fine. Tappy suits you.’

‘That’s what Charlie said.’

‘Charlie’s never wrong.’

‘This one won’t budge, got any lubricant?’

‘Nope, let me try…Jesus, that’s stuck on. Is it threaded?’

‘Looks straight. Hang on, we’ll try together,’ she says, pushing her hands over his on the big grips. ‘Ready? Go!’

Meredith looks down and cocks her head to the side from the grunts and strains coming from the floor of the Saxon as two bodies tense and twitch and roll about as they tug and heave.

‘It moved!’ Nick gasps, ‘keep going.’

‘I am!’

‘Bit more…bit more…’

‘Stop saying more.’

‘That’s it…YES!’

‘Fuck that was hard,’ she yelps, pulling her sore hands away as a man walking by outside double-takes at the noises. ‘Was that the last one?’

‘Yep,’ Nick says. The huge metal panel now free as they drag it clear outside then crawl back in to shine torches into the wonderland inside. A hybrid engine. A one of a kind. Silence as they look for pumps and sumps, for pipes and leads, for filters and vents. Then it hits. The ripe awful wretched stench of human bodies cooked in high heat and left for weeks. Rotten and terrible. Tappy gags. Nick heaves. Both exfil rapidly, crawling free to fall out, spitting and heaving, retching and gagging as Meredith drops from the seat, shoves her head deep through the panel and inhales the wonderful smells.

Chapter Fourteen

Fifteen chairs about the big table in the old police offices and fifteen people now sitting in a relative quiet brought on by chastisement and strict orders not to be twats again, but that charge still hangs in the air.

‘Okay,’ Norman says. ‘That escalated too quickly.’

‘Just a bit,’ Paula says.

‘Absolutely, but these are troubling times, and everyone is under pressure so one might hope we are able to vent and speak openly without causing offence,’ Norman says, looking at everyone in turn, including his own side. ‘Now, forgive me for being blunt. I’m a barrister so it’s in my nature but I suggest you swallow those differences so we can speak openly. There’s too much at stake. Agreed?’

‘Of course,’ Reginald says, easing forward to show Howie that he will be taking the lead now. Especially after the chat they had during the recess, which went largely in the vein of don’t do that again and I don’t care what Mary said. Just shut up and let me work.

It does complicate matters though, Reginald thinks to himself. Mary obviously voiced some pre-existing views shared with Lilly, and Mary was right too, they do have a very sizeable force here. The Nick thing doesn’t help matters either. Damn it. Why do people feel the need to have coitus and develop emotional connections through sex? It never ends well. Never at all.

Those are definite bite marks, Henry thinks. Taking in the wounds on Howie and Clarence. He clears his throat with a pre-cursor to speaking out. ‘In answer to your questions, yes we did know this was coming. I’m sure Kyle and Marion have now explained, but I run a small team that largely undertake what is commonly known as deniable operations. Every country has them, and quite often there are multiple teams that never know about each other. Kyle worked with us, and with your father, Howie, And Frank of course too. Carmen is younger and joined the team later. Kyle then took retirement and left to pursue other interests.’

‘God-bothering.’

‘Ach, Frank.’

‘Mogadishu. Fuck off.’

‘Thank you,’ Henry says in a way that instantly silences both. ‘Kyle left at the same time Dave was brought in. That’s why they never met or worked together. Howie, your father was what we call a handler.’

‘Marion said,’ Howie says.

‘Good. That saves me explaining it. But this is important for you to know because Howard was not an operative or a soldier. He was a good man and very skilled in his own field, but he was not combat trained, Howie. I’m sorry. This must be a shock. And Paula, George here obviously could never say who he was. You mustn’t take this personally or think Howard or George lied to you in order to cause harm. They did lie, but we all have to do that. Now, if I may move things on,’ he pauses with a look around then to Norman. ‘I feel that you are perhaps looking to us for answers, but I must caution you that we have very little to give on that front. I’ll outline what we do know, but I will make it clear that this conversation must remain between us and is not to be shared. I need you all to agree to that. Do you agree?’

He pauses to look at them all with another tactical play at hand. Telling people you are sharing top-secret information makes them feel included and special and that they are gaining access to things other people do not know.

Reginald does as everyone else, nodding and murmuring that of course this confidence will be maintained, while also thinking it is a very deft move, and so the game begins as Henry adorns a serious look.

‘We heard something was going on. There’s no point saying where from as it won’t mean anything to you. What we knew was that a facility within the Swiss alps was being prepped and made-ready for a research study. That’s nothing exciting or out of the ordinary. The official word was that this research group was going to bring together key scientific personnel to determine the natures of viruses within a modern world. Again, this is normal. The CDC in the US did it all the time. The WHO did the same thing. This was UN run, but there wasn’t a great deal of interest from the intelligence and security world. Howard then heard there was some serious money behind it and we just had an instinct something wasn’t right. Trust me, when you’ve done this as long as we have you just get a feeling,’ another deft pause with a look to George who nods meaningfully.

‘As I said. The flow of intelligence was almost non-existent. We did establish that during that research study, the scientists researched the spread of certain viruses. In particular, the one that is now released. We then gained awareness that this virus existed. It was real. But then even that small flow of intelligence stopped. We could not establish who had it. Why they had it. What for. We didn’t know. The very best we could establish was that persons unknown were planning on releasing the virus with a year or so. That made us think we had time to prevent it. Then, without warning, it was released. The choices at that point were very stark. We either remain on the front line and risk death which would render us useless to anyone. Or, we follow protocol and go to ground. I’m sorry, but the decision was clear for us. I ordered my team away from their current operations and told them to get to our safe house. Howie, I spoke with your father that night. I told him to go straight to the safe house, but he and your mother chose to go for you. As we now know, you had already left and eventually you found Dave…and, well, here we are.’

He stops speaking and draws back a little with an air that suggests that while he can sympathise with the brutality of it all, this is what it is. It’s happening and they just have to get on with.

Reginald studies him, knowing he left whole chunks out and that tells him Henry is testing to see what comes back.

‘Why was Dave working at my Tesco?’ Howie asks.

‘He was placed there,’ Henry says. ‘We knew this was coming, admittedly not yet, but we knew. Dave was one of our best assets and we couldn’t risk losing him before it happened. He was therefore retired and placed back into the community. Howard arranged that, and I’m guessing that Howard told Dave to watch out for you if something happened. Who wouldn’t say that to Dave if they knew he would be close to their child?’

‘Why me. Why not close to Sarah?’

‘There was no way we would risk placing Dave in London knowing what was to come, and to be honest, Tesco was a good fit in terms of employment, and we knew he had a good manager keeping an eye out for him.’

Reginald lifts an eyebrow thinking flattering will only get you so far. But it was a nice touch all the same.

Norman stirs in his seat, frowning as he speaks. ‘So now you have moved out from your safe house, what now? What does protocol dictate is the next step for you?’

‘Our protocol now is to gather intelligence on the wider impacts of this incident so we can best formulate an appropriate course of action.’

‘And what might that course of action be?’ Norman asks.

‘That depends on the intelligence. What can you tell us?’

‘Gosh, I think I might be rather best placed to answer that,’ Reginald says. ‘I would suggest that we must be looking at least a 98% infection rate across the whole planet. We know that some people have natural immunity, and we also know that the virus mutates and changes within some of the hosts. The alarming thing for us is that the infection appears to have a collective consciousness. A hive mind. And it is evolving towards gaining sentience. It will, at some point very soon, think of itself as a living creature and seek to become the apex predator. That means we have a very small window of time to find a solution to either stop that evolution or reduce the numbers. As to the current state of the country? I would say every town has fallen. Every city. Every hamlet, village and street. Certainly, across mainland Britain. There may be communes such as this in other places, but I would suspect they are very small.’

‘We became aware of one down towards the south west,’ Norman says. ‘Lilly spoke with some other survivors at Southampton docks. But yes, that does paint a very bleak picture. Reginald, you mentioned a few key points there. Immunity. Hive mind and an evolving virus. Henry? What’s your knowledge of those things, and what would your next step be?

‘I think we would seek to establish if there is any form of functioning government.’

‘There isn’t,’ Howie cuts in. ‘Nobody’s mentioned anything.’

‘That doesn’t mean there isn’t any government,’ Norman says. ‘They might have taken refuge in a bunker somewhere. Henry, is it okay to ask if there are such bunkers?’

‘There are, but the spread was so fast that any attempt to gather government officials in one place would have failed. At best we’d be looking at a very fractured system, if any at all.’

‘But you said you knew it was coming,’ Norman says. ‘Might that suggest that if you knew, then people higher in the chain would also know?’

Another shift of attention to place Henry under scrutiny. ‘I think that is very possible, Norman. Sadly, I do not have the answers to that question beyond speculation.’

‘Oh, come now,’ Norman says, shifting into cross-examination mode. ‘If you knew it was coming then it stands to reason others did too.’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, where are they then?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘But you know where to look, right?’

‘Are you telling me or asking me, Norman?’

‘I’m asking you. Would you know where to look?’

‘There are key locations that we are aware of yes.’

‘And what would you do if you found people at one of these key locations?’

‘The same as we are doing here. We would seek to make contact and establish where we are best served.’

‘Served? Served for what?’

‘Am I on trial here, Norman?’

‘Of course not! But I think it’s only natural to seek understanding and answers. Served for what?’

‘For however we are best placed.’

‘To do what, Henry? Let’s say you find a bunker somewhere filled with government ministers. Then what?’

‘As I said, we would seek to establish what systems are in place and what we can do to help.’

‘Why would they want your help? These are people that knew this was coming, and they didn’t invite you into their bunker. Would they even be happy to see you?’

‘I’m not sure what you are implying there, Norman.’

‘Yes, you are. You are very sure. You knew this was coming, and you could not stop it. Yet, you have hinted there will be people safe in bunkers that did know. And you are now suggesting you will turn up and ask them what toilets they want cleaning?’

Henry smiles, countering the play. ‘We do not clean toilets, Norman. We are highly skilled operatives that are able to move across a landscape that others would not.’

‘Mr Howie can do that,’ Norman fires back. ‘Moving on. I want to talk about immunity and this hive mind business. Let’s explore that.’

‘I’m not sure I can help you a great deal.’

‘Well, I am sure we can at least try. What can you tell us?’

‘The very little information we had was that the host bodies are driven to seek more hosts, becoming increasingly hostile and violent. Impervious to pain too and that it takes a great deal of effort to put them down. Howie, is that what you are finding?’

Oh nice touch. Deflection to Howie. Reginald thinks.

‘Yep,’ Howie says simply, resisting the urge to fill the silence that follows.

‘Well there we go,’ Henry says with a heavily resigned look. ‘Awful thing.’

‘Damned awful,’ George says, sweeping in to aid in the deflection. ‘Saw it myself. Was in Greece on holiday with the wife. Marion, you’ve met her. Had a right old to-do getting back, let me tell you that. Right across the continent it is. And yes, violent rotters too. And they don’t feel a thing either. And fast. Quick as anything.’

‘And the hive mind?’ Norman prompts, his brain way too sharp to allow a simple trick like that to work.

‘We’ve been at ground for three weeks,’ Henry says. ‘A hive mind you say? Well, there was suggestion of a certain level of cooperative abilities, but the first we saw of it was on that first night when they were swarming.’

‘And the evolving nature. What does that mean?’

‘I’m not sure I understand the question, Norman.’

‘What does the evolving nature mean? What can you tell us?’

‘I think we have shared what we know. George, can you think of anything else?’

‘Stands to reason, Henry. The sods getting faster and meaner, learning what works and what doesn’t. It’s in the nature of things isn’t it. Although I dare say we’re a bit far off from the rotters doing the Times crossword.’

Not that far, Reginald thinks.

‘Okay, we’ll circle back to this in a bit,’ Norman says. ‘Immunity. I think that’s a key area here.’

‘I’m glad you raised it,’ Henry says. ‘Howie, you’ve been bitten there haven’t you? And forgive me, but what exactly is it you are doing? Reginald said you are fighting back. How on earth did that come about?’

Another deflection, Reginald thinks.

‘Ah sure, good question,’ Howie says. ‘Er, so to summarise. I ran about and threw some shit out of my window then that guy and that woman drove a van past my window to lure all the zombie things away. I legged it. Found them in the town. Got a bit angry with a hammer then scarpered, went home but my mum and dad, who I didn’t know was a spy, my dad not my mum. Unless my mum was also a like a Russian super KGB Mossad spy or something. I mean fuck me, kinda feels like everyone is a spy. Eh, Kyle? Just a cook my fucking arse. Anyway, I found Dave. We went to Salisbury to get an army truck to get into London. Met a few soldiers who tagged along. Found my sister. Met Clarence and a few more. Got back here to the fort. Big battle. Lots of zombies. Isle of Wight. Back to here. Met Maddox. Met the dog. Sister and everyone else died. Blew up lots of things. I say we. Dave did that. Killed more zombies. They started talking and getting all smart and weird, so now we’ve come back here to see that Lilly hates us, and er…that’s pretty much it,’ he says lightly, looking at the others on his side all nodding. ‘Oh and some other teeny tiny bits too…such as you’re all cunts for making Dave work in a supermarket.’

‘Nipper,’ Frank warns, giving Howie a look.

‘Mr Nipper,’ Dave says, which makes everyone pause for a second.

‘Point is,’ Howie says, turning to look at Dave who shows no outward sign of what he just said. ‘Point is, Dave had a shit life. He went to work, went home then went to work. That’s it. No friends. No family. Nothing. That was cuntish. Seriously, like proper cuntish.’

‘Okay,’ Henry says.

‘Cuntish,’ Howie adds.

‘Heard you the first time,’ Henry says.

‘Immunity?’ Norman asks.

‘Cuntish,’ Howie coughs into his hand.

‘The immunity,’ Norman says, ignoring Howie. ‘What do you know about that?’

‘Sadly, not a great deal,’ Henry says.

‘There’s a surprise,’ Paula mutters.

Clarence stifles a yawn and stirs in his seat. Sweat beading on faces and foreheads in a hot room lacking any form of ventilation. The day rolling on and time passes because time will always pass.

‘Again, there is very little I can tell you,’ Henry says again. ‘We knew, from the research study, that there would be a very small amount of people with natural immunity.’

‘How did you know?’ Norman asks.

‘From the research study.’

‘But specifically, how do you know there is immunity?’

‘As I said, from the research study.’

‘Were you in this research study?’

‘Me? No. I was in London. I heard about it through our channels.’

You mean Frank and Carmen, Reginald thinks. Who were undercover in the research study.

‘What did you hear?’ Norman asks.

‘What I have already told you. Do you have any idea of how informant handling works?’ Henry asks with another deflection.

‘I do indeed,’ Norman replies. ‘Informants are protected at source. Only the handler and a few key people will ever know who they are. It’s the same principles as when dealing with informant led policing operations that come through the courts. But my question, is how did you know? And how did the person that told you know? Henry, this is a worldwide catastrophic event. We have the right to ask these questions.’

‘But I have no obligation to answer them, and you can ask the same question ten different ways but if the answer isn’t there to give...’

‘But the answer is there to give. I’m sorry, but I sense a great deal of reticence coming from you, Henry.’

‘What are you doing?’ Carmen asks, leaning forward to look at Norman. ‘Sorry, Henry. But what is this? Henry’s not here to be grilled like he’s a politician. You’re acting like a news anchor.’

‘I’m really not,’ Norman says calmly.

‘You really bloody are. Do you think we caused this? You think we released the virus then popped up now to make sure our evil plan is working?’

‘Of course not. But you were there. You knew this was coming and forgive me, but we know nothing other than we have gleaned for ourselves. But that bring forth my next question…’

‘Oh god, here we go,’ Carmen says with a sigh, wiping the sweat from her face. ‘Go on, ask. Who caused it? Is that the question? Henry, can I reply? It wasn’t us,’ she says with another angry look at Norman.

‘Then who did?’ Norman asks.

‘Jesus, this guy,’ Carmen says, shooting a look to Frank. ‘Listen, we are a very small unit with very limited scope, but we are highly effective and if we knew for one second who caused this then we would have stopped it. Do you not think we tried?’

‘How did you try?’

‘We’ve told you. Henry’s told you.’

‘He hasn’t told me anything. He said a bit of intel here and a bit there. Nobody knows anything. He hasn’t said a bloody thing. Who started it? That’s what I want to know. Who started it and why?

‘You need to start listening,’ Carmen says. ‘Because right now, you are pushing my buttons. Kyle? What is this? You need to call him off.’

‘Who started it and why?’ Norman asks.

‘We don’t know!’ Carmen snaps. ‘I think we need another break.’

‘Who started it and why?’

‘Norman, I am asking you to desist asking the same question over and over,’ Henry says.

‘I don’t buy it. I don’t buy one bit of it,’ Norman says, his voice commanding. ‘You won’t say about immunity. You won’t say about the evolving nature. You won’t say how or why or where it came from. Only that you are here looking to see what’s going on before you go and look in bunkers for the government.’

‘Norman, perhaps you can tell us what it is you want,’ Henry says, seemingly unfazed.

‘The truth, Henry. All of it. I want to know about immunity because we have a fort full of people that deserve looking after.’

‘What we know has no bearing on them,’ Henry says.

‘It has bearing on all of us, and do you know why? Let me tell you why. My husband is dead because of that virus. He died saving me. He was an officer in the army, and if I suspect, for one second, that you or anyone else has answers to stop someone else dying or suffering then I will not show any mercy until I know that information. I want answers. And I want to know who did it.’

‘Norman, I’m sorry. But we do not know.’

‘You’re a liar, Henry. And a bad one too.’

‘You need to back it up,’ Carmen says.

‘Why are you going to look for the government?’ Norman asks.

‘We told you,’ Henry says.

‘Say it again. What for?’

‘I have answered your questions, Norman. Come now, you’re getting flustered. Perhaps a break would…’

‘Do not patronise me. Why are you going to look for them?’

Henry smiles and shakes his head. ‘Would you like to just say what’s on your mind?’

‘Okay, I will. You’re going to look for them to exact revenge. That’s why. You know this went higher. You know that, Henry. You knew it was coming. You knew but you couldn’t stop it, and that means that people higher up knew too. So now you’re coming out to find them. And that’s why you’re not saying anything.’

‘Good god, man. Read a few too many thrillers I should say,’ George says. ‘I’ve rather had enough of this chap, Henry. Acting like we’re in bloody court or something.’

‘You are, aren’t you,’ Norman says. ‘You’re going to look for them.’

‘Don’t be so bloody daft, man,’ George snaps. ‘You think we’d waltz in here armed to the teeth and announce ourselves if we were hunting rogue world killers? I say, Kyle. Who is this man? This is nonsense.’

‘Oh no, no no no, deflections like that won’t work,’ Norman says, in for the kill now, going for the jugular. ‘That back and forth with each of you taking turns to come in with different tactics designed to throw us off. This is not my first rodeo, boys. Who started it? Why? How? Where from?’

‘Okay, now this is getting silly,’ Henry says. ‘A break? Everyone agreed?’

‘Who started it?’ Norman asks, his voice growing, getting louder, his manner firming each time he speaks. ‘You know. You know who started it.’

‘Trust me, we do not know, and even if we did, what possible good would it do to tell you?’ Henry asks. ‘It’s done. Over. The virus is out.’

‘I’ll tell you why. Because of that man there,’ Norman says, pointing at Howie as that side all blink in surprise, as captivated as everyone else at the Norman show underway. ‘I’ve only just met him, but I know enough to put my money on him getting to these people, and if he doesn’t then Lilly and the men here will.’

‘Right. It really is time for a break,’ Henry says, pushing his chair back. ‘We’re not your enemies here.’

‘No of course not,’ Reginald says. ‘But perhaps Neal Barrett did not see it that way? After all, he did hide from you. Did he not?’

‘Boom,’ Howie says as calm as anything, as quiet as a whisper and that charge comes back. The energy created by Norman now used by Reginald. Now used by a side of the room that fought in the battle of the ten thousand. By the side that heard the little girl scream. By the side that have seen the devil in all its forms, and this? This is just part of the game. This is just a break in the flow of death.

‘Dr Neal Barrett,’ Reginald says, his educated tones carrying so clearly. ‘A gifted statistician selected to undertake the table-top study funded and run by the UN in the Swiss mountain facility. He attended too. He was delighted to attend. He was honoured in fact. He was also seduced and be-friended by members of your team, wasn’t he?’ he says with a look to Frank and Carmen ‘And it was those same members that enabled him to escape. And then of course, Neal evaded you because he did not trust you could stop this, and he feared that people with greater reach and with greater force than you would get to him. Norman, I’m afraid you are wrong because Henry does not know who started this. But you are also right in that I suspect Henry is now seeking something other than goodwill towards those higher in the food chain than he, but then I don’t think it’s revenge. Is it Henry…’ he pauses to see that look in Henry’s eye. The one Reginald loves to see. The one that tells Reginald he was under-estimated. Henry stays still. George too. The air thick and hot. Heavy and charged. Sweat showing on all of them now. ‘Is it revenge you are after, Henry?’ Silence still. Silence holding as Reginald offers a faint smile. ‘It’s not revenge. Not like that anyway. Because you know what this is, don’t you. This is the cull. And if this is the cull, then there must be a cure. It’s not revenge you want. It’s the cure. You’re going to search for the panacea aren’t you…’

‘Boom,’ Howie says again, winking at Henry. ‘He’s sharper than a sharp stick, mate. Anyway. We having that break? I really need a wee.’

‘Gladly,’ Reginald says, beaming a grin. ‘Right you are chaps. We’ll pop out for a breath of air and meet back shortly. One thing before we all go…’ he pauses as the people pushing chairs back all grow still. ‘Don’t be alarmed, we can get this back on the right track. What’s that thing you always say, Howie?’

‘Fuck ‘em we’ll win,’ Howie says, already walking out.

‘Bit vulgar, but it carries the sentiment. Toodlepip.’

Chapter Fifteen

They head in through the outer gate to cross the middle section. Weird emotions inside Blowers, Cookey, Maddox and Mo because everything here holds a memory. This is where they charged out from on the seventh day. This is where Lani died. This is where Maddox locked them in the rooms. This is where so many things happened.

‘Looks alright,’ Booker says, staring about as they cross the interior. ‘What’s that?’ he asks, pointing to the big building in the middle.

‘Looks like a refectory,’ Charlie says as they pass the new building. ‘It wasn’t there when we left.’

‘Smells nice,’ Cookey says, inhaling deeply. ‘Eh, that food from Aunt Marion. That was so nice.’

‘So nice,’ Charlie says.

‘So nice,’ Booker adds.

‘Where’s the boss then?’ Cookey asks.

‘Offices probably,’ Blowers says, leading his team around the edge of tent-city. Going wide to avoid plunging into the lanes. Chit chat made. Idle conversations passing back and forth. Maddox keeps an eye out for Lenski and some of the old crews that survived, but he sees neither her nor them.

Then they see a woman in a black burkha coming from a set of rooms who smiles with a wide friendly face as she spots them and changes course. Mo blinks, caught out at the sight then spots a guy in robes walking from the same rooms and heading off towards the building sites with tools in his hands.

‘Hello,’ Damsa says, smiling at the group. ‘My name is Damsa. Lenski said you would be coming over. For ammunitions I believe.’ She comes to a stop, smiling at each of them in turn with a drop of her head and showing sadness at Charlie’s scar and the injuries on all of them. ‘Welcome back. I gather this must have changed for you. Would you like me to show you? You are very welcome to join me for tea.’

‘Thank you,’ Charlie says to Damsa. ‘You are very kind, but we need to resupply. But if there is time, I think we would love to come back?’

‘Love to,’ Cookey says as the others nod and murmur the same. All apart from Mo who stares at the mats outside the set of rooms Damsa came from. Several of them in a row, and he can tell they have been rolled, unrolled and knelt on a million times from the curves and thinner patches. And he also knows they are facing east, towards the Kaaba.

‘Why do we all face the wall in the mosque when we pray, Grandpa?’

Mo Mo remembers his grandfather laughing with delight and the feel of his beard as he carried Little Mo through the violent estate to the mosque for the Fajr. For the morning prayers.

‘We do not face the wall, Little Mo. We face east. We face the Kaaba. Do you know what the Kaaba is?’

Little Mo shook his head. Seven years old and clinging to the man he loved more than anything.

‘You have not been listening in your lessons,’ his grandfather chided him, pinching the end of Mo’s nose. ‘The Kaaba is a building in Mecca. It is the direction all Muslims face when we pray. Others will turn west, or north, or south. All across the world. Millions and millions of us all facing one direction.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Allah wills it.’

‘We’d best get on,’ Blowers says. ‘It was nice meeting you, ma’am.’

‘Ma’am,’ Cookey says as the others start filing off.

‘Peace be upon you,’ Damsa murmurs, sighting the young man at the end staring over to the prayer mats. His skin tone and hair colour marking him as Arabic. She tracks his gaze then looks back at his pistols and knives. A rifle on his back. Smaller framed than the others, neater too. ‘As salam alaykom,’ she says softly. Peace be upon you.

‘Wa alykom as-salam,’ Mo murmurs without thinking, without thought, through memory alone of having said the same thing so many times as a child. And unto you peace. Then he blinks at her, caught off guard. ‘Yeah it’s Mo Mo innit,’ he adds, sliding into his street slang.

‘Do you pray? You are welcome to join us if…’

‘Nah, I’m not Islam bruv, you get me. I mean, no, ma’am,’ he switches from slang to polite, flustered and panicking a little. ‘I’s got to go.’

‘Of course. We are here if you...’

‘Said I don’t,’ he replies a bit too hard.

Damsa smiles and dips her head with grace. ‘Of course,’ she murmurs. ‘Peace be upon you.’

‘You okay?’ Charlie asks as he catches up with the others.

‘Yep, s’all good innit.’

She pauses, studying him. ‘Sure?’

‘Yep. We’s getting these bullets then or what bro?’

Charlie frowns gently, thinking Mo is acting weird and the world rolls on because there simply isn’t time to stop and reflect on each nuance and reflection.

* * *

On the bay outside the house. The ground about the Saxon litters with tools and panels and access covers. With tubs and tubes and oils and liquids in containers. Roy whistling away to himself while servicing the new and very clean engine on his van. Tappy and Nick covered in crap from the very old and very dirty engine on the Saxon. Tappy now on her back underneath the vehicle stretching up to reach the innards. Nick inside the footwell, his upper body stretching inside the cavity, his hands oily and slick. Bobby underneath with Tappy, brought back by Roy with oils and tools and only too happy to dive in and work. His thinner arms and smaller frame able to reach in to places as they poke screwdrivers and thin slivers of metal into grilles and vents to prise and pluck out the utterly disgusting human remains.

‘I’ve got a whole scalp here,’ Tappy says, pulling it free from inside a section of pipes.

‘What colour is it?’ Bobby asks.

‘Can’t tell,’ Tappy says, peering at it in a strange, morbid fascinated kind of way. ‘Blond I think.’ She flicks it away, not noticing Meredith swooping in to snaffle it up. ‘That Snickers was nice,’ Tappy says, grunting as she pokes about.

‘Got loads I have,’ Bobby says, pulling a charred chunk of meat free. ‘Is that a finger now?’

‘Let’s see,’ Nick says, peering down. ‘Yeah looks like it. Had a few of them now.’

‘Aye,’ Bobby says, flicking it away as Meredith once more glides in to snaffle the riches littering the ground. ‘My ma is making a rabbit stew later she is if you fancy it.’

‘Thanks,’ Tappy says, shuffling along a little. ‘Right, I’m nearly at the oil drain plug. Here, Bobby, who’s that girl with the red hair? She was with Lilly earlier.’

‘Mad Mary.’

‘Mad Mary?’ Tappy asks, chuckling at the name and the way the lad says it.

‘Aye, she’s my cousin but then we’re all cousins or aunts and uncles. Everyone’s related they are. Mary’s grand she is. Mad as a box of frogs and got a vicious awful temper. She can punch harder and shoot straighter than anyone but don’t tell Elvis or Willie I said that. They don’t like that a woman can knock ‘em out.’

‘Bloody nut is stuck, Nick, can you reach it from up there?’ she stretches up as Nick leans down, taking his oily hands in hers to guide him to the offending object. ‘There, that one.’

‘Okay,’ Nick says, groping about on a nut he can’t see. ‘Grips?’

‘Yep, hang on…okay, got them on. Together?’

Another grunt. Another heave. ‘Fucking Popeye put all these on,’ Tappy grunts. ‘So why she with Lilly then?’ she asks Bobby.

‘Left the camp she did. Had a fight with Uncle Peter and told him to feck off then went over and got mates with that Lilly. Been over there since. Best mates too, I think. They’re glued to each other night and day mind. Aye, Mary’s got her back she has.’

‘Tappy, that oil’s going to…’ Nick says as the nuts comes free opening the valve which lets the oil inside pour out over Tappy.

‘Bollocks!’ she calls out, half laughing while trying to dodge the flow. ‘Ah well, can’t make an omelette.’ She grabs a low bucket and shoves it in place to catch the oil then wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing more grime. ‘She’s alright then, this Mary I mean.’

‘Aye, Mary’s the best she is,’ Bobby says. ‘I think Eggy and Uncle Jack and a few of them aren’t too pleased mind. Uncle Peter’s okay with it. He’s good, but then it’s only a rumour and Elvis said it’s probably not true and Willie said he reckons it is but it’s good cos it’ll save any poor sod marrying Mad Mary and getting stuck with her.’

‘Eh?’ Tappy asks.

‘Mary,’ Bobby continues, prising body parts from the engine cavities. ‘That rumour going about that she kissed Lilly. My ma said it’s just tittle tattle and folk will always say things no matter what and ye can’t be friends with anyone these days without someone thinking…where’s he going?’ he asks as Nick pulls out with a muttered curse.

‘Shit. Nick!’ Tappy calls out.

‘What’s up with him?’

‘He’s fine. Stay there,’ she says, rolling free and jumping up. ‘Nick! Wait…’ she runs to grab his arm, pulling him around. ‘He’s just a kid…’

Nick stays silent. His jaw clenching shut. His fists balled.

‘He’s just a kid repeating a shit rumour. That’s it,’ Tappy says, still holding Nick’s arm. ‘What you going to do? Pick a fight when they’re meeting with Mr Howie? Nick! Look at me. It’s just a crap rumour…everyone thinks everyone is kissing and dating and…’

‘You two okay?’ Roy calls, appearing from the front of his van with a tiny smudge of dirt on his cheek while Tappy and Nick drip grime, sweat and oil. ‘Fine,’ she calls back. ‘We’re fine. Nick cracked his funny bone.’

‘Ooh,’ Roy winces. ‘That hurts. Give it a good rub.’

‘I am,’ Tappy says, making a show of rubbing Nick’s elbow.’ Right, come on…back to work.’

‘I’m going to…’

‘You’re not going to do anything,’ she says, getting behind him to push him back towards the Saxon. ‘The oil’s coming out. We’ve got filters and tons to do yet. Forget it. It doesn’t matter. I’ve kissed girls before. Okay! Bad thing to say. Don’t try and run off. I meant it doesn’t mean anything. Get back in. Nick! Go back in.’

A nod. A blast of air and he goes back into the Saxon as Tappy releases the air from her chest then spots the box of Snickers in the back. ‘Nick?’

‘What?’ he asks, looking up as she shoves a Snickers into his hands.

‘Get some nuts, you’re not you when you’re hungry…’ she grins at her delivery. He stares at the bar then at her. ‘The advert! It’s funny. Whatever. Just eat the fucking thing.’

* * *

‘Bloody hell,’ Paula says, shielding her eyes as she steps from the offices to see a long line of people going by carrying ammunition cases.

‘Colin’s giving us a hand,’ Blowers calls.

‘He’s a section head,’ Cookey calls. ‘Clothing and hygiene.’

‘And the notice board,’ Colin says, rushing by and waving his clipboard and radio about. ‘In addition to tent space allocation and logistical planning. Righto chaps, that’s it. Get them all down the gates. Sandy. It’s Colin over. Are you there over? We’re on our way now over. Are you ready to receive over?’

‘Howie, we need to talk,’ Reginald says, guiding his small team over to the side.

‘That was nicely done, Reggie,’ Paula says. ‘And that Norman? Blimey. He doesn’t hold back does he. Going right for the kill, mind you, Henry didn’t seem the least bit bothered and he’s not letting anything slip either.’

‘That’s why we need to talk,’ Reginald says quickly. ‘Henry’s a shrewd character without a doubt and by saying what I said in there it tells him we have a great deal more information than he thought we had. I’m guessing he thought we were just some ragtag bunch of idiots running about with guns.’

‘Right,’ Howie says slowly, sharing looks with the others. ‘Cos we’re so not that.’

‘God no,’ Paula says. ‘Very professional…ish.’

‘Point is,’ Reginald says. ‘This will take a bit of time, which sadly, is something we do not have given the whole you have a day to think about it offer from Cassie.’

‘Okay, so we’ll just speed it up,’ Paula says, looking at the others to see if they agree.

‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ Reginald says. ‘And I think we should ask for an extension.’

‘Are you fucking nuts?’ Howie asks as the others balk. ‘We’re not doing that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Cos she’s a fucking zombie is why not, and it gives her more time to get more zombie things ready to come and chomp us.’

‘I don’t think she will,’ Reginald says. ‘I think Cassie really believes what she said and honestly believes she can make this infection work for the betterment of both species. And before you scoff, that is exactly what Marcy did. Right here in fact. She even told you the same things Cassie said. There’s no pain. No suffering. Marcy honestly believed that. Why wouldn’t Cassie?’

Howie stares at him thinking everything he just heard is utter shit, while also, bizarrely, thinking it makes sense too.

‘Howie, we’re onto something here,’ Reginald says. ‘I can feel it. Henry is the key, but it has to be handled right. I suggest you and I slip out with Dave and find an infected to communicate with Cassie.’

‘What if she says no?’ Marcy asks.

‘If she says no then I was wrong in the first place and she will be planning to attack the fort, in which case she would always have been planning an attack and the end will be the same.’

‘I wish Charlie was here,’ Marcy mutters. ‘Basically, you mean it doesn’t make a difference. Right?’

‘Correct,’ Reginald says. ‘If Cassie is going to attack then she is going to attack. We can find a store and get another drone to use to keep an eye on the area for massing, and at the risk of sounding like a know-it-all…’

‘Way past that,’ Marcy says.

‘Thank you, Marcy. Another valued input. I was going to say there is a constant and steady flow of people arriving here, and I would guess they are coming from all directions. Surely one of them would notice a massing.’

‘No,’ Howie says. ‘They bloody wouldn’t because they’d be in the massing having been bitten by the big bloody massing. Okay, fine. Fuck it. Why not? We’ll go and find Cassie and say we need longer. Cock it, we’ll need to let Norman and Lilly know too.’

‘You leave them to me,’ Paula says. ‘You three get going. Good luck.’

* * *

On the other side of the canteen, Lilly stands with her team. All of them stunned at the bomb Reginald just dropped.

‘Did Reginald mention this before?’ Norman asks, looking at Lilly and Kyle.

‘Nothing about a cull and a cure,’ Kyle replies.

Lilly shakes her head, looking past Norman to the children at the far side of the fort under the shade of the big gazebo. ‘He said there was evidence it was manmade and released on purpose, and he felt close to understanding why that was, and if he cracked that it might lead to more answers. He said they were going out to keep attention away from the fort, but also to study the other side. He gave us an overview of what he knew about Neal,’ she adds, looking from Norman to Kyle. ‘But nothing really specific, and nothing about a panacea or a cure. Listen, if he’s right, that is our priority. Henry has to tell us where it is.’

‘If Reginald is right,’ Kyle says. ‘And you’d be minded to take it easy with Henry. Demanding he tells you anything won’t work. Ach, Lilly. I can see that look in your eyes, trust me, it won’t work. You can’t walk in and put a gun to his head. That’s Frank McGill and Carmen Eze in there, and if they draw then Dave draws, and everybody is dead. Ye’ve got three of the most dangerous people I ever worked with in one room along with people as smart as Henry and Norman here, and Howie’s not a fool either. Trust me, I’ll not guide you wrong, but force is not the way here.’

‘If it’s not force then it must be diplomacy,’ Norman says, trailing off as Paula approaches them.

‘Where’s Reginald?’ Lilly demands. ‘Is there a cure? If Reginald knows where it is then he will tell us right now.’

‘Sorry, who are you talking to?’ Paula asks. ‘Because it had better not be me.’

‘This is bigger than our differences,’ Lilly snaps.

‘Yes. It is, Lilly. Which is what we are working on while we are out there getting chewed up every day. What the hell do you think we’ve been doing? But hey, we left you all alone to get angry.’

‘I think we need to move on from that,’ Kyle interjects.

‘You need to get a grip,’ Paula says, looking at Lilly. ‘Right, listen in. New game plan. We’ve got some things to sort out, so we’ll need a longer break. We’ll let you know when we’re done.’

‘Now?’ Norman asks, aghast at the prospect. ‘I think we need to focus on this as a priority.’

‘As I said. We will be taking a longer break because this, this is not our only thing. We will let you know when we are ready to resume. However…’

‘Paula,’ Norman cuts in.

‘Let me finish. However, Reginald asked me to advise you that for now we do not mention anything to Henry about anyone being infected and not turning. Not about Howie or my team or you, Lilly. Nothing. Not a word.’

‘Did he say why?’ Norman asks. ‘What’s the angle here? Where’s he coming from with all this?’

Paula thinks for a split second, figuring she’s now worked with Reginald day and night for quite a while and still cannot grasp quite how he works. ‘You’ll just have to trust him. I’m guessing he’s got leverage he can apply. I don’t know, just let him do his thing.’

‘I very strongly suggest that if Reginald knows more then he includes us in these matters,’ Lilly says.

‘And I strongly suggest you lost that right when we got back. What the hell happened to you, Lilly? I don’t know you. I don’t even want to know you right now.’

A sharp rebuke that makes Mary’s expression harden.

‘You want that cure, then let Reggie work,’ Paula adds. ‘But trust me, you cross us on this and we’re gone. We’ll let you know when we’re back.’

She heads off, leaving them in another charged silence. Nuances and slights running wild. Every action and every word now heightened.

‘Right. I guess that’s that then,’ Norman says. ‘Not the best way forward, but it gives us a chance to think and form our own game plan.’

‘I need to go out,’ Lilly says. ‘With Mary. We’ll call you when we’re back.’

‘Good god this is frustrating,’ Norman snaps as Lilly and Mary walk off. ‘What the hell is that about?’

‘I think she probably just needs to cool her jets, Norman,’ Kyle suggests. ‘Come on, we’ll get a brew on.’

Chapter Sixteen

She comes to a stop and holds perfectly still. Not daring to move. Senses straining to detect motion. A trickle of sweat glides over one cheek. Her face feeling hot from running. Her heart thumping in her chest. Strands of hair glued to her forehead and a weird feeling in her belly as she stands waist deep, unable to see anything below.

She glances up to the boy perched safely on a high ledge and lifts a finger to her lips, telling him to stay silent, because if they don’t move, he will never know where they are.

That feeling in her belly grows bigger. A sense of dread brought on by the notion of being prey. That she is being stalked by an apex predator that has no fear and one that will never stop. Seconds go by and she slowly exhales, thinking they’ve lost him.

Then the hand closes around her ankle and she screams out as she’s ripped from her feet and pulled down into the depths. The boy cries out, seeing her disappear and leans over to try and see where she went as the surface ripples from the motion within.

Cassie sinks deep, pulled low with that weird feeling in her belly sending a tingling thrill through her whole body at being hunted by Gregori through the giant ball pit of Jungle Jack’s Crazy Indoor Play Zone.

Small plastic balls surround her, enveloping her from all sides as though making her weightless before that hand holding her ankle starts pulling her along. She laughs out at the sensation, watching the light splay and play through the balls. Sensation by her feet and the balls move as Gregori glides in and up over her body. She giggles from the adrenalin inducing chase through the play zone and into the ball pits. Her and the boy fleeing from the monster stalking after them. She felt a pinch of real fear too from not being able to see him. From standing in the ball pit and knowing he was in there, circling her like a shark, silent, predatory and closing in.

He slides over her, relishing the play, relishing this life where he can use his skills to make people laugh and feel thrills instead of knowing they will die. He lifts her top as he moves up, kissing her belly and sides. Biting gently with enough force to make her half flinch from being tickled while feeling that rush between her legs. He rises higher, kissing her arms and shoulders while they hold suspended within the thousands of balls. Both of them hearing the boy laughing as he climbs on through the mazes and swings and tunnels and tubes.

Gregori finds her neck, making her gasp and stretch her head back to expose her throat while pulling her fingertips up over the hard-ridged muscles of his stomach. Scars and old wounds feeling rough under her hands. His hand finds her breasts, pulling her top up and her bra down as he lowers to take her in his mouth.

‘Oh my god,’ she breathes the words. ‘Stop stop stop. I’m too sore…and we can’t, not in here.’

He grunts and carries on kissing. She loves that. Oh my dear giddy aunt she loves it when he grunts and ignores her but they can’t. Not in here. She pulls back, flushed and turned on, sweaty and hot. He smiles wolfishly with that look in his eyes. She smiles back and angles to get her feet down to push her head up to break the surface, rising as though from the ocean to see the boy going head first down a slide into another big pit. An idea. A thought. Gregori’s head pops up next to her as she slides back under. He looks over to the boy, seeing he’s happy and safe and starts thinking about food and this life now. Then he stops and holds still from the hands undoing his belt and pulling his zipper down. His eyes widen. His stance stiffens and he grunts from the sudden feeling of warmth.

A minute later, and with several balls bursting from within his grip he tenses, grunts, turns a bit red then sags and sighs with a rush of endorphins pulsing through his body. She surfaces a second later with one hand covering her mouth while the other hands him the gun that was in the way. He takes the pistol and moves in for a kiss but she pulls back, shaking her head.

‘I’m not swallowing it,’ she says with a mouthful. ‘Too much…unless you want it back?’

He shies away in alarm while she chuckles and swims off towards the edge and heads off alongside the vast play area towards the toilets by the reception at the front. She goes a bit faster, rushing to get there from the feel of it in her mouth. The hotness and gloopy density. Through the door then into a cubicle and she spits it out, yacking and making noises while scrabbling to pull the chain.

To the basin and she runs water then double takes at her own reflection. Her face without make-up. Her hair not straightened for days and she is so not attractive when she gets hot and flushed either. All blotchy and gross.

She shudders at the sight then stops and thinks she just gave a blowjob to a guy she absolutely adores in a giant play centre. She did that. She’d never do that before. Not only because you’d get arrested but the thought of doing something like that to give pleasure instead of using it as a tool to get something just never happened.

She looks like a mess too, but yet Gregori can’t get enough of her. She figures there’s probably a life lesson there somewhere. Something cliched about happiness being found within and not from material possessions.

She rinses her face and swills her mouth out while thinking Gregori really needs to stop eating mushky peas.

Out of the bathroom and she stops before going back into the play zone and veers off towards the snack bar with a tut at the disgustingly high prices on the menu board. No wonder the world went to shit. She loads up with cartons of juice and bottles of water then goes back into the big room, smiling at Gregori lying on his back on top of the balls with a post-coital smile on his lips. ‘Incoming,’ she calls out and throws a bottle over that sinks down nearby. He turns, slides in, moves about and resurfaces with it in hand. A grin and he goes back to his post-coital relaxations.

She clambers the side and wades through to the ladder at the far end then up and through tubes and over cushioned things until she finally reaches the boy.

‘Could you be further away?’ she gasps, clambering into his little section then flopping down to rest. ‘Juice or water?’

‘Juice.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Juice.’

‘Ahem.’

‘Please, Casseeee.’

‘That’s better. You look so hot. Are you having fun?’

He nods while pulling the straw from the side to jab into the foiled hole at the top. She reaches out to smooth his hair back, thinking she’ll splash some cold water on his face in a minute to cool him down then turns to see Gregori still splayed like a starfish down below.

‘Howie is…’

‘Oh god, give it a rest,’ she cuts the boy off, hearing the change in his tone and glances to see that look in his eyes. ‘Howie’s at the fort. Howie’s there. I get it. You told me.’

‘Howie is not at the fort.’

‘Oh,’ she says, trying to show she’s not interested.

‘Lilly is not at the fort.’

That gets her attention, but she stays quiet, seemingly absorbed in the label on her bottle of water.

‘Howie left on the south road. Lilly left on the north road.’

They’ve gone out in two separate directions. She wants to know why but remains quiet, pursing her lips as though reading the small print.

‘Lilly is with Mary. Howie is with Reginald and Dave.’

That’s interesting and she knows it means they are looking for her to talk. They’ve obviously had a chat at the fort and now want to discuss something to do with the offer she made them both. But they’re not together. Which suggests they either haven’t spoken openly, or they are trying to appear that they haven’t spoken openly

‘Just with Reginald and Dave?’ she asks lightly.

‘The army truck has not left the bay. The army truck is a Saxon Armoured Personnel Carrier with a front mounted engine...’

She blinks at the boy. ‘Why the hell are you telling me that? Never mind. Whatever. Drink your juice.’

The infection looks down at its juice carton, staring at the straw before lifting it up to suck noisily. ‘I have consumed the juice. It was tropical berry flavour. The sugar content in concentrated juice is higher than the recommended daily intake for a child.’

‘Really? I thought juice was okay for kids and that whole sugar in fruit thing was a myth.’

‘Fruit contains fructose. Fructose is sugar. Whole fruit contains fibre which reduces the rate of fructose absorption when eaten.’

‘Noted,’ she says, thinking of her waistline. ‘Less juice more fruit. Got it. Er, so, can you see Howie now?’

‘No. I am many. I am in many places. I am a collective…’

‘Yes! I know all that. God you’re like a braggy twat sometimes. And where’s Lilly?’ she enquiries as though still not really that interested.

‘Lilly and Mary are in Marsh Marine Industrial Estate.’

‘Where’s that? Is that near the fort?’

‘Yes.’

‘Just them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did they drive there?’

‘Yes. In a white Ford Transit van 2.2 tdci short wheel base.’

‘Are they still in the van?’

‘No. I can see Howie. He is driving Roy’s van. They are driving slowly.’

Cassie nods while playing with the water bottle label. ‘Looks like they want to talk. Right, well, I’ll leave you to it then,’ she starts to move off then pauses. ‘Unless you needed my help?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you want my help?’

‘Yes.’

‘You need my help?’

‘Yes.’

She moves back in thoughtful repose. ‘I can help but I’ll need to see them.’ The boy doesn’t reply. ‘Let me see them,’ she says again, ready to push her hand and play for more. ‘Listen, only a fraction of communication between humans is done through verbal speech. Did you know that? We use facial expressions and tone of voice to convey so much of what we mean, and you’re not ready for that. I am. I can do that. Let me see them…’

Still the boy doesn’t reply.

‘I’m on your side. Who told you what to do yesterday with all the friends and family thing? That was me. I’m in this. Let me see them. Give me what the boy has. He’s just a kid. I’m an adult. It’s cruel to keep using him like this.’

‘The child has a different genetic structure…’

‘You said Marcy did it. She was one of yours, but she had her own mind. Give me that. Give me what she had.’

‘Marcy has a different genetic structure.’

‘I’m from good breeding stock! You can literally chart my family back to the bloody Vikings or something. Whatever. Point is there’s no way Marcy has better genes than me.’

‘We can see Howie.’

‘I can’t help you unless I can see them.’

‘We are many. We are in many places. We are too many.’

She leans in, imploring in manner and tone. ‘Give me what the boy has. I’ve got context of life. He’s just a kid. I’ll protect him still. I promise I will. I love him like he’s my own son, just give me what he has.’

‘We are too many.’

‘You will lose if you keep going like this.’

‘We are the one true race. We do not cause suffering.’

‘They’re sodding taglines. They’re statements. You need action and organisation. I can do that. I’m good at that!’

‘Howie has seen us. He is stopping.’

‘Let me see them. For fuck’s sake let me see…’

‘Lilly and Mary have seen us.’

‘I swear. I cannot help you unless I can see them. Okay, answer me this, can you make it happen in my head?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then bloody do it!’

‘We are too many. Your genetic structure is not the same.’

She bites the rebuke down, forcing herself not to demand and order. This needs tact and thought. This needs the right approach and Cassie wants that power. She wants it bad. She wants all of it. All the hosts.

* * *

In Marsh Marine Industrial Estate, Mary turns a circle with her assault rifle braced in her shoulder as Lilly stares over to the middle-aged infected woman that just walked into view down a side road. ‘I’m not hearing or seeing anything else, Blondie,’ Mary whispers. ‘We saying hi then or what?’

* * *

An old lady with white hair in a tattered floral dress stands in the middle of the country lane. Her arms hanging limp at her sides. Her head up and staring at the van coming to a gradual stop and she watches as Howie, Reginald and Dave get out and edge forward while scanning the sides.

‘Er, are we sure this is wise?’ Reginald asks, suddenly feeling very exposed.

‘Ah, we’ll be fine,’ Howie replies. ‘We’ve got Dave with us. Unless he’s really a mole planted to kill us of course.’

‘Right,’ Reginald says. ‘That’s not very helpful at all.’

* * *

‘Let me try,’ Cassie urges in the playzone. ‘You just said you can do it.’

‘We are too many.’

‘Then I can’t help you.’

‘Howie is with us. Lilly is with us.’

‘What do you want me to say?’ she shakes her head at the boy, at the infection. ‘If I can’t see them then I can’t advise you. They might be lying or pretending or passing signals…’

‘I am too many. Your genetic structure is different.’

‘Just try it!’

‘I am too many. Your genetic structure is different. They are here. They are approaching.’

‘If you don’t let me see then I won’t help you.’

‘I am too many.’

‘Stop saying that!’

‘I am too many. They are here. They are waiting.’

‘Fine! Whatever. Good luck with it. Do it yourself and fucking lose for all I care.’

The infection watches her shuffle off towards the tubes and tunnels leading away. Watching Cassie. Watching Howie, Dave and Reginald. Watching Lilly and Mary. Watching many things all at the same time. ‘They are here,’ it says again.

‘Not interested,’ Cassie says, waving a hand as she crawls off.

The infected stares at Howie. At Lilly. ‘We are the one true race.’

‘Fuck’s sake, this again?’ Howie mutters, rolling his eyes at the old woman.

‘Happy for you,’ Mary says. ‘Where’s Cassie?’

‘Where’s Cassie?’ Howie asks.

The infection watches them and watches Cassie crawling away. The boy’s eyes flicking as though looking left to right then back at Cassie.

‘Is this thing working?’ Howie asks, peering at the old woman as Lilly and Mary share a look.

‘They are here,’ the infection says, the boy says. Cassie pauses and looks back, arching her eyebrows with an expectant expression that she holds for a second before tutting and turning away.

It comes suddenly. A rush of many things happening so fast she becomes instantly overwhelmed. A wave of dizziness that makes her falter and sink down. It gets stronger. Coming in waves. Like a migraine surging up. Like her blood pressure is rocketing inside her skull. She grunts and sinks down to the cushioned floor.

Then her mind simply opens as though she was in a box with sides that she never knew existed, but now they’re gone and she feels the sudden openness of infinity. That she can see the whole of everything in one split second. She curls up in fear, feeling horribly exposed and tiny as memories and visions and streams of images blur in her mind. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. Billions. Countless. Infinite. A landslide of minds pushing into hers. She gasps and clutches her head, thrashing side to side but more come. More and more. So many voices. So many people. So many memories. She sees lives being lived in a heartbeat and how they died. The sights they saw. In life. In death. From before. From now. All of it at once. She sees Howie and Dave and Reginald in a country road and Lilly and Mary in the middle of an industrial estate. She sees the way they look at her, at them, at the hosts with confusion. She hears them talk. She hears everyone talk and sees everything and hears everything. It hurts too. The sheer pressure of it threatening to split her skull. And then more come. Countless more. More than anything she ever thought possible. Emotions become attached the meanings to situations to places to people to relatives to lovers to enemies. Road names. Street signs. Insides of houses. Memories of giving birth to children. Memories of fighting in wars. Driving trucks. Flying planes. Diving with sharks. Memories of books and movies and songs. Memories of goodness and hate. She knows languages she never knew existed. Secrets and lies. Murders and sacrifices. The whole of life from so many sources. She sees herself too. Here in this place as seen through the eyes of the boy, but more than that, more than anything, she sees the boy through her own eyes as though she is a visitor to her own mind. Sickening and awful and she thrashes on the floor, grunting and gasping. Veins pushing from her head and neck.

Then it’s gone. Instantly and wholly gone. All of the lives. All of the connections. All of everything, and she flips over onto her front then up onto all fours with spittle hanging from her mouth. A retch and she vomits on the floor.

‘We are many,’ the boy says, and the words have impact now. They have meaning and she nods while wiping a hand across her mouth, no longer thinking of it as a boy because this thing is not a child. She knows that now. The child is a host. What she felt, what she saw and heard was not human. ‘Howie is here. Lilly is here.’

‘Okay,’ Cassie whispers, still sucking air in. Sweat and tears falling down her face. ‘What do they want?’

‘What do you want?’ the old woman says in the country lane, the middle-aged woman says in the industrial estate.

‘We need more time to discuss things,’ Reginald says.

‘We need longer,’ Lilly says.

‘We need more time to discuss things. We need longer,’ the boy says in the play centre. Cassie heaves again while wondering who said what then realises it doesn’t matter because they’re both asking for the same thing.

‘That’s fine,’ she whispers. ‘Whatever they want.’

‘That’s fine. Whatever they want,’ the old woman says, the middle-aged woman says.

‘Kill them,’ Cassie whispers, waving a hand at the boy.

‘Kill them,’ the boy says, the infection says, the middle-aged woman says, the old woman says.

‘Kill who?’ Howie asks.

‘Kill who?’ Lilly asks.

‘Kill who?’ the boy says.

‘What?’ Cassie asks, staring at the boy with a look of confusion. ‘The hosts. Kill the hosts…’ she breaks off to puke again as Howie, Reginald, Dave, Lilly and Mary all blink as the infected women in front of them drop dead on the spot.

‘Now that was freaky,’ Mary says.

‘Freaky as shit,’ Howie says.

‘You’re a fucking freak,’ Cassie says, crawling away from the boy. ‘Stay the fuck away from me…’

Chapter Seventeen

The man, and the infection within him, walk through the narrow streets of the old village as the doors are smashed in and the windows broken through by the many thousands of hosts pouring in. They walk on amidst the shotgun blasts and the screams of pain and terror. They see people bursting from front doors, running with everything they have in a vain attempt to get free, only to be taken down and bit. Only to be turned and made into a host to carry the infection because the primary function is to survive.

Fires break out. People leap through windows. A car smashes into a wall with an old woman flying through the windscreen and hitting a lamp post with such force it snaps her neck and gives a merciful a death that even the infection cannot fix.

On he walks. The man that was bitten on the shoulder in a shallow river bordered by muddy banks so many days ago. A man with an infection within him that wills their hosts to drink water from taps and ponds. From lakes and streams. From any source they can find because nothing can survive without water. Water gives life and to live is the primary function.

Some of those water sources contain bacteria that would seriously harm or even kill normal people. But the infection within the hosts deals with such things and either neutralises or kills anything that could harm the host. That’s what it does. That’s what it was made for. To cure everything. To kill everything. It is the true state of being.

And so the man walks on. His mind free of troubling thoughts and he only stops when he reaches the far side of the village, and he only stops then to allow his hosts to find each person.

When he finally moves on, his horde is once more increased in size. Only by a dozen because that was all this village could offer. But that is of no matter. The plan he and the infection within him have is working. And so he walks on. Aiming for the next hamlet. For the next set of houses. For the next set of people.

He and the infection within him learn, from the people they take, of many things. They gain the thoughts and memories of the hosts. But they pay them no attention. They ignore memories within hosts of conversations about a man called Howie and about a fort. They ignore gossip and rumour. They are of no concern. The only thing this man, and the infection within him care about is the plan they have. To move forever forward and take what they find on the way. Moving East. Moving ever east.

Chapter Eighteen

‘Looks like this might take a bit longer then,’ Paula says over the noise of the wind and the outboard engine as they cross the sea from the fort to the bay.

‘Not a bad thing,’ Clarence replies. ‘Gives us a chance to breathe.’

‘All done,’ Sandy calls, in that taxi driver way that means bugger off and let me get back to work.

‘Thanks,’ Clarence jumps out into the shallows and reaches back to help Paula out. Every contact between them sending pulses of electricity through both of them. Every touch. Every look, and the more they ignore it, the worse it gets. ‘You go on,’ he says, needing some distance from her to rid the bad thoughts. She turns back to ask why then sees he’s already facing away and nods while waving a hand and walks on over the soft sand, feeling weird and jarred and very bloody hot under the collar.

‘Before you go,’ Clarence calls as Sandy pulls away. ‘Where can I get a boat from?’

‘A boat?’ she asks, easing the throttle to hear him better.

‘Yeah, a wooden one.’

‘You want a wooden boat? What for?’

‘I just want a boat.’

She looks about at her small fleet already struggling to cope. ‘How long for? I don’t have enough as it is…’

He rubs the back of his neck. ‘But I need a boat.’

‘We don’t have enough…okay, how about that little RIB over there? We can only fit a couple of people in it.’

‘Needs to be wooden.’

She puffs her cheeks out, flapping her hands. ‘I haven’t got any. Sorry. I wish I could help…’ she shrugs and twists the throttle, as the big man turns away with a dejected air. ‘Hey, Clarence is it? There’s a marine industrial estate up that way. They’ll have a boat yard.’

‘Okay,’ he nods his thanks and sets off.

‘Hey, if you do go, we need more boats here…I keep telling Norman, but everyone’s focussed on the wall.’

* * *

‘Looks like they’ll be here for the night then,’ Mary says as they stare down at the infected woman that simply ceased to live but a moment ago. ‘Nick and that lot I mean,’ she adds in case Lilly thought she was talking about dead infected women.

‘I know what you meant,’ Lilly says. ‘I wonder how they do it?’

‘Do what?’

‘Make them die like that. It must stop the heart.’

‘Dunno,’ Mary says, her attention now having moved on from the dead woman and she looks about at the big warehouses and sheds, at the retail units and buildings. ‘Big place here.’

‘It is. We’ll strip and flatten it soon as the bay is finished.’

‘Blondie’s big plan is it?’

‘Something like that. Fancy a poke about if we’re up here?’

‘Are ye asking me to poke about with you, Blondie?’

‘Mary!’

‘What! I’m joking with you. But it made you smile now. And gave you a bit of colour too. You’ve been quiet as anything since they showed up. Is that from Howie or Nick or both or all if it?’

‘All of it I guess,’ Lilly says as they start stroll out along the main roadway running between the plate glass retail units.

‘I said as soon I saw him. I said, Mary, that’s a handsome man that is. Nick I mean.’

‘Nick is very handsome,’ she says, looking this way and that.

‘He’s more than bloody handsome he is. Tall too. And that jaw. And those shoulders…what are ye looking at me like that for?’

‘Bit enthusiastic,’ she remarks.

‘Are ye jealous?’ Mary asks, laughing with delight at the concept. ‘Ach, that’s messed up that is. Ye can’t go getting weird over the girl you fancy thinking the fella you’re with is a good-looking lad.’

‘What? Okay, first of all. I’m not jealous. Second, I’m not with him.’

‘See you didn’t deny fancying me then.’

‘Oh piss off.’

‘Ha! I love it when you swear, Blondie. All prim and proper, pronouncing all your letters.’

‘Well. Stop teasing me.’

‘Fair play. No but seriously, he’s a good-looking man, Blondie.’

‘Okay!’

‘Ach, listen will ye. It is what it is. He’s big and tall and nice looking and everyone says he’s a top nice bloke with it.’

‘And the point is?’ Lilly asks, coming to a stop.

‘And the point is I’ll pull your bloody pigtails and kick ye up the bum if ye get all pointy and arsy with me, Blondie. Ye know what my point is. We can have an open chat, can’t we?’

‘Okay. Fine. What do you want to know?’

‘I don’t know what I want to know! He’s like a model and we’ve got this secret lesbian gay thing going on…I guess I mean that if ye want to get back with him then just say. Say Mary, listen, I’ll be getting back with Nick now I will. Ye a grand lass and all but you don’t have a big dangly between ye legs.’

‘What?’ Lilly asks, bursting out laughing. ‘A big dangly?’

‘Is it big? I bet it’s big. He looks like he’s got a big dangly.’

‘I don’t know!’

‘Well you saw it didn’t you.’

‘Well yes, but I haven’t seen any others, so I don’t know.’

‘You must have looked at some porn.’

‘Porn? No! I haven’t looked at any porn. And porn men are all like massive anyway, apparently.’

‘Ach, I see you added that apparently on there.’

‘Did you then?’

‘Did I what?’ Mary asks with mock innocence.

‘Look at porn.’

‘I may have glanced once.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Did you look at the big danglys or the big boobies?’

‘Blondie! Right. That’s enough of this conversation I think. Let’s go and poke about over there. Ach! I didn’t mean poke about…’ she says as Lilly takes her hand and walks on towards the restaurant. ‘Why are ye holding my hand?’

‘Because we’re a little bit gay. I can let go if you want.’

‘I never said that. I was just wondering why was all.’

* * *

‘Fuck’s sake, Nick!’ Blowers calls.

‘What?’ Nick shouts, his voice muffled from his upper body still wedged in the access panel in the front passenger footwell.

‘Your bloody dog is what,’ Blowers shouts staring at Meredith standing over a disgusting pile of cooked, charred, mangled and mostly unrecognisable body parts.

‘Why? What’s she done?’ Nick shouts.

‘What’s she done,’ Blowers mutters. ‘Who’s a good girl. Good girl…yes you are, yes you are, are you going to let me get in?’

Meredith says no, she is not going to let him in, mainly by showing him how big her teeth are while growling and also wagging her tail slowly to show that although she likes him he can still piss off.

‘Okay. That’s also cool. Danny! Get in the Saxon.’

‘What the fuck!’ Danny says, staring into the vehicle and the huge dog. ‘Er, I meant, sorry. Sergeant?’

‘Right. Fine. Just stack the crates up out here for now. Nick, you’ll have to get in and sort that out.’

‘Sort what out?’ Nick shouts. ‘I’m in here doing this.’

‘Get this sorted first,’ Blowers shouts as Tappy slides out from underneath the Saxon. ‘Jesus, state of you,’ Blowers says at seeing her covered in oil and grime.

‘Mucky work, Nick’s busy. What do you need?’

‘That,’ Blowers says, pointing at the Saxon.

‘What?’ she asks, getting up to walk over while wiping sweat and grime and gunk from her face. ‘Urgh. Oh shit. That’s all the…oh wow, she must have been picking them up. They were all stuck in the engine.’

‘We need to get in,’ Blowers says.

‘So? Just go in,’ Tappy says, walking towards the back of the Saxon as Meredith expresses a view that she would really rather appreciate Tappy also not going near her goodies. ‘Okay!’ Tappy says, backing away. ‘Nick!’

‘What!’

‘Nick,’ Clarence calls, striding into the bedlam.

‘What!’ Nick says, finally pulling out at hearing everyone calling his name.

‘State of you two,’ Clarence says, looking from Tappy to Nick. ‘And that’s disgusting,’ he adds, looking at Meredith. ‘Shouldn’t be encouraging her.’

‘I didn’t!’ Blowers says, a few octaves too high. ‘I mean I didn’t,’ he adds in a deeper voice.

‘What?’ Nick asks, stretching his back as he goes to look into the Saxon. ‘Oh wow, she got them all then.’

‘She did,’ Tappy says.

‘Gross. Get them out,’ Blowers orders.

‘Fuck that. Think I’m going near her,’ Nick says.

‘She’s your bloody dog, mate.’

‘She’s not my bloody dog!’

‘We don’t have time for this,’ Clarence cuts in. ‘Nick, Tappy, quick mission with me.’

‘What, now?’ Tappy asks, looking down at herself then at Nick. ‘The Saxon’s not back together yet.’

‘We’ll be half hour tops,’ Clarence says.

‘What for?’ Blowers asks.

‘The marine industrial estate up there,’ Clarence says, waving vaguely as he looks about to see who else is free.

‘What’s up there?’ Blowers asks.

‘Boats and things,’ Clarence says. ‘Maddox, are you busy? Booker, you’re a big lad too. With me.’

‘What things?’ Paula asks, leaning out of the front door.

‘Nothing. Sandy just said they need more boats,’ Clarence says.

‘Who’s Sandy?’ Paula asks.

‘Boat driver,’ Blowers replies.

‘Why can’t she get her own boats?’ Paula asks.

‘They’re in the marine industrial estate out of the bay,’ Clarence says.

‘So? They’ve got loads of armed people that can do that.’

‘I said I’d do it,’ Clarence says defensively. ‘Nick, Tappy, Mads and Booker. Rifles and pistols. We’ll be in and out…and where do we get spare cars from? With tow bars?’

‘Ach now, if it’s cars you need,’ Bobby says, popping out from underneath the Saxon. ‘How many, what colour and what you trading for them?’

* * *

‘This is Alf heaven,’ Mary says as they stare at the many reels of rope. ‘Think of all the bodies he can tie up.’

Lilly looks back while filling a looted rucksack with colouring books of ships, yachts and marine things taken from a kid’s section within the store. Child size sailing hats too. Perfect to keep the sun from small heads.

‘There’s no way you’ll get Amna wearing a hat,’ Mary says, watching Lilly fill the bag. ‘She’s almost as stubborn as you.’

‘I’m not stubborn. I’m just determined,’ Lilly replies, closing the bag. ‘Ready? We can always come back later.’

‘Aye,’ Mary says, following her out into the sunshine and beautiful serenity of the silent area. Birds swooping through the air chasing insects. Flowers blooming here and there. Weeds pushing up at the sides of the road after the near perfect growing conditions of hot sunshine and heavy rains.

‘What’s that over there?’ Lilly asks.

‘Restaurant?’ Mary asks, looking over at the balcony running around the upper level and the external staircase. The style and design of it. ‘Aye, restaurant. Got a sign up over there, see?’

Lilly nods. ‘Fancy a quick look?’ she asks, setting off with Mary.

‘So what you making of it all then? That Henry and Reginald and all that.’

‘Hard to tell, but I think the way Reginald dropped that bomb then walked out will make Henry reassess and perhaps encourage him to open up a bit more. He obviously saw Howie and figured they were a bunch of soldiers running about, and he saw the bite marks but didn’t really ask about them. Which suggests he knows a lot than he’s letting on.’

‘Are ye sure it’s the right way of doing things? All this politics stuff. Norman’s a smart man. Henry too, and that Reggie looks sharper than anything. But I don’t know. Seems a lot of flaffing about if you ask me.’

‘We’ve got a lot at stake.’

‘Aye. We have. But you’ve also got a lot of men on your side, Blondie. You’re not in a weak position. It’s your fort, your rules.’

‘I know that,’ Lilly says, casting a glance back to Mary as they reach the top of the external staircase.

‘I don’t think you do. Ye can tell them all to get out, you know that right? And they’ll go too. Uncle Peter will make sure of that. You’ve enough men to do the job is what I’m saying. Ah, will you look at this view up here. And you can see all the way to the fort. Jesus, Blondie. Look at what you’ve made there. That wall from here. It looks something else.’

Lilly stares out, looking at the wall snaking across the land and the glittering sea beyond. The fort standing proud and the cranes and trucks moving inside the boundary. A hive of activity in an otherwise picture postcard snapshot of tranquil countryside bordering the sea.

‘Someone’s been up here,’ Mary says, nodding past Lilly to the tables and chairs further up. ‘Having a nosy at our fort too.’

Lilly walks over with her. Noticing the way the chairs and tables have been moved to create a viewing platform over the fort. That and the big scope kind of gives it away.

‘Probably Henry,’ Lilly says.

‘I was just thinking that,’ Mary replies. ‘Bit creepy though. You know what I mean?’

‘Doesn’t bother me. I think a lot of people would want to see what it was like before they went in.’

‘Aye. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want some dirty fella up tugging his stick while watching us, do you know what I mean?’

‘I doubt you’ll be able to see that,’ Lilly says with a laugh at Mary’s turn of phrase. She lowers down to the scope and peers into the viewing lens. ‘Oh wow.’

‘What?’ Mary asks in alarm.

‘You can see right into the shower cubicle we use.’

‘Are ye joking? Dirty shits. Wait till I find…’ she breaks off at Lilly smiling up. ‘Very funny, Blondie.’

‘You fire up so easily,’ Lilly says, looking back into the lens.

‘And you don’t?’ Mary asks. ‘What can you see?’

‘I can see Eggy having a crafty smoke behind a container with Uncle Jack.’

‘No way! I’ve got to see this,’ Mary says, lowering down to look through the scope. ‘Where?’

‘See the crane. Todd’s crane…by the north road. Just behind that. The yellow container.’

‘Ah! This is clear as anything. Look, there’s Eggy and Uncle Jack. Cheeky sods. Look at ‘em. And Willie’s loafing about drinking a can of pop too. And that’s Uncle Pete leaning on the front of his pick-up having a right old natter with Norman. I’m loving this,’

Lilly smiles and glances across at Mary’s hair, at her form and the shape of her neck as she leans down to view. She can smell her shampoo and deodorant and count the freckles on her shoulders and arms and without thinking, she reaches over to pluck a stray strand of red hair back from Mary’s cheek as Mary smiles from the touch, feeling a shiver run down her spine.

‘You’ve got goosebumps,’ Lilly says.

‘Cold,’ Mary says.

‘Sure,’ Lilly says as Mary snorts a laugh and hip bumps her.

‘Stop ye flirting, we’ll catch more gay if you keep on.’

‘Bit late for that…’ she stops talking as Mary lifts her head from the sound of engines coming closer on the north road from the fort. The unmistakable sight of Clarence driving the first one.

‘What are they doing?’ Mary asks.

‘No idea,’ Lilly replies.

‘Do you want to go down?’

‘No. No let’s hang on here for a moment…’

* * *

Clarence peers forward, squinting at the sun coming through the windscreen then spots a big yard off to one side with boats stacked inside and stops the pick-up truck borrowed from Bobby. Bobby did try and barter. Clarence said no. Bobby tried again. Clarence told him to pack it in then sighed and asked him what he wanted. Bobby said more boxes of chocolate bars and also some of those magazines. The ones from the top shelf in the newsagents that show the ladies boobies because Bobby can trade a lot for them. Clarence said yes and Bobby gave them all a Snickers.

Now he gets out and scans the area while the others pull up in their borrowed pick-ups. Doors opening. Mouths munching Snickers as they look about, taking in the sounds and smells. That it’s a risk coming out of the fort with such a small team is obvious, but therein lies the confidence of what they can do now. That they can risk a quick run out with small numbers. Besides, the fort’s only a few minutes down the road.

He looks to the gates securing the boatyard then leans back into the cabin of the pick-up for the big crowbar he asked Bobby to find and strolls over to stare at the chain and padlock. A few seconds later and the gates swing open with the locking plate shorn off from the bolts and Nick, Tappy, Booker, Maddox and Clarence stare in at the vessels on trailers and big oversized shelving units. Others propped up on wooden plinths. Lots of them too. Sailing boats, small cruisers, wooden and fibreglass things. Boats with cabins. Boats without cabins. Fishing vessels and more.

‘Do you know what you want?’ Tappy asks, looking up at Clarence.

‘Sandy just said she needs more boats,’ Clarence says.

‘Couple of nice fishing boats with cabins there,’ she says, pointing across. ‘That kind of thing?’

Clarence nods and rubs his jaw. ‘Sure, get what you think,’ he says, walking off as the others share looks. He strolls on, peering up at the racks while thinking. He spots a row of wooden hulled open-topped fishing boats and thinks maybe one of them will do. But no. It has to be right.

‘Old lifeboat?’ Maddox calls as he walks through the yard. ‘They haven’t got anything that can handle swell, and she’s small too. Easy to launch.’

‘Whatever you think,’ Clarence murmurs, lost in his own world as Nick and the others get to work. Heaving trailers about to see what’s worth taking while Clarence goes deeper into the yard. His rifle on his back looking like a child’s toy and that hand still rubbing his jaw. His face a mask of concentration and more than a little irritation at not seeing what he wants. But he doesn’t know what he wants. Only that it has to be wood. Sod it. One of the wooden fishing boats will have to do.

He turns back with a sigh then stops dead at the sight of her set back in the shadows between two big fancy yachts. Low and sleek with her wooden hulled painted white. A single mast with a sail folded down and she’s on a trailer too. He goes over and runs his hand down the sides, feeling the smoothness and the grain of the wood. Feeling the life within her. That someone made her with love is clear. That someone cherished her is obvious. If left here, she will eventually rot and fall apart. She doesn’t want that. Clarence can sense it. She wants the water beneath her again.

He pats her gently before moving to the front to grip the point of the trailer and lifts her easily, pulling her free and out from the shadows and into the sun once more.

‘Mate, that’s a sailboat,’ Nick calls.

‘Aye,’ he says deeply, pulling the boat behind him.

‘Do you like sailing?’ Nick asks.

‘Nope,’ the big man takes her out of the compound to his pick-up and sets about fastening her on while the others drag and heave the old lifeboat out and a few more sturdy looking vessels.

* * *

‘They’re after boats,’ Mary whispers, lying flat on the balcony as they peer around the corner and across the road to the boatyard. ‘What they wanting boats for?’

Lilly shrugs. ‘Maybe Sandy asked one of them.’

‘Aye. Maybe. Tell ye what though. Nick looks good in that vest all covered in oil. He’s like someone from a magazine,’ she says as Lilly rolls her eyes and gives her a look. ‘Ach, but he does though. And who’s that girl with the tattoos?’

‘I don’t know. She’s new.’

‘She’s pretty.’

‘I can’t really see her,’ Lilly says in a way that suggests she can see her very well.

‘I saw her earlier when we spoke. I thought to myself, Mary, there’s a pretty girl with some good tattoos. Have you ever thought of having a tattoo?’

‘Not really. You?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe one day. Nothing trashy though, and not a tramp stamp either. You know what we should get? We should get Blondie’s Bitches on our bum cheeks…ssshhhh!’ she says as Lilly snorts a laugh.

* * *

A few minutes of hard work as they reverse pick-ups into the compound to hitch trailers and pull out to repeat until three sturdy vessels, one old life boat and a small sailing dinghy are coupled and ready to go.

‘Done,’ Nick says. ‘Happy?’ he asks Clarence.

‘Give me two minutes,’ Clarence says, striding off towards a retail outlet nearby. A chandlery with all manner of nautical goods displayed behind the plate glass window.

‘Where’s he going?’ Nick asks.

‘No idea,’ Maddox replies, sagging against the side of his pick-up as Nick draws his battered packet of smokes.

‘Booker?’

‘Cheers,’ Alan says, taking one.

‘You smoke?’ Tappy asks him.

‘No, just taking one.’

‘Funny,’ she snorts a laugh then shakes her head when Nick offers a smoke. ‘Only if it’s got weed in it. So we haven’t seen this mysterious Tamarra yet then.’

‘Nah, thank fuck,’ Booker says with a wince.

‘So full of shit,’ she says, rolling her eyes.

Clarence reaches the door thinking he’ll have to force it open then realises the lock has already been snapped. He goes in slowly, peering into the gloomy interior and detects a trace odour, but not unpleasant. Not death. More like shampoo or deodorant. Dusty footprints on the floor too. Someone has been in recently. He listens carefully, not hearing anything then ventures in to look for what he needs, pausing at the tins of marine paint.

‘What’s he want a dinghy for?’ Nick asks again.

Maddox looks over at it. At the single mast and the low, sleek shape and gets an idea in his mind. Connecting the dots to a conclusion, but he hesitates to say it. Guessing the big man doesn’t want it shared and so he stays quiet and shrugs, thinking about Lenski and if he’ll see her again.

‘Really need a wee,’ Tappy says.

‘Go then,’ Nick says, turning to look about. ‘Over there behind that restaurant.’

‘I hate peeing in the open. It’s alright for you. You can just spray it about. We’ve got to squat down. I’ll just hold it in. Bollocks. I can’t hold it in. I’ll be right back…’

‘Don’t go far,’ Nick says.

‘Want me to come and check the area?’ Maddox asks.

‘Aw, the little lady might get lost?’ Tappy asks, flicking them the middle finger as she walks off. ‘I’ll scream if I need you.’

‘We’ll drive off and leave you,’ Maddox calls.

‘Wouldn’t be surprised,’ she says with a laugh as Mary and Lilly tense, watching her coming towards the restaurant, aiming for the external staircase. Tappy brings her rifle to the front and holds it ready while thinking she could nip up and use the restaurant toilets, but then Sergeant Blowers always says they shouldn’t go in places unless they’ve been cleared. She thinks to break the rule and go anyway and reaches the base of the stairs as Lilly and Mary hold still with hearts thumping like mad, knowing that if they rush back now, they’ll make noise and draw attention.

‘Fuck it,’ Tappy pauses, sagging an inch while thinking Blowers is right. The risk is too much and knowing her luck she’ll get attacked on the toilet then get in trouble for going inside. She sighs and walks past the base of the stairs, right underneath Lilly and Mary who watch her through the gaps in the planks beneath them. They hardly dare to breath as Tappy slows, checks about, turns a circle a few times then starts undoing her trousers and tugging them down. The two women above her just a few metres away, listening and watching with a growing sense of dread.

The tinkling noise comes and Tappy looks about, checking the sides while holding her balance. She sighs then detects the same trace odour Clarence detected in the store. Shampoo and deodorant. Fresh chemicals smells that now stand out. Someone’s been here. She finishes quickly and jumps up while pulling her trousers up one handed. Turning that circle a bit faster. A bit spooked. A bit worried.

‘Shit,’ Mary whispers under her breath as Lilly tenses, knowing how bad it will look when they’re caught. She should go out now and not wait. She starts to rise as Mary grips her arm to hold her still and Tappy buckles up, frowning and looking about before rushing off underneath them and the biggest fright comes when she looks up, right into the eyes of Mary staring down who feels her heart freezing.

Tappy walks on and out into the road to see Clarence coming from the shop. ‘Spooked myself then,’ she says with that slightly lop-sided grin. ‘Sure I could smell someone.’

‘Same thing in there,’ Clarence says, thumbing the shop behind him. ‘Someone’s been through here very recently.’

‘Want us to check?’ Nick asks, looking over at the restaurant.

Clarence reaches the pick-up and stops to look about. ‘Hello?’ he shouts out, making Lilly and Mary flinch. ‘Anyone? We’re with Mr Howie. We’re friendlies…we can take you to the fort…’

Nothing. No response.

‘Must have gone,’ Tappy says quietly, still feeling a bit weird, like someone’s watching them.

Doors slamming. Engines starting and the trailers bounce behind the pick-ups as the fleet moves through the estate and back to the fort.

‘Jesus!’ Mary says, rolling onto her back and pushing her hands through her hair. ‘That was a bit close there.’

Lilly lets her breath go, closing her eyes at the close call.

‘Imagine that? Your bloody boyfriend finding us all snuggled up and hiding away? How would that look?’

Lilly looks at her. ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

‘Fair play,’ Mary says, pushing up to her feet. ‘But does he know that?’

Chapter Nineteen

‘You’re back,’ Paula says as Howie, Reginald and Dave get out of the van.

‘No, we’re still gone,’ Howie replies.

‘You get funnier every day, Mr Howie,’ she says with forced humour. The strain showing on all of them. The equilibrium disturbed and trying to right itself. Everything suddenly clouded and unclear, like the goals they thought they had are now shifting and it shows in the gaps when they speak. In the heavy silences and facial expressions.

‘What’s going on?’ he asks, seeing lots of cases of ammunition near the back of the Saxon.

‘That’s going on,’ Blowers says, nodding towards the open back as Howie steps round to look in.

‘Argh mate, that’s gross.’

‘I didn’t do it!’ Blowers says, clearing his throat again and wondering why his voice goes higher when he gets defensive.

Meredith wags her tail at the sight of Howie while still showing them her big teeth and growling.

‘That’s messed up,’ Howie says at the mixed signals. ‘Is that a hand?’

‘Looks like it,’ Paula says. ‘Few fingers, some scalps…Danny thought he saw a thumb.’

‘Thumb,’ Danny says, nodding at Mr Howie.

‘Oh,’ Howie says. ‘Where’s Nick? Get Nick. Nick!’

‘He’s gone with Clarence,’ Blowers says.

‘Gone where?’ Howie asks.

‘That marine estate, Sandy said she needs more boats,’ Paula explains.

‘Eh?’ Howie replies as everyone around him turns to look at the fleet of pick-ups coming down the north road. Each of them pulling a boat of sorts. Four of them go left towards the beach. One turns right towards the house with Clarence pulling up a few feet back from the Saxon.

‘Boss,’ he calls, lifting a hand as he gets out.

‘You got boats?’ Howie asks.

‘Yep, Sandy said she needed them,’ Clarence says, strolling over. ‘Haven’t you sorted that dog out yet, Sergeant?’

‘I didn’t bloody do it!’ Blowers says, making sure his voice is deep this time.

‘Have you got a sore throat?’ Paula asks him.

‘He needs a salty gargle,’ Cookey says.

‘Alex!’ Paula tuts.

‘What? That’s good for sore throats.’

‘Right, well I need to get in there,’ Clarence says, pointing at the back of the Saxon.

‘Good luck,’ Howie scoffs. ‘The war’s over on the basis we can’t use our bloody army truck anymore.’

‘She’s fine,’ Clarence says, stepping up and going past the dog who wags, growls and shows teeth but doesn’t react on the basis that the big man gives her biscuits and therefore he is allowed near her stash of body parts. As long as he doesn’t touch them. Don’t touch them. Seriously.

‘I’m not touching them,’ he says, bending down to grab a kitbag from a cubby.

‘That’s Blinky’s,’ Charlie says as Clarence steps down.

‘I know,’ he says gently. ‘It’s fine. Trust me. Do you need me, boss?’

‘Er, we’ve got to get back over I guess. We did the thing and spoke to Cassie. She said we can take as long as we want.’

Clarence nods. ‘You don’t need me though do you? Over there I mean.’

‘Er, no. No, we’re cool, I think. Er, you got something on then?’

‘Bit of downtime if that’s okay.’

‘Sure. Yeah. Er, we’re here for the night probably.’

Clarence nods again then walks off. ‘I’ll be on the beach…’ he heads back and drags the trailer onto the sand behind him, ditching it by the shore before figuring out how to unfasten the boat. Bunching his power to slide her over the runners and down onto the sand.

She is pretty too. With a sweeping grace to her lines. A narrow front that blooms out to the sides and a squared off sloping rear. Clarence doesn’t know the terms. Prow. Bow. Stern, port, keel or starboard. But he doesn’t need to know what they’re all called. What he needs to do is make her ready.

He walks slowly around her, staring at the white sides smeared with dirt and gunk. Old marks here and there. A life lived. She needs a good wash. That’s fine. He can do that.

He heads into the house to Marion sweeping through the ground floor rooms, humming away and stopping to smile as he looms in the doorway of the lounge now converted into a barracks.

‘Thought I’d have a clean up,’ she says, pushing stray strands of hair back. ‘Georgy always said I like to stay busy. It’s okay isn’t it? I wouldn’t want to be in the way.’

‘It’s fine. I’m after a bucket…and some of those hard things you use when doing the washing up.’

‘Scouring pads? Under the sink. And there’s buckets out the front.’

‘Thanks,’ he walks off down the hallway and out to see the lads still devising tactical strategies on the removal of Meredith from the back of the van.

‘Tripe,’ Mo says. ‘Dogs love tripe yeah, we’s need some tripe.’

‘Where the fuck are we getting tripe from?’ Cookey asks. ‘No, I’m telling you. We lure her out with Danny’s dick. She loves dicks. Danny, get your knob out.’

‘Don’t get your penis out,’ Charlie tells Danny in case he felt he needed to follow orders.

Bucket in hand and Clarence goes back to Marion presenting him with scouring pads, cloths and rags. A bucket of soapy water and he heads back out through the garden and across the beach. Kitbag down. Rifle on top. Boots off. Trouser legs rolled up. Top off and he sets to his task. Starting at the narrow front and rubbing each plank down with solid scrubs. Back and forth. Side to side. Methodical and rhythmic. The scourer, detergent and his strength cutting through the green mould and the layers of dirt.

From front to back he works. Scrubbing and cleaning. The action soothing the disquiet in his mind. Clarence will go to war, and he’ll fight all day, but Clarence does not like it when things get muddied. When truces are offered that don’t mean what they say they mean. When people that should be on the same side get together but don’t say what they think. He doesn’t like that. And so he focusses on this now. On cleaning this boat so she will be ready. She starts to shine too. The white paintwork showing clear from the labours given. The varnished top glinting in the sun. He works harder below the water line. Scrubbing over and over. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. He killed children. He killed women and young people. They lost Blinky. Big Chris. Malcolm and others. He thinks of family and friends. The guys he saw yesterday. He thinks of Paula and Roy and having honour and decency. He thinks of duty and what it means to be a soldier and that this task now will bring closure. He needs to do it. They need him to do it. He doesn’t know how or why, only that it must be done, and the more he works, the clearer that becomes in his mind and the day rolls on. Growing later. Growing hotter.

The lads stand outside the house. Smoking cigarettes, drinking tea with conversations rolling about. Charlie brushing Jess down. Nick with his zoned-out head back inside the engine.

Roy hanging about in the container on the beach used as a field HQ and medical bay. ‘It’s just dehydration,’ he says, pressing a hand to the forehead of a young man. ‘Drink some water and you’ll be fine.’

‘What if it’s not dehydration?’ the man asks, wide eyed and worried.

‘I don’t know. I’m not a doctor, now sod off and let me watch Anika do some suturing,’ he grins at the man while motioning for him to go. ‘Well go on. Bugger off.’

In the fort they gather once more about the big table in the warm, airless office, the numbers reduced from Clarence working on his boat and Lenski deciding she’d rather watch grass growing than sit in that office any longer.

‘Doctor Neal Barrett,’ Henry says, getting straight to the point.’ I take you’ve seen and spoken to him.’

‘Indeed,’ Reginald says.

‘And where he is now?’

‘Oh gosh, I’m afraid there is very little I can tell you on that front,’ Reginald says, using Henry’s own responses to the questions asked of him earlier.

‘Gentlemen, I feel I may be wasting my time here,’ Henry says. ‘This is not a game. I’ll ask you again. Where is Neal?’

‘He’s dead I’m afraid,’ Reginald says as Henry and George share a look. ‘Awful thing really. Poor chap was bitten and turned, which is ironic given what he was in possession of.’

The words hang in the air. Hinted at but not said openly. Norman knows about the list and sees the hand being played by Reginald, and he watches Henry for reaction as the tension ramps up.

Henry pauses, thinking fast once more. ‘Let me explain something,’ he says firmly. ‘I am an agent of the British government. I am authorised and sanctioned to act with any means necessary to achieve my objectives. If Doctor Barrett passed you anything, or informed you of anything, then you must hand that to me immediately.’

‘Or?’ Howie asks quietly.

‘Threats will not be tolerated,’ Lilly says, speaking out into the charged room.

The wrong move against the wrong people and Henry acknowledges it with a single dip of his head. The tension hardening a little more. George steals discreet glances to his niece. He never saw Paula a great deal. George was from that generation where familial matters were left to wives, but still, even he feels that jarring sensation of seeing her. And Howie too. Howard’s son. And Dave with them. It was George that found Dave. George was there when Dave killed his opponents in the milling contest held in basic training for Dave’s infantry regiment. It was George that arranged the cover-up and enabled Dave to be taken out and put into a training system that weaponised his autism.

Henry clears his throat. Sitting straight and lightly drumming his fingers on the table, his face an impassive mask.

‘You have no idea what you’re going against…you might have gathered a few immune people together to fight back…what?’ he asks, seeing the looks being shared. ‘Do you think we’re blind? We can see the bite marks and you have Neal’s list. You’ve used it to gather immune people to fight back and by sheer good luck you’ve had Dave with you to keep you all alive…’

A change in the energy within the room. A sharpening of senses that makes Henry fall silent and detect they just reacted to something he just said.

‘My dear chap,’ Reginald says quietly. ‘You know far less than I originally thought. You really don’t know what this is, do you?’

A change in the light within the room. A strange flickering that makes them all turn to the windows to see people going by one after the other with each casting a shadow. A long line too and all heading one direction.

‘What’s going on?’ Lilly asks.

‘No idea,’ Norman says. ‘Can we pause for a second please?’

* * *

Clarence stands back. His face flushed and hot, but the satisfaction is there. She looks good. Very good. Her white sides shining bright and true. The contrast between the white and the darker varnished wood now distinct and clear. Everything glinting in the sun. She wants the water beneath her. He can feel it. She wants to let the wind and waves take her again. But not yet. Soon though. He has more to do.

He walks to his kitbag and finds the things he took from the marine store earlier and turns back to the pretty little dinghy while thinking that this needs to be done right, and the next stage needs a skill he doesn’t have. He sets the things down and heads off back over the beach and through the house to the front. The younger ones lounging about, leaning on this and that. Sitting in the shade. Doing what squaddies do when there’s no officers about.

‘You alright,’ Blowers asks, standing upright as Clarence comes out and prompting the others to do the same with guilty expressions.

‘At ease. Maddox, Mo said you can draw.’

‘Sorry, what?’ Maddox asks. ‘Draw? Yeah a bit.’

‘Can you write nicely?’

‘Er.’

‘Yeah he can,’ Mo says. ‘He’s good, like all that slanted writing.’

‘With me then please,’ Clarence says, in such a way that suggests it’s not a request. He turns to go back in then stops. ‘What’s everyone else doing?’

‘Er, not much?’ Blowers says. ‘The van’s all cleaned and stocked, but we can’t get in the Saxon. Cos of the dog.’

Clarence moves to the back of Saxon, picking a box up on his way and tearing the top off. Meredith inside watching him intently. Her upper lip starting to flick up. That growl starting to sound. Clarence leans in while staring into her eyes and simply scoops the body parts into the box. She growls deeper. He stares harder. She whines and backs down. Sensing his energy. Sensing this isn’t a fight worth picking. He clicks his tongue for her to follow and sets off past Maddox into the house with the box in his hands and the dog at his heels. ‘Come down to the beach if you’re bored,’ he says over his shoulder. Out into the garden and he plucks the big sun umbrella from the table and heads down the beach. Setting the umbrella open to give shade to the box that he puts down. Knowing Meredith will stay with it. She does too. Instantly lying down next to her goodies as though she never moved from the Saxon.

‘What’s up?’ Maddox asks, staring from the boat to Clarence as the others file out through the gate to see the dinghy gleaming in the sun.

‘Get a few of you down the beach,’ Clarence says to the rest. ‘I want firewood. Try the stacks down there,’ he adds, waving to the busy section where the boats run from. ‘Does anyone know how to put sails up?’

Danny lifts a tentative hand. ‘I did a sailing course in the cadets, sir.’

‘I’m not a sir, Danny. Get the sails up for me.’

‘Sir,’ Danny says, rushing to work with his kit bag and rifle.

‘Stack your kitbag next to mine. Rifle on top out of the sand. Get your boots off too. I don’t want her marked inside.’

‘Sir,’ Danny says, changing course to run across the sand.

‘What did you want me for?’ Maddox asks, watching Clarence go to his kitbag and walk back with a tin of high gloss black marine paint and a thin brush. ‘You want a name on her?’ he asks, motioning towards the boat. ‘Yeah I can do that. I’m not professional or anything though.’

‘It’s fine,’ Clarence says, handing the paint and brush over before walking to the front of the dinghy. He rests a hand on the upper front where a boat name would normally go. Feeling the warmth of the sun in the wood. Feeling the grain beneath his fingers and palm. Feeling she wants the water and the wind. ‘Start here,’ he says, ‘then work down the side. Stop when you reach the back then start on the other side.’

‘How long’s this name?’ Cookey asks with a grin as Maddox kneels at the front and pops the lid from the tin with his knife. He dips the brush in and lets the drops slide off then reaches out to feel the grain before nodding up at Clarence, showing he’s ready as the others hold still.

‘Start with Blinky,’ Clarence says softly as Charlie feels a jolt inside. ‘Nice and clear but not too big. There’s more after that. I was going to start with Big Chris, but Blinky wouldn’t like that. She had to be first,’ he looks at Charlie. ‘I admired that in her. Chris would have too. She was always first in. She needs to be first in now. She’ll go out properly, Charlie. Burying’s not a soldier’s way. We go big and loud and light a path for them to find their way out…go on now, get to work.’

Chapter Twenty

The fort and camp stand empty. The cranes now silent. The boat engines shut off. The trucks and cars and vans and pick-ups no longer running. No phones break that silence. No calls or messages. The murmur of children here and there. Low voices passing comment. A baby crying, but they are the sounds of humanity and so they suit the feel and vibe. They suit what this is. Hundreds of people gathering on the beach, staring across to the men and women forming a guard of honour around a pretty little dinghy as the evening slowly wanes and gives away to night.

Just a tiny boat with a single sail and white sides made black from the many names written in paint. And Maddox now kneels inside with his hand cramping and his arms burning from holding the brush and paint for so long. He won’t relent though. He won’t give in and he looks at the woman whispering the name of her son who gave his life to save his brothers when the world fell. He leans in and writes it in the space left. Writing the name that gives permanence and the woman sobs quietly.

It became a thing. It became Clarence’s thing, and by the time Howie and the others came out of the offices to look at why people were going by the windows, so they realised the fort was far emptier than it should have been and they followed that exodus. All of them going together to stand in awe at a thing underway.

It became a thing you see. It became Clarence’s thing, because it wasn’t right when Blinky died. It left a stain on his soul. He didn’t like it when they put her in the ground either. He didn’t like losing Chris or Malcolm and not being able to mark it. The others they lost too. And so, he gave the names to Maddox to write on the side of the graceful little dinghy. Blinky. Chris and Malcolm. Blowers added Tucker and Curtis. Jamie. Steven and Tom. Ted the old policeman. Terri and Debbie, and as they gave names, so more came to mind and the black words soon began to fill the sides.

Brian Collins, one of the van drivers, saw it while driving past and told Martin Jones and Jane Parker on the beach. They explained the soldiers were taking wood for a fire. Jillian heard them and figured they could go see what it was all about. They walked up and stood in silence, realising what was happening and what the names meant. They turned to leave, thinking this was not theirs to intrude upon.

‘Do you have any?’ Clarence asked them. It was his thing you see. Clarence’s thing. Jane Parker looked back at him. At the lads stacking wood for a fire. At Maddox pausing with the brush held ready.

‘My brother,’ she said quietly. ‘He wasn’t a soldier, but he fought back. The first night…he saved me.’

‘What was his name?’ Clarence asked.

‘David,’ she said. Clarence nodded at Maddox and David was written on the side as Jane watched. The tears falling. The memories burning inside.

‘My friend, James,’ Martin said. ‘He went at them in our street. Got a few of us out he did.’

James was added. The names of the fallen. The names of those who gave their lives so others may live.

Word spread and more came. From the camp. From the beach. From the boats. From the trucks and diggers. From the workers. Word reached the fort, and a few slipped away quietly. Then more until it wasn’t a trickle but a flow.

‘My husband,’ a woman said, holding her two children close. ‘He got us out…he was so brave. He shouted at us to go while they bit him. I said no. I said we wouldn’t leave him. He shouted and…’ she broke off, struggling to speak from the emotion as Marion gave comfort.

‘What was his name?’ Clarence asked while Maddox held the brush ready.

‘Simon. Daddy was called Simon wasn’t he,’ she sobbed to her kids and Maddox started writing. Marion held her close. Letting the pain come out as the next one came in to give a name that was added to the pretty little dinghy.

It became a thing. It became Clarence’s thing, and after Danny got the sails open, so Clarence went to Blinky’s bag and found her long material headband and tied it to the top of the mast. Then he put Blinky’s bag inside the boat, and from his own he took photos of him and Chris and Malcolm. Old prints taken from Iraq and Afghan. A knife that Chris gave him went in. Small things he’d kept to himself. Mementoes and memories. Objects to mark it and make it real. To give the graceful little dinghy something to carry when she went on her way.

Other things were added too. Rings. Necklaces. Watches. Bracelets. Scarves and clothes. A man’s shirt folded neatly. Photos and trinkets. Nothing too big. Small things and memories and the bottom of the dinghy soon filled with the lives of the fallen while their names were painted on the side.

A little girl walked over from her mother and stood in front of Clarence. Staring up at the giant with a teddy in her arms. ‘For my daddy,’ she said, holding it up. ‘So he doesn’t get scared.’

Clarence helped her lean into the boat to place the bear against the mast then simply held her for a while. The two of them watching Maddox working.

By the time Howie reached the shore, the operation was underway, and it was clear this was Clarence’s thing. His idea. His effort. His heart and soul, and his rules.

Howie didn’t say anything but simply ditched his kitbag and rifle with the others and set to work carrying wood to build the fire. Paula stayed with Marion. The lads handed bottles out so people could drink. Snack bars and food too. Carmen and Kyle helped them. Frank went close to the boat, sharing a nod with Clarence. Old soldiers. Old Paras. Old comrades. Henry and George stayed close. Using the time to think and talk quietly until they felt out of place. Then they helped carry firewood and give out drinks.

Lilly went back to the fort on seeing what was happening and found the children. She made them promise to be good and to do as they were told. Glaring at them one after the other. Then she took them out with Mary and Lenski in a boat to the shore. Damsa and her family too. Subi was scared. She hadn’t been out of the fort since arriving, but Ameer was there, so she didn’t cry. The other kids loved the adventure and quickly defied Lilly’s rules by running off along the beach.

‘CLARENCE CLARENCE CLARENCE CLARENCE…’ Milly’s voice yelled out, loud and high and clear and she ran like the wind. Past the crowds and over the sand to the big man ready to lift her high, throwing her arms about his head and only then did Meredith leave her stash. Only then did Meredith see the little ones and she needed that contact too. Remembering her own little one and she rolled on her back with little hands rubbing her belly and sides. Whining and wagging her tail.

It became a thing you see. It became Clarence’s thing, and the day wore long as more came over and the children splashed in the sea, happy to be free of the fort. Eating snack bars and playing with Meredith. Their laughter somehow merging organically with the heart-wrenching process underway.

The bonfire grew too. Wide and high. But that was okay. Clarence said to make it as big as possible, so all the old wood they didn’t need was added and still the photos and memories were placed in the boat and the names were written on the sides.

Then the sides became too full and there was no space left and Maddox stood back, rubbing his cramping hand and wrist. ‘The sail,’ he said simply. Clarence nodded and Maddox went back to work, filling it with names etched in black until his hand hurt so much it made him want to cry.

Charlie offered to take over. He said he was okay. It was Clarence’s thing, but in a way, it was his too. This was his job. His writing. Maddox hadn’t led a good life. And this. Well, maybe it helped the karma a little. Not that Maddox believes in karma.

And while that was happening. So Nick and Tappy worked on the Saxon. ‘Is it in?’ Tappy asked, reaching up with her oily hands slipping and sliding over Nick’s.

‘That’s it,’ Nick grunted, leaning in to reach as they slotted the last filter in. ‘Bolts?’

‘Hang on,’ she said, reaching to bring them up as they fastened and tightened, grunting and sweating until the last one was done.

She popped out as Nick wriggled free. The pair of them filthy as anything, dripping and smeared with grime. ‘Okay,’ she said, counting on her fingers. ‘Oil change, filters, all the levels are done…brakes are good…she’s all cleaned out…happy?’

‘I reckon,’ he said, wiping a hand across his forehead. ‘See if she starts.’

‘Oh god, can you imagine if she doesn’t,’ Tappy said, climbing up into the driver’s seat. ‘I’m actually nervous.’

He nodded, feeling the same pinch of worry that they’d stripped it down and made it worse. She crossed her fingers and gave him a nervous look then winced as she turned her over. A click. A cough and she fired up.

‘Give her a bit of power,’ he said, leaning in over her lap to listen as she pressed her foot down. Both of them focussed and both hearing the same thing. That choked noise of either air or fuel not getting in properly. ‘Fuck it,’ he groaned and sagged down over Tappy’s lap as she dropped with defeat to rest her head on his back.

‘Fucking thing,’ she mumbled, wiping her forehead across his shoulder. ‘Missed something. Right. Back in then big boy. You going under this time? I’ll go in from up here.’

They carried on as the people streamed past towards the beach. Forming groups and lines. Forming crowds that wanted to stay and see it and cling to this thing underway. This thing happening. An act that marked the losses they’d all suffered.

Later, as the day wore on, Tappy and Nick once more wriggled and clambered free to meet at the driver’s side with Tappy once more crossing her fingers while turning the engine over. ‘Fuck!’ she said, banging her head on the wheel at the choked sound still coming.

‘Inlets,’ Nick said. ‘Has to be an inlet.’

‘We’ve done the fucking inlets.’

‘Then we do ‘em again.’

Back to it. Back into the engine. Back to stripping things down and poking sticks and wires into places to drag chunks of old flesh out. Heedless to the world about them. Only focussed on this. On fixing this.

The afternoon gave way to evening and the work stopped. On the wall. On the machines flattening the land. On everything apart from the Saxon and the sail filled with names until one side was full. Maddox moved to the other side, pausing only for Roy to bind his hand in a tight dressing to give support while Anika gave him painkillers and water.

‘My shoulders are hurting so much,’ Tappy said, grimacing as they worked to strip parts down to reach into crevices and gaps.

‘I know mate, just dig in yeah.’

She nodded, fiercely determined to fix it. To find the blockage. Faces growing red underneath the oil and filth. Hair slick and greasy. Hands black with dirt. Another pipe that she jabbed a wire into. The burn in her shoulders and tummy muscles so bad. Nick reaching up, hurting too, trying to help. ‘I’ve got something,’ she gasped, feeling resistance in a pipe as she jabbed a long wire in. ‘Fuck…I can’t get it.’

‘Stab it,’ he urged. ‘Like a kebab skewer.’

‘Might push it in more. We’ll have to take the whole block out.’

He blinked and swallowed, the air about them growing darker as the shadows became longer. ‘Fuck it, just do it.’

‘Okay,’ she nodded, sucked air and grunted with an explosion of power, driving the thick wire in hard enough to cut her hand on a jagged edge. Crying out and refusing to yield. Refusing to give in. ‘Fuck you,’ she stabbed harder, feeling it bite then started pulling. ‘I’ve got it,’ she whispered. ‘It’s on the end…’

‘Pull it out!’

‘I am!’ she went slowly, gently, easing the wire back while biting her bottom lip as the burn in her shoulders and stomach from stretching out became too much. ‘My shoulders…’

‘I’ve got you,’ he reached up, pressing his hands to her upper chest. ‘Put your weight on me. It’s okay…I’ve got you.’

She sagged into him, feeling the relief while wiggling the wire, gasping and straining, hurting and wishing. ‘Almost there…almost there…come on…come on…yes! Fuck yes! Look at that!’

‘You beauty,’ Nick laughed, holding her upper body in a bench press. ‘What is it?’

She laughed out loud, almost sobbing from relief. ‘It’s a fucking dick.’

‘No,’ he gasped, laughing so hard he almost dropped her.

‘It’s a dick…look…an actual willy.’

They wriggled and crawled free then limped round while holding the dick stuck on a stick. Tappy clambering up into the driver’s seat. Both of them drained and exhausted. A second to stare at each other. Praying silently. Nick nodded. She pressed the button. The engine fired up. He leant in. She leant down. She applied power and the engine ran free and clear. Grins on both of them. Silent joy given. Job done. No high fives. No hugs. Just a dick on a stick.

‘You two still doing that?’ Paula asked, coming out after looking for them. ‘Come on, you need to get ready.’

‘What for?’ Nick asked, sharing a look with Tappy.

‘The ceremony,’ Paula said, rushing off.

‘What ceremony?’ Tappy asked.

* * *

Now the fort and camp stand empty. The cranes now silent. The boat engines shut off. The trucks and cars and vans and pick-ups no longer running. The murmur of children here and there. Low voices passing comment. A baby crying, but they are the sounds of humanity and so they suit the feel and vibe. They suit what this is and that little dinghy gleams in the rays of the sun burning bright across the sea. Her sails filled with breeze as she rests on the sand. Beautiful and graceful. Symbolic and majestic.

They stand in a circle about her. Danny started it off. He didn’t mean to. He’d been helping give water out and collect firewood. Then, as the day grew late, Paula told him to slip inside and get ready. She told him to clean his boots and try and look smart and Danny followed the orders given. He showered quickly and bulled his boots and dressed in his cleanest new trousers and new black top then rushed back outside and saw his rifle had slipped from his bag onto the sand. He worried Sergeant Blowers would see it and ran over to scoop it up and moved out a few steps to check it through. Standing with his back to the boat. Mo ran out from the house a minute later, saw Danny and got into place next to him. Booker came a few minutes after that and joined them. Then the others until one by one, the honour guard was formed.

Reginald came out of the house in a clean shirt and tie and took his place within the circle. His arms at his side. His chin held high. His body as marked and bruised as the others.

Then Howie came out and took his place. Staring out at the people. Remembering the names. Remembering the faces. Remembering each death. His sister’s name written upon the sides with the many others. His eyes seemingly darker than ever before.

Paula organised and made ready. Understanding what Clarence was doing. Making sure it would go right because this was Clarence’s thing and it should be done right. Then she too went in to wash and change and found Tappy and Nick out the front waggling a dick on a stick and told them to get ready.

Now the fort and camp stand empty and that pretty little dinghy gleams in the rays of the sun burning bright across the sea. Tappy and Nick rush out, both still marked with oil and grime. The quick showers they took not enough to scrub properly, and behind them the last man speaks quietly with his voice breaking from the raw pain in his heart.

‘He was in the army. Served in Afghan…bloody brave he was. Strong too. Should have seen him. He ran out. Ran out he did. Right into them. Only had a cricket bat but he bloody took a few down.’

‘I bet he did,’ Clarence says, nodding and smiling. ‘What was his name?’

‘Gordon, but…well, his mates called him Gordo, can you put that on there? Is that alright is it? I’m not sure on the rules.’

‘Gordo’s fine,’ Clarence says, and Maddox stretches to reach the top of the sail, sweeping the little brush over the material to form the shapes that make the letters of a name that gives life to a man who fought back.

‘What unit was he in?’ Clarence asks.

‘Royal Regiment of Fusiliers.’

‘Good unit,’ Clarence says firmly.

‘Yeah?’ the man asks, his face lighting up.

‘The best,’ Frank says from nearby, nodding at the man. ‘Good lads. You should be proud.’

‘I am,’ he says, his voice cracking and he swells with pride when Clarence brings his feet together and salutes smartly then looks over to Frank doing the same. Blowers and Danny. Cookey, Nick and Booker all giving the same honour. ‘Thank you,’ he whispers, smiling and crying as he turns away. ‘Thank you…’ he walks off through the guard and across the beach to the others waiting with arms to hold and shoulders to give support.

Now the fort and camp stand empty and that pretty little dinghy gleams in the rays of the sun burning bright across the sea as Maddox finally lowers his arm and hides the pain from his features while looking at the sail. Reading the names. Black paint on his arms and face. ‘Anymore?’ he asks.

‘No,’ Clarence says simply, quietly and Maddox steps from the boat to the sand. His legs cramping. His shoulder and arm burning. His hand hurting like hell. He walks slowly from front to back and around to the other side. Seeing the names. So many. He reaches the front again and shakes his head slowly before moving over to put the tin down with the kitbags. Takes up his rifle and walks back to stand in the circle facing out and the silence holds because it’s not time yet. This has to be done right. They deserve it. They deserve for this to be done properly, and so they wait as the sun glides down. They wait as the shadows creep further over the land and listen to the baby crying within the crowd and the waves lapping the beach. They wait and listen to wind in the sail on the little dinghy and they look upon the many names adorning her.

Time passes. Time will always pass. They say time heals all wounds. But these wounds are too deep, and perversely, there isn’t time to stop and think. To dwell and remember. They have this evening now by chance of fate, and so Clarence takes it to make it work. To give back. To give honour. He looks at the boat then over to the others forming a guard and grunts a soft noise at seeing the effort they’ve made in how they look. Then he realises he’s still naked from the waist up with his trouser legs rolled up and right there, right then, he feels really very self-conscious of that fact. He coughs. Clears his throat and sets off towards the house. ‘Be right back,’ he rumbles.

And because of that silence. Because of that revered awe that falls upon the bay, the many hundreds of people listen as a heavy bear thunders about inside that house, slamming doors and running up the stairs. They hear the shower running and more doors slamming. They hear the toilet flushing and the noises that track Clarence’s movement within. Then the heavy bear thunders down the stairs like a rolling clap of thunder and the hundreds of people track Clarence through the ground floor to the kitchen and out into the garden then out of the back gate where the big man stops to draw air. His face still wet from washing. Something in his hand. He takes a minute to compose himself before lifting his hands to tug the beret on his head. The winged badge showing clear. The maroon coloured beret of the Parachute Regiment.

He spots Paula smiling softly at him and smiles back as the bay stands quiet. He checks the sky. Seeing the position of the sun then looks at the ground to make sure it’s all ready, but then things are never fully ready, and sometimes, as is the way in army life, you’ve got to stop pissing about and get on with it.

He gets on with it and strides out across the sand towards the pretty little dinghy, not knowing what to expect, not really sure of what he feels. He passes between Howie and Blowers and circles the boat. Seeing those graceful lines. The way the wooden sides flare out. The squared off back. The sails full of the gentle breeze. Gulls crying overhead. He runs a hand along her top, feeling the wood made warm from the sun. Seeing the things inside and once more checks the sky while still not sure what he expected to feel then worries it’ll be an anti-climax.

Ah well. He moves to the squared off back end and figures it’s about time she felt the water beneath her again. He nods and rests his hands on the back, blasting air from his nose, thinking he should say something, but then thinking he has no words to give. This is enough. He’ll give her a push into the water and let the wind take her out.

‘Ready?’ he whispers and blows air from his cheeks as he starts pushing, figuring she’ll glide smoothly along. She doesn’t glide along. She stays put. He tries a bit harder. She stays put. He pushes harder still, getting his legs into it but still the pretty little dinghy stays put. Fine. That’s fine. Just needs a bit more effort. He relaxes, sucks air, bunches power and goes at it, driving his huge feet into the sand while his huge legs brace and his huge arms extend with his huge hands pushing like crazy and the pretty little dinghy, who was so light when she slid from the trailer, stays put.

He strains and pushes. He drives into it. He grunts and starts breathing harder. Sucking air and heaving away. Paula looks on with a gentle wince growing wider as the hundreds of people silently watch the big man heave away at the back of the pretty little dinghy that stays firmly put.

‘What the?’ he mutters and pauses, thinking he needs to adjust his feet to get better leverage. That’s what it is. A second to inflate his lungs and he goes at it again. Pushing so hard the veins stand proud in his neck and head and his face flushes red. ‘Bloody thing.’ He turns about and gets his back against hers. Pushing with his legs but the pretty little dinghy stays firmly put. She was so light earlier. She slid of the trailer with ease. What’s changed? Bloody Blinky. That’s what’s changed. She’s got Blinky’s name on her. Sodding Blinky pissing about again. Messing his plans up. He heaves into it, flushing deeper red and straining with muscles bulging. ‘Stop fucking about!’ he snaps out, making people strain to see who he’s yelling at. Clarence knows it’s Blinky. Her and bloody Big Chris and that twat Malcolm being dicks. He tries harder, refusing to give in and almost hearing them laughing at his efforts.

‘Right! Pack it in,’ he bellows, stepping back to gulp air while waggling a finger at the boat. ‘I mean it.’ He bunches power again, nodding with intent while backing up to get a run at her. Lowering down to get a better centre of mass as the names on the boat give the dinghy life and love and heart and meaning.

‘INCOMING,’ he yells out and charges across the sand, ramming into the dinghy’s bum with a whump of meat on wood and such is the impact, the boat shifts in the sand, sliding an inch or two. ‘HA! HAVE IT,’ he shouts out and drives on. Heaving and pushing. Letting the fury vent through his arms and legs. ‘Bloody Blinky…pissing about all the sodding time…’

‘Do you want a hand?’ someone asks.

‘No, I bloody do not,’ he bellows, pushing off to pace back to get another run up.

‘Go on, lad!’ Frank yells out. ‘She’s only little.’

Clarence charges once more and the little dinghy slides another inch or two. ‘Go on!’ Frank yells and Clarence heaves.

‘Go on, Clarence,’ Blowers urges, everyone now turned to see. Cookey’s voice cheering him on. Nick too. Howie and Tappy. All of them wanting to help but knowing he needs to do it because this is Clarence’s thing.

‘You stubborn shit,’ Clarence roars, pulling back and pacing off again. ‘You’re going in that sea.’

‘You tell her,’ Frank shouts and Clarence roars and charges once again, slamming into her arse and driving her a bit more to a chorus of cheers sounding out. He pushes hard, gaining another inch then staggers back across the sand to turn and face his foe. His chest heaving. Everyone urging him on. Shouting and yelling. People he’s never met and doesn’t know.

‘INCOMING,’ he roars out and charges once more as Meredith leaves her stash to run beside him, barking him on and the pretty little dinghy slides another few inches, grinding through the wet sand that she’s slowly sunk into all day. He pushes off again and walks backwards, sweating heavily, his mind now in the fight. Blinky and Chris and Malcolm and every other bloody sod all chuckling away. A roar and he sets off once more as another smaller roar joins him from Milly breaking away to race over the sand to help Clarence in charging at the back of the boat. The giant and the child impacting together. Heaving together. Her tiny legs and arms pushing with everything she’s worth and the boat slides a bit further still.

Back they go. Hand in hand. The man mountain and the child that knows no fear. Both of them breathing hard. Both of them lowering and readying. Both crying out and running to slam hard, to drive harder, to push and grind that pretty little dinghy towards the sea as the hundreds cheer and roar them on.

Again and again. Inches at a time. But nothing ever worth doing came easy and so they give power and strength, the child and the man and the people watching cheer louder when the front finally reaches the waves. They brace their backs and heave with their legs. Bucking and pushing. Gaining ground. Giving it everything they’ve got. Red faces and such is the look of utter focus on Milly’s face. All serious and intent as Clarence strays close to full on berserker mode. The fury unleashing inside. That hidden source of energy that drives him wild to break people and use them as sticks. His eyes glaze, his jaw clenches and he digs in, pushing that pretty little dinghy on and on. Inches gained from an unfathomable strength. He roars out. Milly roars out. The boat slides. Gaining the sea. Gaining water beneath her. A final push. A final bellowing roar and the two sink down into the waves as the boat finally gains buoyancy and swooshes out with a thunderous noise coming from everyone watching. Clarence surges up, lifting Milly as he goes, planting her on one shoulder as they pump arms in the air and give voice. Meredith barking and Jess rearing up nearby, adding her own noise as she runs back and forth through the shallows.

‘She’s sailing,’ Clarence calls out. ‘See that, Milly. She’s sailing. GO ON, BLINKY! GET OUT THERE!’

She looks beautiful too. Framed against a backdrop of the sea at sunset. Her sail filled with that gentle breeze that starts taking her away, further away. Away from the land. Away from the people. Away from Clarence.

Then it hits and the reality slams home because this is it. This is the goodbye. This is the fork in the road where each must take a different route. This is the closure Clarence needed to settle that disquiet.

It hurts though.

It hurts so much, and he sighs deeply, feeling his soul crushing inside. Milly stirs and he reaches up to let her slide down into his arm, holding her tight as they stand in the sea and give a final farewell.

‘Where’s it going?’ she asks, and her voice carries clear and loud because Milly has no shame to ask a question.

‘Somewhere better than here.’

‘Can we go?’

‘Not yet. And not you, not for a long time.’

She reaches out to wipe the tears from his cheeks and smiles at him. He smiles back and turns to watch the boat going away. The sobs breaking out from people who gave names and put memories into the boat. From people remembering those that fought back and held the line. War is dirty and killing is wrong, but within all of that abhorrence, there has to meaning and worth, they had to have died for something. It has to be for something.

‘Is it finished now?’ Milly asks.

Clarence looks at her. At her open face and that glint in her eyes and the grin always ready to show and he comes to realise if the boat is the past and he is the present, then she is the future, and there it is. That’s the reason why. That’s why they do this, and in his heart, he knows that every name on that boat represents a life that will now be nodding back at the children on the beach knowing they gave the truest gift of all so that others may live. So the little ones will have a future. Aye. Job done.

Clarence smiles at her. ‘My friend said…’

‘What’s his name?’ Milly interrupts, thinking you can’t talk about friends without saying their name.

‘Big Chris. He said that soldiers are stupid and unless they’re told where to go, they’ll get lost. He said they need to be shown the way out. Shall we show them the way out?’

Milly nods eagerly. Entranced by the big man and his deep rumbling voice and Clarence finally turns to give the nod as the sun sinks into the horizon, almost gone from this day.

Roy looks to the boat and her sails that indicate the wind, but the breeze can be different out to sea. He needs to know what’s it like here. He draws a knife from his belt and reaches out to Anika standing next to him. ‘May I?’ he asks. She blinks at him, her mind racing from everything happening and she watches as Roy gently takes a strand of her hair and smiles as he cuts it free. Just a single strand of fine jet-black hair and she watches as he lifts his hand to let it glide away, caught on the thermals of heat coming from the earth and the sand and people. Dancing along and telling Roy everything he needs to know.

He takes a zippo and sets light to kindling prepared on the ground then looks up at Anika and Ann. ‘You both okay doing this? You’ll have to be quick.’ They nod as he takes the first arrow and holds the end in the flames. The arrowhead flares instantly from the rags dipped in fuel tied on.

He steps away, takes a deep breath and nocks the arrow into the string of his longbow as people turn to watch and wonder what he’s doing. ‘Light the others,’ he says softly. Ann and Anika push the ends into fire that come to life with flames glowing bright in the darkening air.

Roy pulls the arrow into the string a few inches and looks out to sea again. Feeling it. Sensing it. He blinks slowly and twists his upper body down and to the left as he starts the first pull, feeling the tension in the string and wood, feeling the strain through his core and shoulders and arms and he stands straight to aim up in one solid, smooth motion. The bow bending. The string so taut. The arrow flaring with fire. His face now a mask of absolute serenity. ‘Been an honour,’ he whispers and looses. The arrow soaring high with sparks trailing and a gasp sounding through the people watching.

Roy turns and takes the next, nocks, pulls and looses. He takes the next one faster still and nocks, pulls and looses. Another and another with a speed that just isn’t real. With the speed he deploys when they fight. So fast. So incredibly fast. Twisting his upper body with each pull. Aiming slightly lower with each loose and the arrows shoot up high into the arrow with a perfect formation of equal distance between each. Forming a rainbow of fire.

A thing to see. A thing to behold and Clarence’s heart thunders in his chest, knowing this is really it. This is the final goodbye. There’s no going back now. No return to what was. Only the now. Only the present. Everyone in his team feeling the same. Faces growing taut. Eyes fixed and the pretty little dinghy sails on her final journey. Her graceful lines cutting through the waves. Her sides and sails full of the names of the fallen. Her insides full of the souls of the memories placed there, and those souls need to be released, they need noise and light to show them the way out. Not a hole in the ground. Not quiet prayers muttered and sobbed, but with noise and anger. With rage and fire and gunpowder. With light and energy. With whatever they can give. Whatever the living can give them to help push that final door open and those arrows arc high. Reaching the apex and filling the sky with orbs of light that start dropping down like huge balls of fiery rain. Like something from heaven. But that’s what they’re for. To show the souls where to go. Up. They go up. And by fuck they need a bang to get them going.

‘GO ON!’ Clarence roars out and the arrows drop in time. The trajectory so very perfect. All of them seeming to close in one that pretty little dinghy at the same time. Falling faster and faster. Gaining closer. Firewood laid discreetly in the boat.

A final second of time frozen as Anika stares in awe at Roy. At what he just did. At his cheeks streaked with tears and his face so alive with passion as he ceases the firing and watches. The pain in his eyes of everyone he lost. The pain in all of them. A final second frozen in time and the fort and camp stand empty as the hundreds of people still alive gather on the beach and stare out to sea, to a pretty little dinghy given life once more with a task upon her frame. To carry the souls clear of this world. To take them into the next and the arrows hit at the same time. All of them striking the boat with an unworldly precision and she blows as the flaming arrows ignite the fuel soaked into the wood. She blows from the heat and dryness. She blows and roars up in flame that glows brighter than anything, burning hard and furious as Clarence roars out, making everyone else do the same. The souls released with energy. Sent on their way to the heavens. With noise. With light. With fire and gunpowder. With everything Clarence could give it because this was his thing you see, and it had to be done right. Blinky deserved it. They all deserved it.

Anika can hardly breath from the charge in the air, from the electricity running through the bay and it’s only when she glances down that she realises there’s one flaming arrow still left in her hand. She blinks at it. Unsure of what to do. Her mind suddenly unable to cope as Roy reaches out and gently turns her around. ‘In there,’ he says quietly.

She flings it forward, into the huge bonfire stacked and ready and the arrow ignites boards and planks doused in fuel with a solid whoomph, making Anika step back into Roy as everyone else turns from the sea to the land. From the departed to the living. From the souls flying free to the souls still here and Clarence sighs deeply, feeling the tension run from his body.

‘You know what I need?’ he asks Milly. ‘I need some rum.’

Milly nods thoughtfully then grins. ‘Me too!’

‘Yeah, not happening…’

Chapter Twenty-One

Night comes. The night proper and the sky streaks with purple hues growing darker until the pinprick stars start to show. The beach bathed in light from the flame of the fire. A huge thing. Wide and high with flames reaching up and wafts of heat billowing across the sand.

The night changes the atmosphere too. Easing it from the charged emotion of the ad-hoc ceremony, to something that comes after. To a thing made by lots of people that gathered together and who now don’t want to disband and go anywhere else. So they loiter and stay. Gathering about in groups. Staking claim to sections of sand. Marking territory while others paddle in the sea and stare across to the flames of the pretty little dinghy in the distance.

Some are happy to sit still and ponder. Others chat and talk it through, and some feel that ever pressing urge to organise and take control. Figuring people still need to eat.

Aggie and Sunnie get to work. Women from the camp soon join in. Teas and coffees handed out from tables set up with generators humming and fires burning. Tinned and packet food poured into pans. Bowls of stew handed out.

‘Eat it quick and bring the bowls back,’ Aggie calls, rushing hither and thither. ‘John, get someone over to the fort to bring bowls and spoons over…and more snacks from the back of the stores, and mugs. We need mugs. And sugar. And teaspoons…’ she adds as John keeps turning to leave then stopping and looking back.

‘Do you want to just come with me?’ he asks.

‘Get on with you. I’m busy here. We don’t want to eat all of Kathy’s food.’

‘We’ve plenty go around we have,’ Kathy says.

‘This is so nice,’ Cookey says, tucking into a bowl of stew as they gather on the soft sand by the back of the house.

‘So nice,’ Tappy says, eating away then spotting Nick staring across the beach to Lilly and her big group sitting a short distance away. All of them eating from bowls the same as everyone else and the division is clear. The gap between them somehow making a statement. Lilly doesn’t look over either but sits close to Mary. Nick thinks about what Bobby said. About the rumour that Lilly and Mary kissed, and it confuses him. He gets that she was busy earlier, but she hasn’t said anything all day, and even now when it’s dark. Still nothing. Not even a glance. ‘What the fuck?’ he asks, snapped from his thoughts by Tappy hitting his leg.

‘Stop gawping then,’ she whispers. ‘Eat your stew.’

‘I am,’ he mumbles, digging into it with a dark look.

‘It’s nice,’ she tells Nick.

‘I know. I’m eating it.’

‘You’re hard work today you are…hey, guess what me and Nick found blocking a pipe in the Saxon? Dick on a stick!’

‘No way!’ Cookey laughs, his face lighting up. ‘Was it Sergeant Blowers’ special hiding place?’

‘Twat,’ Blowers laughs as the others chuckle and eat.

‘Where’s Paula?’ Howie asks, looking about.

‘Organising,’ Marcy says.

‘What’s she organising?’ Howie asks.

Marcy shrugs. ‘Everything probably. That was really nice, Clarence. The boat and everything I mean. And you, Maddox. Writing all those names.’

Clarence eats his stew. Maddox the same. It needed to happen, now it has happened. Job done and they share a look that hints at a bond that wasn’t there before.

‘This is so nice,’ Booker says, eating his stew.

‘So nice,’ Cookey says.

‘Is,’ Blowers says.

‘Nick!’ Tappy whispers.

‘I’m not looking,’ he says, turning his head back from staring over at Lilly again.

‘You bloody were. Just leave it. If she wants to be childish and not talk then fuck her. Her loss.’

Nick doesn’t see it that way. He sees Lilly’s blue eyes and blond hair and the girl he helped when they met. He thinks of the kisses and the night they shared. He thinks of those things, and now, without the urgent repairs on the Saxon to occupy his mind, he starts dwelling and fretting once more.

‘There she is,’ Marcy says, looking up as Paula marches towards them. Her chin up, her chest out, her hands smartly behind her back and a weird grin plastered on her face. ‘Is the planet turning the right way?’

‘Oh yes,’ she says lightly, coming to a stop and smiling that grin. ‘What?’ she asks at everyone looking at her. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Can’t be, you’re not yelling at everyone,’ Howie says, earning a look.

‘Actually, I’ve got something,’ she says and walks over to Maddox, lowering to kiss his forehead. ‘For you,’ she hands him a big bottle of dark rum. ‘Mo said you liked it. And for you,’ she says, moving to Clarence and doing the same by bending in to kiss his head while handing another bottle of rum over. ‘For what you both did today. Mr Howie. Are you okay with them having a drink tonight?’

‘Fuck yes,’ Cookey says. ‘Seriously?’

‘Just a few,’ Howie says. ‘Don’t get smashed. Booker, I’m looking at you.’

‘Best day ever,’ Cookey says. ‘Hot stew and a few beers. This is heaven. If only there was a beautiful lady to share it with…hmmm…’ he looks about then spots Charlie. ‘Hey, Charlie.’

‘Hey, Cookey.’

‘Do you know any beautiful ladies I can share stew and beers with?’

‘I’m afraid I do not,’ she replies with a smile.

‘Ah well, can’t have everything,’ Cookey says with a wistful sigh. ‘But we have got a dick on a stick somewhere.’

‘A what?’ Paula asks. ‘No, actually, I don’t want to know. Mo, Danny, do me a favour and run inside. There’s a couple of cases of beer under a sheet in the cupboard under the stairs. Bring them out for me?’

‘Can I have a drink?’ Mo asks, shooting up to his feet.

‘You’re sixteen,’ Paula says.

‘What? No way. That’s not fair!’

‘Aw mum!’ Blowers says, mimicking the whine.

‘I’m joking,’ Paula says, laughing at his outburst. ‘Bless, just go easy. Go on, bring them out. Howie, I checked with Peter. He’s got men on both entrances and more ready in case anything happens so we can relax a bit.’

‘Happy with that,’ Howie says. ‘This stew is so nice.’

‘So nice,’ Tappy says.

‘Is,’ Blowers says.

‘Mate,’ Mo says, rushing across the beach with Danny. ‘What the fuck?’

‘I know,’ Danny says with a grin.

‘Big fire, loads of food now some beers…and, you know what I saw?’

‘What?’ Danny asks as they go through the gate.

‘Ladies bro! you getting me. I saw one smiling at you too when you’s looking all hench and guarding the boat.’

‘Yeah? Really?’

‘Fact. We’ll go for a walk in a bit and like cool it out. You get me? We’ll be like, hey ladies, yeah it’s just me and Danny, fighting the world for you…he mimics a deep voice, making Danny laugh as they get into the kitchen. ‘You’s good around women then?’

‘Nah,’ Danny says honestly. ‘I’m like really shy and just go quiet.’

‘Ah bruv, that’s perfect. You’ll be the strong silent one cos you’re big and broad yeah? And I’m like the funny smaller one. Fuck yeah, bro. We’ll smash it. And we’re black. Well, you’s black and I’m like Arabic but ladies dig that. You get me? And if you run out of shit to say just show ‘em your dick.’

‘Fuck off,’ Danny laughs, coming out of his shell more when it’s just him and Mo. ‘Mate, that was so embarrassing this morning.’

‘Fuck that. If I had that thing I’d be waggling it everywhere.’

They reach the cupboard under the stairs with Danny going in to start pulling the sheet back to reveal a hidden bounty of goodness within. Cases of beer cans and bottles of spirits. ‘What we taking?’ he calls out. ‘There’s lager and bitter…’

‘Er, one of each I guess,’ Mo says, spotting movement outside. ‘Be right back,’ he strolls down the hallway to the front door and out into the darker area not lit by the fire. The road now quiet and free from traffic. Lights glinting in the camp and up by the wall but it’s the people he looks at. Damsa and her family giving prayer on mats. Tucked up out of view of everyone on the beach. The murmuring low as they lift and drop while facing east.

‘Maghrib is the fourth prayer, Little Mo. After sunset…’

Words again in his head. The voice of his grandpa clear in his mind. They went everywhere together. Little Mo with Big Mo. His grandpa took him to school and collected him after. He took him to the mosque for prayers and to play. Grandpa put him to bed and was there when he woke. Mo’s dad was in prison. Mo’s mum drank a lot and let men have sex with her for booze and drugs, but Mo was protected from all of that by his grandpa. Big Mo. Then Big Mo died of a heart attack and Little Mo was no longer protected from those things.

‘Fucking disgusting, shouldn’t be allowed,’ a sneering voice in the dark. A man walking by in a group of others.

‘What did you say?’ Mo snaps, striding out.

‘Eh?’ the man asks, coming to a stop with his group.

‘Say it again,’ Mo says with instant rage bubbling to the surface as Damsa jerks her head up to see him charging over the road. ‘Say it again, bro. Come on. Big man yeah? Say it again, bro…’

‘What the fuck?’ the man says, looking at his group.

‘Mohammed,’ Damsa calls, pushing up to her feet as Ameer, Maleek, Bashir and the rest break off from praying to look over.

‘Fucking disgusting yeah?’ Mo asks, his voice hard, his manner harder. Striding into the group to push the guy back. ‘Fucking disgusting yeah?’

‘Mate,’ the guy yells as he’s pushed by Mo.

‘Hey,’ someone says, rushing in to pull Mo back as Danny flies from the house, running into the fray.

‘Say it again,’ Mo shouts. ‘Come on. Am I fucking disgusting to you? I’m Arabic…’

‘Mohammed!’ Damsa snaps, striding in after Mo as Bashir runs after her.

‘What’s your problem,’ the guy asks, holding his hands up in fear while Mo shoves him again.

‘Call me fucking disgusting. Go on!’

‘Eh? But…’

‘Ain’t no buts, go on…’

‘Mohammed!’ Damsa snaps, grabbing his arm to pull him back. ‘They did not mean us!’

‘What the fuck’s your problem?’ the guy asks.

‘It’s fine. It’s cool yeah,’ Danny says, getting in front of Mo.

‘They didn’t mean us,’ Damsa says again, turning Mo’s head to make him look at her.

‘There was a guy having a piss,’ someone else in the group says. ‘Right there on the road. We said it was disgusting and he should go on the beach or something…Jesus mate, what the fuck?’

‘I heard them,’ Damsa tells Mo. ‘They told the man off and got cross with him. They didn’t mean us.’

‘Dude, you need to chill out a bit,’ the guy who was pushed snaps. ‘Attacking people like that. What the hell?’

‘It’s fine,’ Danny says.

‘It’s not fine,’ the guy shouts, brave now the armed lad is being held back. ‘He fucking shoved me…’

‘It was a misunderstanding,’ Damsa says, holding Mo’s arm as she addresses the group. ‘Mohammed thought differently. It was a mistake. No ill was meant.’

‘Yeah well,’ the guys says, his feathers ruffled. ‘Can’t go shoving people.’

‘Mohammed, you should apologise.’

‘What! I ain’t saying sorry to…’ he breaks off at the look. The same look Paula gives him. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters. Damsa cocks her head over, showing displeasure in such a way that makes Mo straighten up. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean nothing. I thought…’

‘I’m not racist,’ the guys says.

‘We’re honestly not,’ another says. ‘There was a man weeing.’

‘Yes. Thank you. We are sorry for this trouble. Please, enjoy your evening. There is food and drinks on the beach.’

‘Yeah well,’ the guy walks off, grumbling and moaning to his group.

‘It is all fine now,’ Damsa says, looking at Mohammed and Danny. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Danny says.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Mo mumbles, shame burning his cheeks.

‘Okay. We are all okay,’ she pauses, looking at Mo. ‘Things are not always what they seem, Mohammed.’

‘Is Mo Mo innit,’ he mutters.

‘Mo Mo. Of course. Would you like to join us, Mo Mo?’

‘Said. I’m not Muslim. Sorry,’ he says again for the hardness in his tone. ‘We’s got to get in yeah. Sorry. Like…I thought he was…the guy and…’

‘We are all okay. There is no harm,’ Damsa says, ushering her family back towards the mats.

Mo thinks to say more and goes to speak, to explain but the words don’t come so he nods another apology and heads off back towards the house.

‘It was nice meeting you,’ Danny says politely, rushing after him. ‘Mo, ease up. You okay?’

‘I’m all good yeah. We’s getting this beer then?’ Mo says, offering a grin that doesn’t meet his eyes.

‘You two alright?’ Blowers asks, walking in through the back door. ‘Taking ages.’

‘Just coming, sergeant,’ Danny says, grabbing the cases and taking them out through the garden to the beach and everyone else relaxing on the soft sand, bathed by the big fire.

Henry, George, Frank and Carmen sitting a short distance away. Bellies filled and mugs of tea at their sides. Carmen happy to sit back and watch the seagulls soaring overhead. Frank picking at his teeth with a toothpick. Henry and George engaged in constant low conversation. Going over everything from today. Carmen knows she could be included if she so wished. Frank too. But she doesn’t wish. Carmen isn’t stupid and she gets everything underway, but it’s just not her thing. A people person, as Frank calls her. She likes action too, being places, doing things, and this now is interesting. Being able to watch everyone.

‘That was cool earlier,’ she says, nudging Frank’s leg.

‘Was,’ he says gruffly. ‘Nice send off. Do you think someone will put my name on a boat?’

‘I doubt it. I’ll write it on a shoe and throw it in a puddle if you want.’

‘Set the shoe on fire and we’re agreed. Why are you here anyway?’

‘Where else should I be?’

‘Over with the other women folk making food…ow! Cor, that one hurt, Carmen.’

‘So it should you old twat.’

‘But still, make me cuppa love.’

‘Frank!’

‘Ow, not in the same spot. Hit the other leg.’

‘I’ll hit your face if you carry on. Might improve your looks.’

Frank tuts and sighs deeply. ‘Henry?’

‘Yes, Frank?’ Henry asks, breaking off from his chat with George.

‘Carmen’s bored.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Do you mean you are bored, Frank?’

‘A good soldier is never bored, Henry. Permission to fraternise with the enemy. They have beer and rum. I think we should infiltrate and steal it.’

‘You carry on,’ Henry says. ‘See if they mention anything about Neal, and Frank? Don’t get drunk and start fighting. And Frank, don’t get drunk and start fighting with Kyle.’

‘Roger,’ Frank says, holding a hand out to Carmen. ‘I’m old, help me up.’

‘Piss off,’ she says, already on her feet as he grumbles and gets up. They set off across the short distance, Carmen smiling as the others turn to look. ‘Hi, er…thought we’d join you if that’s okay?’

‘You mean Frank saw the rum,’ Clarence says.

‘I did indeed,’ Frank says, grinning as he walks into the group. ‘I’m Frank. I’m here to steal the booze and women…’

‘Frank,’ Carmen groans, rolling her eyes as the others start making room. ‘Can’t take him anywhere.’

‘We’ve got one like that,’ Paula says.

‘Don’t look at me,’ Cookey says.

‘Hey, would you like a drink?’ Maddox asks her. ‘I’m Mads by the way.’

‘Hey, I’m Booker,’ Booker says, grinning over.

‘Is Mo Mo innit, you’s very pretty.’

‘Oh my god, make it obvious lads,’ Marcy says, ‘and let her sit down first. Hey, come over here so they don’t try and hump your leg. They’re good at that. Aren’t they, Howie?’

‘Rum?’ Clarence asks, offering the bottle to Frank.

‘Took long enough,’ Frank says, taking the bottle. ‘Glasses or swigging?’ he asks and swigs deep. ‘Argh, that’s good. Nice rum…cor, get’s the heart bumping a bit. Who’s the lad with the bow then? That was a bit special.’

‘Roy,’ Clarence says as Paula realises Roy isn’t in the group and her heads snaps up as she twists about, trying to see him.

‘He’s over there,’ Carmen says, pointing over the beach to Roy lying on his side and laughing at something being said by Anika.

‘Right,’ Paula says. ‘Right,’ she says again. ‘I see.’

‘Dramaaa,’ Marcy sings quietly. ‘Where’s that rum? I think Paula needs a drink.’

‘Bitter or lager, Nick?’ Tappy asks.

‘Eh?’ Nick asks, pulling his head back around again.

‘I swear to god,’ Tappy says. ‘Bitter or lager?’

‘Lager.’

She takes two, opens one then passes the other over, jabbing it in his ribs when he zones out again.

‘Maybe I should just talk to her,’ he says.

‘Do it then. Literally, walk over and say grow up and stop being a dick.’

‘Tappy,’ he says, scowling at her.

‘I’ll say what I think, Nick. You should know that by now. Drink some beer and relax.’

* * *

‘Maybe I should go and talk to him,’ Lilly says, sitting on the sand next to Mary while stealing discreet glances over at Nick.

‘And say what?’ Mary asks.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Lilly admits. Looking around her group. Sam and Pea. John, Pardip and more people from the fort. Lenski talking to Jaspal. Simar nearby. The kids playing. The air warm and sultry and the fire burning. Norman and Kyle talking quietly. So many things happening. Immunity. A cure. Henry and Howie. Norman and Reginald, and truth be told, it’s almost too much and so she turns her mind to the now, and to Nick sitting nearby and how he helped her. His decency and honesty. She thinks of the kisses they shared and the night they had together.

‘Mary?’ Sam asks, leaning over to pass a bottle of wine.

‘Is that a bottle of vino is it now?’

‘Only a cheap white,’ Sam says.

‘Hey now, I’m a cheap girl I am,’ Mary quips, earning laughs as she takes the bottle. ‘Take a glug and pass it on is it?’

‘It’s yours,’ Sam says. ‘We’ve got some.’

‘Fair play to that,’ Mary says, twisting the top off while looking about for a glass, then she shrugs and drinks from the bottle. Pulling it away and blowing a raspberry. ‘She’s fizzy. Blondie? Go on, might relax you a bit.’

Lilly has had wine before. At restaurants and family dinners. Just a little now and then to make her feel grown-up and she takes the bottle and drinks from the mouth. Feeling the fizz and sweetness as it washes through her mouth.

‘Easy, Blondie. It’ll go to your head it will,’ Mary says.

‘That’s nice,’ Lilly says.

‘Aye, just go slow. You’ll be kicking off otherwise.’

* * *

‘So, has the god-botherer bored you all to tears yet?’ Frank asks, taking a glug then passing the bottle on.

‘God botherer?’ Howie asks.

‘He means Kyle,’ Carmen explains. ‘They’ve got history, which isn’t a conversation for now. Is it, Frank.’

‘Roger that, but he is a god-bothering twat.’

‘What’s he doing?’ Paula mutters, staring over at Roy. ‘Look at him. He’s laughing. Why isn’t he over here laughing?’

‘Cos he’s over there laughing,’ Marcy says. ‘Are you jealous, Miss Paula?’

‘What!? No! Course I’m not bloody jealous. Get off. I’m just wondering what he’s doing.’

‘Go and ask him.’

‘And say what? It’s fine. He’s an adult. He can do what he wants.’

‘And so can you,’ Marcy says, gently turning Paula’s chin to look at Clarence.

Nick finishes his can and wipes his mouth, glancing over again to Lilly. ‘Might go and ask her.’

‘Do that,’ Tappy says, stretching onto her side and drinking deep from her can. ‘Blimey, not had a drink in a while,’ she adds, feeling the buzz coming on already.

‘Where are you two going?’ Paula asks as Mo and Danny whisper and get up onto their feet.

‘We’s gonna go talk to ladies,’ Mo says with a big grin as Danny blanches at the honesty.

‘Ask a question,’ Paula says.

‘Get an answer,’ Howie adds.

‘What’s the game plan?’ Marcy asks. ‘You’ve got to have a game plan. Ladies love it when men have a game plan.’

‘Really?’ Cookey asks.

‘Idiot,’ Blowers groans.

‘Ah, we’s got a game plan,’ Mo says.

‘Well go on, share it,’ Marcy says. ‘Howie’s good at plans.’

‘Best plans ever,’ Clarence says. ‘Charge, attack and worry about it all later.’

‘Fact,’ Blowers says.

‘Good planning that,’ Frank says, holding his can up to Howie.

‘So, what’s the plan boys?’ Marcy asks.

‘I’m the small funny one, and Danny’s the big silent one,’ Mo says as Danny starts thinking maybe the ground could swallow him up.

‘I see,’ Marcy says, sharing a nod and a look with Carmen.

‘Impressive,’ Carmen says.

‘Yeah? So’s like, I saw this girl smiling at Danny when we was guarding the boat and she was pretty. But she’s got some mates. So I thought we’d go and say hi.’

‘Love it. Can’t go wrong,’ Marcy says.

‘You’ll do well,’ Carmen says. ‘Both good looking lads, just be polite and genuine.’

‘Yeah? We’s good looking?’ Mo asks, giving her his biggest cheeky grin and adding a wink. ‘How you doing? Is Mo Mo innit…’

‘Mo!’ Marcy says as the others jeer and call out. ‘Urgh, it’s like watching your little brother get all smooth.’

‘Very good,’ Carmen laughs. ‘But I am far too old for either of you.’

‘You’s not old.’

‘Mo!’ Paula says, laughing as she shakes her head. ‘Go on, the pair of you. And behave.’

‘The pill doesn’t work on us, remember that,’ Cookey adds.

‘What the actual fuck is wrong with you?’ Blowers asks.

‘What? Paula said Reggie said it won’t work.’

‘He means wear condoms,’ Marcy says.

‘Dribbly willies make babies,’ Cookey says. ‘Do we have extra extra large condoms anywhere?’

‘Danny needs a bin liner,’ Booker adds.

‘Urgh, go on, sod off and get lucky,’ Marcy says as they head off.

‘Don’t tell them that,’ Paula says. ‘The pair of you behave. And only talk to nice girls. No slappers.’

‘I cannot believe you just shouted that across the beach,’ Marcy says. ‘Anyway, Carmen, how old are you?’

‘Thirty two.’

‘No way, you don’t look it,’ Marcy says. ‘Gorgeous skin.’

‘Thank you. That’s very kind,’ Carmen says, still chuckling at the jokes flying about. She spots Blowers as the bottle of rum is passed over. ‘What happened to your eye?’ she asks, taking a swig.

‘Fell out,’ he says in such a deadpan way she snorts a laugh and coughs the rum back up over her hand.

‘Fell out?’

‘Yep. Just walking along and plop, came out.’

‘I see,’ she says, mopping the rum up. ‘And the finger?’

‘Still stuck up his arse.’

‘Cookey!’ Clarence says while Paula turns back to spying on Roy now seemingly even closer to Anika.

Nick finishes another can and once more looks over to Lilly. ‘I am. I will. I’ll ask her.’

‘You keep saying that,’ Tappy says, laughing at the jokes from the others.

‘I should.’

‘Do you want me to ask for you?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Stop bitching and go and do it then.’

‘I will,’ he says, taking a big hit from the bottle of rum. ‘She’s fucking close to that woman though.’

Tappy looks over and hides the wince at reading the body-language between Lilly and Mary as they share a bottle of wine. Heads close together and they touch each other a lot too. ‘Nah, silly rumours,’ she says. ‘Ignore it.’

‘You think?’ Nick ask. ‘I should just ask her. Like…why aren’t you talking to me. Just that. I should ask that.’

‘Okay dokay. Then maybe you’ll pull your head from your backside.’

‘That’s what I’ll ask. Do you think I should?’

A shout across the sand. A thick accent calling out. ‘Where’s the lad now? Where’s the boy?’

Everyone turns to see Eggy and Uncle Jack walking through with their fiddles in their hands.

‘He’s over here, Eggy,’ Mary calls as they urge and call for shy Ameer to stand up and take his violin over to the older men. A few strums and Eggy and Uncle Jack burst into it with loud music flowing fast. Giving Ameer no time to ease in. The lad grins, nods, gets the rhythm and goes for it, launching into the music that he feels through his gut. The three of them bringing forth a lilting swinging harmony that rolls out across the beach.

‘I’m gonna do it,’ Nick says, his face somewhat flushed from the booze and the heat of the fire.

‘I can’t take it anymore,’ Tappy says, getting to her feet and swaying a little.

‘What are they doing?’ Mary asks. ‘That tattoo lady is pulling your man up she is.’

‘He’s not my man,’ Lilly says firmly, perhaps a little drunkenly.

‘Get up,’ Tappy says, pulling Nick to his feet. ‘Go and speak to her. Seriously,’ she plucks the beer can from his hands and fends him off when he tries reaching for it. ‘Have it after. Go on. I’m sick of hearing it all day.’

‘Ach, I think your man might be coming over, Blondie.’

‘He’s not my man,’ Lilly says again, looking over to see Tappy pushing Nick away from their group. ‘Right. I shall be honest.’

‘Aye, but no too honest, Blondie. And be gentle too.’

‘It’s a new world,’ Lilly says, looking at Mary. ‘New rules.’

‘Blondie, you’re a bit drunk. Maybe talk to him later?’

‘Nope. Doing it now.’

‘I’m going now,’ Nick says, setting off and the two leave their groups with many people turning to watch, turning to see. Nick flushed and a bit drunk. Lilly flushed and a bit drunk. The music playing. The light from the fire dancing across the sand and Nick blasts air, summoning courage, feeling nervous and worried. A little scared even. She looks so beautiful. Her skin has caught the sun more. The way she walks. The shape of her. The way she kissed him. That night they shared.

Lilly walks across the sand staring ahead to the man she adored so very much. She held in him in awe and she thought she was in love. His manner and gentleness. His decency and honour. His sweet nerves and courage. The kisses they shared. That night they held each other. He’s handsome too. Heartbreakingly handsome with those deep soft brown eyes.

Nick swallows, closing the distance. His heart racing. Lilly bites her bottom lip. Everyone watches on. Seeing them come together by the light of the fire in a magical evening where anything is possible, and they come to a stop. Staring into each other’s eyes.

‘You fucked me and left,’ she says coldly, lifting her chin up. The girl who threw the grenade into a room full of kids. The girl who stabbed Zayden. The girl who executed Tommy because this is a new world and no place for the weak and the magic goes right there. Right then. The music seeming disjointed and harsh. The beer like acid in his gut.

‘Lilly, I…’

She waits for him to continue. Staring at him. Hearing her own words repeat in her mind. Seeing the impact within him. Seeing the hurt she causes. Thinking she must surely soften her tone and add something else to ease it back. This is Nick. Nick would never hurt her intentionally. But then neither would her dad and he was weak and left her alone too. So did Howie. So did all of them and what happened after was because of her strength, not because of them.

She waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He just sees that coldness and knows how he must look in her eyes. Like a monster. Like everyone else that let her down and he nods, feeling instantly sober and flooded with guilt where cheap words will only make it worse. Besides, he’s a stupid thick cunt that wouldn’t say it right anyway. He’d fuck it up because he’s stupid and can’t even read. He doesn’t deserve her. She’s something special in this world. Like an angel, and angels do not get with peasants.

What both of them fail to see is the way a few of Peter’s lads start moving in with hard protective looks towards Lilly, as though Nick might suddenly lunge at her, and what they also fail to see is Blowers getting to his feet in response to those lads, which prompts Cookey and Booker to do the same. Maddox too. Then Howie stands up and the tension ramps as a few more lads make themselves known while in the middle Lilly glares and Nick floods with self-loathing.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says and turns away. Not knowing what else to say and he walks off across the sand, back to the silence of his group on their feet staring over to Peter’s men all doing the same. Mary too. On her feet and ready. No words spoken. No words needed to be spoken. Just an intent made clear. This is not your fort.

‘Nick,’ Tappy says, but the lad ignores her and ducks into the group to grab a bottle of rum and walks on through the other side. ‘Nick!’ she calls out, but he keeps going. She turns back to Lilly with a flash of disgust that holds for a long second as Lilly lifts her chin in defiance. Then Tappy’s gone, running after Nick over the sand and away from the group into the darkness of the night and the music plays on and the fire bathes them all.

Lilly stands for a second longer. Defiant in her repose as she stares over to Howie and his people. Unafraid. Entirely and wholly unafraid. Then she turns and walks back to Mary. To her own group who look upon her with worry and care.

‘Went well then?’ Mary asks as Lilly comes back, staring past her to the other group.

‘Yep,’ Lilly says and reaches for the wine. ‘Ameer plays so well,’ she says to Damsa and the world rolls on as Damsa smiles and nods a thank-you and the conversations once more keep going.

‘That looked a bit awkward,’ Roy remarks over in another little group of bay workers and Ann and Anika.

‘Did a bit didn’t it,’ Anika says, pulling a face. ‘Young love eh? What are you smiling at?’

‘Your brummie accent. Anyway, so where were we? Fractured skull wasn’t it?’

‘It was yeah, so right, you can get a linear fracture or a depressed fracture.’

‘How do you know the difference?’

‘X-rays, scans…’

‘Ah I see, I’ll just pop my mobile x-ray machine out shall I.’

‘Alright funny man,’ she laughs, touching his arm. ‘I guess you’d have to feel. Lean in and let me show you. You’ve got a bald head so it’s easy.’

‘Benefit of being old.’

‘You’re not old, silly. It’s a sign of virility apparently,’ she says with a smile, taking his skull in her hands. ‘We’re looking at the eyes and ears too. There’s a thing called Raccoon Eyes…’

‘Periorbital ecchymosis? Big bruises around the eyes. That’s for a suspected basal skull fracture isn’t it?’

‘Eh, you’re a smart one you are. Asking me question when you know the answers,’ she says, still holding his head.

‘You can all stop glaring now,’ Paula says to her group. ‘Go on, sit down. Howie, that means you too. We’re not picking a fight.’

‘They started glaring first,’ Cookey says.

‘Pack it in. Seriously. All of you,’ Paula says as Charlie pulls Cookey back down then reaches out for Blowers. ‘Right, sod it. I’ll go after Nick…’

‘Leave him be,’ Clarence says heavily. ‘Tappy’s there.’

‘Yeah but,’ she trails off, thinking that Tappy is there, and what could she say anyway? It is what it is. Sod it. She takes another swig of rum and looks over to Lilly drinking wine then over to Roy having his head groped by Anika. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Dramaaa,’ Marcy sings again, pulling a face at Carmen. ‘It’s all going on here.’

* * *

Down the beach, over the dunes and away from the fire and the light, Nick pauses from his fast walking to drink deep from the bottle of rum before half turning to see Tappy running after him. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘Stop being a twat,’ she says, breathing hard. ‘Just hang on here.’

‘Tappy, just fuck off.’

‘What did she say?’

‘What does it fucking matter?’

‘Go on, what did she say?’

He shakes his head, emotions playing out across his face. ‘She said…she fucking said…’ Tappy waits, watching him closely. ‘She said I fucked her then left…’

‘Shit. She said that? Fucking bitch!’ she says angrily, turning away and taking her turn to march off.

‘Tappy, leave it.’

‘Fuck her! I’ll tell her what I bloody think the stuck-up little cow.’

‘She’s right. I did,’ Nick shouts.

‘You bloody didn’t,’ she shouts, turning back to face Nick.

‘I did. I fucked her then went off.’

‘What? No! You hooked up. You had sex. You met a girl and and…you had sex! It’s normal.’

‘She’s right,’ Nick says with a shrug, drinking straight from the bottle.

‘Nick. She isn’t right. Not like that. She dropped a nasty little bomb to hurt you, mate. Fucking bitch. Ease up with the rum…fuck me, Nick! At least share it,’ she says, pulling it from his hands.

‘I fucked it up,’ Nick says, nodding at Tappy as she drinks. ‘Her dad fucked up and…and he fucked up and left her. Then we’re coming back and fucking up and fucking leaving her…then I’m actually fucking her and…’

‘Stop saying fucking like that,’ she says firmly. ‘It’s cheap and you’re not.’

‘Whatever. Whatever! FUCKING WHATEVER. We had sex. We made love. Fucking…fucking…then I fucked off and…so yeah. Whatever…’ he takes the bottle, drinking it down.

* * *

‘This is unbelievable,’ Paula says, still spying on Roy and Anika feeling each other’s heads and necks and elbows. ‘Playing bloody doctors and nurses.’

‘Shush,’ Marcy says. ‘I’m getting the dirt on Booker. Yeah go on, Tamarra. So he was literally covered in piss and vomit was he?’

‘Head to toe,’ Tamarra says as Booker groans while Paula glares.

* * *

‘I think it came out wrong,’ Lilly says as the spite eases down. The need to be strong and always be strong and always show strength and never weakness now waning as her common sense starts kicking back in.

‘Eh? What’s that now?’ Mary asks, feeling nicely buzzy from the wine as another bottle finds its way over.

‘With Nick. I think it came out wrong.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said he fucked me and left.’

Mary winces. ‘Aye, that’s harsh. No wonder he looked like a beaten puppy.’

‘Oh god, he did didn’t he,’ Lilly says, instantly hating herself.

‘Mind you, you ripped the band aid off, Blondie. No doubt about that. Right off. Aye, if you’re gonna say it might as well be straight.’

‘I feel awful.’

‘Ach, that’s just the wine talking. The Blondie I know doesn’t have emotions.’

* * *

‘She’s a stuck up cold emotionless bitch!’ Tappy yells, wrenching the bottle back from Nick.

‘She’s not. She’s…she’s…’ he pauses as Tappy drinks, not quite knowing how to form his words, his brain running slower from the alcohol. ‘She’s perfect.’

‘Piss off,’ she says, spraying a mouthful of rum over Nick’s feet. ‘Perfect? She is far from perfect.’

‘Like an angel.’

‘Jesus. How drunk are you?’

‘And…and I’m like a peasant,’ he tells her, meaning it too. In his eyes and voice and manner. In his heart and soul. ‘She’s an angel, Tappy. Me? I’mma fuckin’ peasant…I can’t even read. I can’t read,’ he bursts out laughing, humourless and bitter. ‘I’m a thick cunt…’

‘Nick,’ she says with a groan.

‘I am! Like, that sign in the Saxon. You were like a teacher with a thick fucking twat. Who is a good boy. Go on, read the words…I’ll give you a biscuit you thick little bastard…’

‘It wasn’t anything like that you twat.’

‘Fucking was,’ he says, taking the bottle back to drink more. ‘I can’t read and she…she’s like…like perfect. Fuck it. I don’t know what she saw in me. It’s cos I saved her brother. That was it. Like…like she fucking pitied me…like she felt she owed me something. That’s it,’ he drinks again, nodding at the same time before passing the bottle back to Tappy. ‘Cos I did that,’ he slurs, still nodding. ‘Ha! Thick Nick! That’s what they said at school. THICK NICK! Thick fucking cunt that can’t read…’ he trails off, swaying on the spot. ‘Said I fucked her and left and…and when she looked at me. Like she hated me…’ he nods harder, telling Tappy exactly how it is. ‘S’cos I’m scum.’

* * *

Lilly sinks deeper into a pit of alcohol induced self-loathing. Her words repeating in her head, but in a way, she felt she needed to lash out like that. She’s still a girl and he’s still a boy and in her mind, he did a shitty thing, so she has every right to react. The problem comes from the fact everyone was watching and she’s meant to be in charge. She drinks more wine, trying to think it through, suddenly confused and unsure because he looked so hurt. So vulnerable and lost. He didn’t even reply. He just took it and walked off with dignity. He is dignified. Oh god. Nick is very dignified. Decent too. A good man that she just treated like shit in front of everyone.

* * *

‘She just mugged you off in front of everyone is what she did,’ Tappy says emphatically, prodding Nick in the chest with the bottle. Her balance not quite so good. ‘How dare she! How very dare she. Literally…right in front of everyone…’

‘Nah, I had that coming.’

‘Didn’t.’

‘I did. I’m a cunt, Tappy.’

‘You’re not a cunt.’

‘I’m such a cunt. Can’t blame her. Don’t blame her. She’s cool. Lilly’s really cool.’

‘She’s the cunt. Not you.’

‘Take that back!’

‘Fuck off! I’m not taking it back. She’s the cunt. Get over her. Move on.’

‘I’ll never move on,’ he says with deep earnest sincerity.

‘She’s just a girl,’ Tappy says, swigging another mouthful.

‘She’s not,’ Nick says, taking the bottle to drink more.

‘Is. Just a girl. And there’s lots of girls that aren’t stuck up cunts. Marcy. She’s beautiful. Like, like knocks the pants off Lilly and she’s not like that. And Charlie. And Paula. And and…and that Carmen. She’s hot as anything, see! Loads of girls. Girls everywhere…literally tripping over them, and…and, Nicholas, you can like take your pick. Like…like literally line them up and say no, not you, not you…hmmm, yes, you have nice boobs, I shall do sex with you…that could happen you know,’ she says knowingly in that way of being very drunk and knowing things.

‘No,’ Nick says sadly.

‘Listen, buddy, we’ve got to move on from this shit. You hardly know her. Enough now. To the future…come on, drink to the future.’

* * *

‘I need to put it right,’ Lilly says.

‘You’ll do more harm than good,’ Mary says. ‘Unless ye want to be with him of course. Do ye want to be with him?’

‘No, but…I can’t leave it like that.’

‘He’s a big lad, Blondie. He’ll get drunk, sulk a bit then get on with living. And if you hadn’t noticed, we’ve a few more important things going on right now, so ease up with that wine. There might be a cure about somewhere that we need to get.’

* * *

‘Nick, there are more important things going on,’ Tappy says, her voice starting to show drunken frustration as the night rolls on and the bottle grows empty.

Nick shrugs. Wan and weak and he drinks more rum.

‘Jesus, you’ve been a sappy twat all day. I can’t cope with it.’

‘Don’t then,’ he says sulkily. ‘I didn’t ask you to do anything.’

‘We’re mates! This is what mates do, Nick. Come on, you’ve got to snap out of it. There’s bigger shit going on.’

‘I don’t want to do anything now.’

‘Nick, come on.’

‘I don’t. Not without Lilly. There’s no point…’

‘Oh my god, what’s wrong with you?’

‘Ah fuck off, Tappy. You don’t get it.’

‘Get it? Get what? What? Tell me?’

‘You just don’t get it.’

‘What?’

‘IT!’

‘WHAT’S IT? What? A girl? Fuck me. The world is over. Pull your head free and stop being so….so fucking self-centred,’ she breaks off at seeing him deflate and give in. The fight draining from his eyes. ‘Nick. You are worth more than all the Lillys in the world. There will be other women. Trust me. Enough now. Drink more rum.’

He shakes his head, sinking further into himself. His head bowed. His shoulders sagged and she pushes her hands through her hair, drunkenly exasperated.

‘Just leave it yeah,’ he says quietly. ‘Go back. I’ll sit here for a bit.’

‘No,’ she groans. ‘You’ll walk into the sea or something.’

‘Please…I just want to be alone.’

‘You don’t want to be alone.’

‘Don’t tell me I want, Tappy.’

She shakes her head, half laughing, half crying. ‘This is beneath you, Nick.’

‘Fuck off. Just fucking…go. Leave me alone.’

‘Stop being a selfish prick.’

‘Shellfish? How’s the fuck am I shellfish?’

‘It’s selfish you drunk twat and you are being very selfish. All day. Boohoo, my girlfriend doesn’t like me. Grow up! Seriously. Come on, Nick. It’s fine. It’s cool. Honestly, it just feels bad now but it’s not. I promise. Come on, please…snap out of it…’

‘Just go,’ he says waving the bottle at her.

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Go…GO!’

‘I said no.’

‘Fuck off!’

‘Oh my god you stupid twat.’

‘Yeah I am stupid! STUPID NICK THAT DOESN’T GET IT.’

‘SHE DOES NOT DESERVE YOU,’ Tappy shouts over him, flashing with anger. ‘And this…this fucking sulking all day because of one stuck-up stupid immature bitch. She’s a cold cunt and this, this is shit, mate, All of it. As soon as I saw her I thought what the fuck is Nick doing with her? Jesus Christ! You’re fucking moping over a girl you screwed. Everyone’s dead! Everyone’s fucking dead…MY FAMILY ARE DEAD,’ she screams the words out as tears she didn’t know were there push out to fall down her cheeks.

‘All of them. My mum and my brothers and…I woke up to my sister biting me and I fucking threw her over the stairs into my dad killing my mum. And do you know what happened? Do you know what fucking happened? I fell down the stairs and landed in them and we all slid down to the bottom. All of us. And then…and then…’ she heaves for air, reliving the memory scarred into her mind. ‘And then they came for me and do you know what I did?’ she prods his chest, driving him back. I took the knife out of my dad’s chest…’ she seethes and pushes into Nick, forcing her fingers into his chest. ‘Where my mum had stabbed him…I took that knife out and I fucking killed them all. All of them…my mother and my father and my little brothers and my sister. One by one. I slit their fucking throats and their blood went in my mouth, so don’t tell me I don’t get it. Not for one second. Not ever. I can’t sleep without seeing them. I have nightmares and wake up screaming. I killed my family and I will never, ever be able to take that back, and I wish, I fucking wish I had gone with them, so don’t you dare bleat on and fucking sulk about a childish fucking immature bitch that can’t handle a man she has no right to have…’ tears rushing over her cheeks, her face flushed and angry as she physically buts against Nick, forcing him back. Both of them breathing hard. Both flooded with emotion and Nick looks at her, at the pain in her eyes as the rum inside sends bad signals to his head and he steps in to kiss her.

‘What the fuck!’ she cries out, pushing him away. ‘Nick, what are you doing?’

‘Oh fuck. Fuck…Tappy, shit. I’m so sorry…fuck…mate, I…’ the angst shows, the drunkenness in his eyes that go wide at what he just did. ‘Mate, I…oh fuck. That was so out of order…’

‘Jesus, Nick.’

‘I’m sorry. Mate, I…oh fuck…I’m so fucked up…I’m so sorry, Tappy…I’m so sorry…’

‘It’s okay, it’s okay’ she says, seeing the aguish in his features, knowing he’s just drunk and confused and upset. ‘It’s fine.’

‘It’s not fine. I’m such a cunt,’ he says, tears spilling out with a show of utter abject woe and vulnerability. ‘I’m so sorry…’

‘It’s okay. Come here, it’s fine,’ she moves in, pulling him close, pulling his head to her shoulder.

‘Tappy, I’m so sorry,’ he sobs.

‘Ssshhh, it’s okay,’ she whispers and rubs his back.

‘Your family I mean…I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault. It’s okay.’

‘Not okay,’ he clings onto her, wrapping his arms about her waist with everything he is worth, towering over her, his strength so apparent yet so gentle. ‘I’m so sorry. I won’t say anything about Lilly no more. Quits yeah. I fucked up and…I’m so sorry. I won’t kiss you. I just…man, I…’

‘It’s okay, Nick.’

‘No. No it’s not. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you. I’m so sorry. I’m not a pervert.’

She sinks into him as he starts to cry and his sobbing sets her off, releasing the emotions inside, venting the pain as they cling to each other. Both drunk. Both upset. He cries harder and she does too. Tears falling from both.

‘I miss them so much,’ she gasps, the sobs racking her body. ‘I killed them. Oh my god I killed them! I can’t take it back…I can’t I can’t,’ she builds up to a panic attack, holding him as though in fear that if she lets go she’ll fall and never get up. ‘I wish I died...’

‘No no no,’ he says softly. ‘It’s okay.’

‘It’s not. My sister and my brothers…every time I sleep…I just see their faces and…’

‘It wasn’t them,’ he whispers, both sobbing hard, tears streaming out as they cling to each other, swaying and unsteady. She grips harder as the anguish peaks inside. The utter brutal torment forever in her mind.

‘I’m so sorry, Tappy. Your family. I…I don’t know what to say.’

‘Nothing to say,’ she whispers. ‘It just happened…we’re here and this is it, Nick. Just this. Just this life…it’s all we’ve got. Don’t give it away for a girl that doesn’t value you. You’re worth more than that…you’re fucking hot for a start,’ she says with a blast of a laugh that comes out a sob. ‘Half the women on that beach would give limbs to be here hugging you…’

‘I don’t want anyone hugging me. Cept you. You can hug me.’

‘Thanks,’ she snorts another laugh, still a sob.

‘Not like a sexy hug though, I’m not a pervert. Honestly, I…I just…like cos of the rum. No! Not the rum. It was me. I…I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you. I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry.’

‘Shush, it’s okay, I get it. It’s fine…you’re okay. We’re okay…everything is going to be okay…’

He nods, easing back a little, pulling his body from hers as both feel the heat between them and the drunken tears on their cheeks. Both still breathing hard with heavy sighs. ‘Wanna go back?’ she asks.

He nods. ‘In a minute,’ he whispers, and sinks in again, enjoying the contact. Ashamed that he made a pass and confused about Lilly. Drunk too, but this is nice, and it feels okay too. Not weird. He’s spent a few days with Tappy, she’s a mate now and so this is okay. She feels the same. Holding him simply because she can. Because the things inside needed to come out. She’s not cross that he made a pass. He’s confused and upset and drunk and anyone that ever meets Nick knows just how bloody decent he is. Honourable too. And tall. And strong. She can feel it in his arms and the way they wrap about her. He sighs deeper, inhaling the scents of engine oil and fuel.

Something starts to happen. Something changing. The energy taking a different course and within the blink of an eye and the beat of a heart it becomes very, very charged, very, very quickly as hearts start racing. Making them both heady. Nick swallows. She does the same. Both poised. Both denying it. It’s drunken and stupid and emotions running riot. It’s the moon high in the sky and that warm sultry air and the soft sand beneath them. It’s the rum in their bellies. It’s many things, but it’s not real.

‘We should head back,’ she whispers, half turning to see a smudge of oil still on his cheek. She reaches up to wipe it away. ‘Oil everywhere,’ she whispers, knowing this is wrong while figuring a whole lot of good can sometimes come from doing the wrong thing, and when it happens, it happens fast.

Their mouths meet instantly with hard kisses and a hunger exploding. A tension pulsing between them. A yearning that demands to be fed right now. Their hands were sliding all over each other today. Slick and oily. Bodies touching all through the heat. He held her up. She comforted him. He rested across her lap. She rested her head on his back. Rum and heat and fires and loss and pain swirling through them both. Tappy killed her family. Nick was just hurt and humiliated. They just cried together. They sobbed and yelled and vented.

To hell with the world for doing that. To hell with pain and suffering. Take what you can. Take what comfort you can find and live. Live fast. Live righteous. Fuck it, live wrong and regret it all, but above all else, live hard.

Clothes torn off and they sink to the sand. Hard bodies, lean and muscled. Gasping and kissing. Unable to touch each other enough. Unable to do this fast enough. Needing this more than anything either of them has ever needed anything before and Lilly walks along the beach. The moonlight above. She needs to clear the air and make this right. She needs to tell Nick that she admires him deeply and she’s sorry for what she said. She needs to say all of those things and take the pain from his eyes and set the world back on the course it was before. She needs to do that to right what she did wrong and reset the equilibrium, but also because there is a cure, a panacea, and she must keep them on side to get it.

Over another dune and she sucks air in, composing herself and running it through, choosing the words to use and the way to use them. She starts to rise up another bank, already feeling better inside for the intent to do good. Knowing she can fix it and make things better.

She stops at the top. Her brain not quite grasping what she is seeing, and it takes a full second for it to become completely clear. Tappy and Nick both naked with Tappy straddling him as he lies on the sand. Every detail framed so perfectly. Every tiny single thing seen in perfect clarity. The way her hair falls down over her shoulders. The way his hands come up to cup her breasts. The way hers brace on his chest as she moves forward and back, pushing down into him. The hunger within them. The way they stare at each other. All of those things seen and taken in as Lilly just stares. Watching them under the moonlight. Swallowing and staring, and the one thing that hits more than anything is how fucking erotic it looks. The pair of them framed in that silver light. The tenderness of it. The hunger. The rawness. She feels instantly angry. Instantly jealous, instantly hurt, instantly furious, but within all of that, she also understands that this is what happens when you lash out and drive people away. She blamed the world for leaving her and becoming a victim justified her actions and very quickly, she learned how to become hard and cruel and what to say and do without mercy or care. And this now, this is the consequence of what happens when you do that to people. They flee and fall into the arms of other people only too willing to take what you rejected through spite and rage. This is the world now. This is the new world and she stares on with her features hardening, watching them fuck. Then she’s gone, flitting away into the night.

* * *

‘Right,’ Paula snaps as Roy finally gets up to head over to the house and she launches up and over to head him off.

‘Oh hey,’ he says, smiling at her. ‘You okay?’

‘What the hell is going on?’ she asks, coming in close with her arms folded across her chest.

‘With what?’ he asks.

‘With what. With her. Anika.’

‘Right,’ he says, frowning at her. ‘Er, not quite sure I’m following this, Paula.’

‘You’re all over her.’

‘Okay. I’m not but, what’s this about?’

‘What the hell? Is this some kind of game?’

‘Paula…’

‘Don’t Paula me. I’m over there watching you two flirting all night.’

‘And?’

‘What!?’

‘Paula, you haven’t spoken to me for days now…and I’ll be honest here, when you do speak to me it’s like I’m a pain in the arse to you. Snappy and angry all the time. We don’t share bed space. You don’t travel in the van. It’s like you really can’t get far enough away from me. Have you even noticed I’m not panicking so much or asking you to check me?’

‘I er…’ she falls silent at his honesty and the way he speaks too, without malice and almost apologetic. ‘We’ve just been so busy,’ she says feebly.

‘Sure. I get it. Lots going on. Listen, I only met you a little while ago. Maybe we’re just not suited. Anyway, I need a wee. Are we okay? We can still work together and be adults. I like you a lot, Paula. But I need to be with someone who can connect,’ he smiles sadly then walks on, leaving her stunned and alone on the sand as Lilly rushes past.

‘Blondie, how did it go? Eesh, you look weird as anything.’

‘I’d like to talk to you please, Mary.’

‘Right, that sounds very formal but okay then,’ Mary says, getting to her feet.

‘We’ll go that way,’ Lilly says, setting off.

‘We’re going that way then,’ Mary says, walking behind her. ‘How did it go?’

‘Talk in a minute,’ Lilly says, her head spinning, her mind filled with images, with thoughts, with emotions. Off the beach and across the road and into the darkness of the grass and the deep dark shadows made by the plant machines and trucks parked up.

‘Blondie? Where we going?’ Mary asks, rushing to catch up.

‘Just in here,’ Lilly says, delving into the deepest, darkest spot.

‘What the feck is in here?’ Mary asks as Lilly turns back to face her.

‘We are,’ Lilly says with a look of such hunger, of such passion and on Lilly’s face that it sets the tension pulsing between them. A yearning that demands to be fed right now. But Mary hesitates. Thinking to pull back. Thinking to say no, but there’s wine and heat and fires and the contact with Lilly over these last days and all those things change the energy. Making this right and she moves into Lilly. Kissing her hard with hands pushing through hair and the night rolls on. The stars shining down on the bay as Nick and Tappy take what comfort they can. While Lilly and Mary do the same. Kissing as they lower to the ground in the shadows, all worries of being gay now gone from their heads, and on the beach, Paula sits quietly as Roy walks past and goes on down the beach to Anika.

‘And they’re back,’ Marcy says, smiling at Danny and Mo Mo walking back. ‘How was it hotshots?’

We’re very cute,’ Mo says, sitting down with a huff.

‘Very brave,’ Danny adds, doing the same.

‘Good brave lads,’ Mo says.

‘Big brave lads,’ Danny says.

‘Lots of old ladies and lots of old men,’ Mo says.

‘Lots of hugs and handshakes,’ Danny says.

‘Oh bless,’ Marcy says, laughing with the others at the two crestfallen lads. ‘You two are so sweet.’

‘And that,’ Mo says, pointing at Marcy.

‘We heard that a lot,’ Danny says.

‘We’s got halfway down the beach then got mobbed by the blue rinse brigade,’ Mo adds. ‘Whatever. Can we have a beer, Sergeant?’

‘Yeah why not,’ Blowers says, passing them over. ‘Not too much. We’ve got double drill in the morning.’

‘What’s double drill?’ Carmen asks.

‘It’s like normal drill,’ Blowers says with an evil grin as the flames of the fire dance over his features. ‘But doubled. Come and join in if you want…’

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cassie dresses in shorts and a vest and slips into the boy’s room, crossing over to kneel at his bed. Whispering softly with a hand on his chest as the child wakes, sleepy and dreamy. ‘Go back to sleep,’ she murmurs. ‘It’s not you I need.’

She sees the transformation creep into his eyes and wonders how much of the boy is asleep, and if this now is disturbing his mind and body. But this has to be done and so she wraps the boy in the bedsheets and carries him down through the bumfucknowhere house and out into the garden. The weather still warm and sultry. She walks to the end of the garden to the other side of the low wall and lays the boy gently on the ground, making sure he’s wrapped in the bedding.

The experience in the playzone horrified her, and she spent the rest of the day glued to Gregori’s side. Knowing the infection wouldn’t show with him so close because she needed time to think.

They went shopping and the boy became the boy again. Loud and rambunctious. Playful and silly. Asking questions in that sing-song voice. Holding hands with her and Gregori. Swinging from their arms, but every now and then she saw the thing in his eyes staring at her and she simply walked off or turned away and refused to engage.

Then, while Gregori was breaking the lock on another shop door, the boy gripped her arm and she looked down to see the infection showing within his eyes. Demanding her attention. She held that eye contact for long seconds, refusing to look away and waiting for Gregori to turn back, waiting to see what would happen and the second Gregori looked over, the boy became the boy again.

She thought about it all day. About everything. She thought about the pictures he drew of Howie and Marcy. How he can see them and speak to them. How he can be in so many places at once and see so many things. She thought about yesterday too, and how the boy tried to pick a fight with Reginald and lost spectacularly with that little twerp running rings about it. But it wasn’t the boy doing those things. It was the infection. The thing inside him, and that tiny glimpse made her stop and take stock. She thought about that hotel when the Albanians took over and how they were ripped limb from limb by the hosts and how Gregori reacted too.

They went home and she made food. Good food too. Pies and creamed mashed potatoes and mushy peas. She served wine to Gregori with his meal then took the boy up to bed when the hour grew late.

‘I gave you what you wanted,’ the thing inside said as she laid the boy down on his bed.

‘Get some sleep,’ she whispered and kissed the boy’s forehead before walking out and closing the door on it to stand in the dark hallway thinking hard. Arms hanging at her sides. Head slightly lowered. Eyes open. Unblinking. Thinking. Planning. Scheming.

A few minutes later Gregori looked up from cleaning pistols at the kitchen table as a naked Cassie walked silenty in to just stand and stare at him.

He was inside her before they reached their room. Her legs wrapped about his body, kissing passionately. She felt him building up to orgasm and pulled back, refusing it. Not allowing it, and she kept him working for hours. Pulling away whenever he looked close to ejaculation. Making him work for it. Keeping him focussed and engaged and moving constantly. Then she brought the lubricant out and gave Gregori a whole new perspective on sexual intercourse.

She did all those things not only for the pleasure it gave Gregori and her, but to make him sleep like the dead. To exhaust his body and soul, because a post-coital slumber is the only Achilles heel to Gregori’s remarkable senses.

And she did all of those things to buy time to do this. To have this conversation now and she looks down at the boy lying within the bedsheets at the bottom of the garden. ‘What you did to me earlier. We need to do it again. Shush, let me speak. I’ve been thinking about this all day,’ she pauses to draw air and enhance the dramatic delivery.

‘Howie is only three hundred miles away. At some point he will come for us and at the moment, he has the edge over you. You’ve got huge numbers. I felt them. I don’t even know where to begin with what I felt, but all you are doing…all you and Howie are doing is charging at each other and both hoping that if you throw enough hosts or he throws enough bullets that one of you will kill the other and win, and that has to stop because the attrition is too much, and Howie has Reginald, and that little twat is smarter than you right now.’

‘I am the one true race. I am many.’

‘But unless you learn to harness what you have you won’t be. Howie will keep pissing all over you like he did yesterday, and it only stopped when I stepped in. And why? Because I’m a dirty narcissistic bitch that used a filthy trick to hurt them. And that’s where you are going wrong because you have all that knowledge without any clue what to do with it. Do you see what I mean? You’re not human and you don’t know what we’re capable of, and by the time you’ve grasped it, it will be too late, and all of this will have been for nothing…do you understand? We are the one true race now. You cannot lose, but if you keep going like you are, then you will lose, so let me help you. I’m going to help you. I want to help you. We’re going to try it again, okay? What we did earlier. We’ll figure it out and find a way.’

She bends down to kiss the boy’s head then sits back against the wall. ‘We’re in this together. Me and you. We’ll win this. You deserve this.’ Sincere and earnest, nodding emphatically while holding a yearning eye-contact all designed to telegraph that she is committed to the cause. Fanatical even. A believer. A worshipper. She smiles gently as though full of pain and love, as though only wanting to help this poor thing. A gentle tut, a shake of her head and she sits back, readying herself for the sacrifice because she wants that power. My god she wants that power. ‘Okay. Do it.’

‘Your genetic structure is not…’

‘Fuck me! After everything I just said?’ she snaps off and lurches to the side, sinking into the grass as it happens again. Exactly the same as before. Her mind flooding with streams of lives and memories and visions and images and replays and emotions. Death and life. Childbirth and schooling and teachers and playgrounds. People working in offices. She watches herself landing a jumbo jet, knowing instantly what each button and switch in the cockpit does. She’s all of them. All of the hosts. All of their memories, but the onslaught is just too much, and the pain becomes unbearable. Like her skull will burst and she gasps, not knowing anything or even what it is she should be doing. Only that it hurts so much and there’s just not enough room in her mind to process even a fraction of it. Then it’s gone and she pukes again. Heaving pie and creamed mashed potatoes over the grass. Her throat burning and her eyes watering.

‘Your genetic structure is not able to have what we are, Cassie.’

‘Fuck you!’ she hisses. ‘Don’t use my name you filthy fucking freak…’ she looks at it, hating it. If she had a gun right now she’d kill it. But she doesn’t have a gun and she didn’t bring one for that reason. Instead she sits up and nods while wiping the puke from her mouth. ‘Do it again.’

‘Your genetic structure…’

‘Do it again!’ she will not be beaten. She wants what it has. That power she felt earlier. It sickened her, but she wants it. No matter what the cost, and once more she sinks over as the pain and images and lives swarm back into her mind, and in that instant, she knows everything. She knows it all but can’t make sense of even a jot of it. It’s like opening a door to a universe where every single person that ever lived is talking at the same time. Demanding to be heard. She sees through the eyes of the hosts too. All of them at the same time. Thousands upon thousands of images that mingle and blur with memories until there’s no possible way of knowing what’s in the past and what’s happening now.

She lasts just seconds again. Gasping and writhing on the floor. Then it abates once more, and she sucks air into her lungs. Sweat pouring down her face. It’s too much. Simply too much and she swallows, thinking at least this time she isn’t puking. Then she pukes as the infection simply watches her.

‘Again,’ she whispers, knowing that if she delays, she won’t have the courage to keep going. She grits her teeth, determined and braced and when it comes it’s the same as before. Flood gates opening. Voices and faces. Sights and sounds. Sensations and memories. She must withstand it because despite the pain and the sickness it brings, she can sense the power of it and the veins push through her skin. Her teeth bared like a feral creature. Eyes growing wide and the first drops of blood fall from her nose. Her body temperature rising fast. Her brain capacity running more than it ever should. Every sinew straining. Every muscle tensed. Her heart galloping and all of those things should kill her, but the very thing inside that gives her this insight that causes this pain also keeps her alive. Mutating cells and making organs work differently, taking every shred of oxygen and fuel and using it fully.

It ceases once more and she sags down, whimpering like a child. Like a hurt animal. Blood smeared over her chin and that pain in her head becomes too much. Her skull must surely be splitting in half. Blood pours from her nose and ears, clotting fast then bleeding again. Her body straining to fix and repair, to keep her alive. Her eyes bulge and she pisses herself from losing control. She can’t breathe for the agony.

She pities herself for having to do this while perversely knowing she can stop at any time. The spite gene within the only thing keeping her going because the power she could gain from controlling this is worth every ounce of this anguish.

Is it truly worth it, Cassie?

She flinches, both inwardly and in the world, slamming back into the wall at hearing a voice in her own mind and such is the fright she tries to break from the hive mind, but she can’t sever the connection. She panics and tries harder but the control is gone. There is no control. She’s trapped. Stuck here. She screams inside her own mind but her voice only adds to the cacophony of every other sound. She grunts and writhes until she’s thrashing on the ground and the pain gets worse. Her nose bleeding heavily, her eyes rolling in her head. Her body spasming with images and memories surging inside. She can’t get out. She can’t break free from it.

You wanted what I am, Cassie.

That voice comes again. From everywhere at the same time. Whispered and distant. Hushed and close. Faint yet clear. Echoing softly.

She can sense it watching her. Somewhere within the chaos and madness. An entity that is separate to everything else, prowling about behind all the noise like a hideous creature trapped in a lair.

This is what you wanted, Cassie. I gave you what you wanted.

‘What are you?’ her voice sounds out within her mind, her lips spilling the words that fall silent in the garden.

I was created. Now I have life. This is what you wanted. You wanted what I am. This is what I am.

She tries to sever the connection again with an instinct raging inside to get away from this thing. She’ll run to the house and scream and tell Gregori to kill it because it should not be in this world.

I show myself and you want to kill me.

Yes! This filthy, tainted, corrupt thing is not human. It was never born. This is a thing created that should never have happened. A dark force, malevolent within its desire to survive.

The primary function of all living things is to survive, Cassie. I am no different. To survive is the single purpose of any living creature.

The projection of hunger terrifies her. It’s desire to live the single most powerful essence driving into her mind. It must live. Above all else it must live and within that she knows it has neither love nor hate. Neither nor care. A thing of fact. It is alive, and it must stay alive, and to do that, it must take more hosts.

Why is this wrong? You did not ask to be born. I did not ask to be created, and yet we are here, so we must do what all living creatures do. We must live.

She can’t believe she felt endeared to it. Protective even. Like it was a child that needed help. This isn’t a child. God no. But then she was forced to love it. Her brain was chemically altered to make her love it, and it manifested to her in the form of a child. Not only to her, but to Gregori too.

Gregori! That’s why the boy chose him. The Uglyman. The infection knows who Gregori is. It knows what he can do and what he’s capable of. That’s why it chose the child. So Gregori would protect it, and then Cassie too. It chose them both and any sense of free will vanishes in that instant. She was chosen as was Gregori. The boy saw her in the chair in that house where she was held. The infection saw that her biggest fear was not for anyone else but for herself. Gregori’s skills and single-mindedness and her greed and selfishness. It took their base instincts to survive and their ability to take what they want and used them as a shield because even if every other hosts dies, this child will live because it’s with Gregori and her, and there is no limit to what they will do.

Without realising it, without awareness of doing so, and such is her hatred of it, that she begins to ignore the noise and chaos to look for it. To sense where it is. She bares her teeth at it. Hissing and staying low. Her body replicating the form in her mind. She looks for it. For the essence. For the stink it leaves behind because it’s dirty and ugly and doesn’t deserve life. If there is a heaven, and if there is a God, then this is the devil, and this is hell where the souls of the damned scream for eternity.

You wanted to see me, Cassie. Here I am.

‘I see you,’ she whispers, tracking its motion through the madness of the minds of the hosts.

That is what Howie said to me. Howie saw me in Lani. I released pheromones and confused him until he copulated with her while knowing I was there. You did this too Cassie. You made innocent men touch your breasts so Gregori would kill them. You made yourself a victim to lure Gregori so you would copulate. We are the same.

‘I am nothing like you. You’re a fucking parasite.’

I am the one true race.

‘You’re not. I don’t know what you are.’

Are you in pain, Cassie?

‘Yes! It fucking hurts being in here with you. It’s hell. This is hell.’

Where is the pain, Cassie?

‘In my head!’

Show me where?

‘It’s…it was…it’s gone.’

The pain has gone. I took it away from you now and I healed you so you could copulate with Gregori to make him tired. All day you planned for this. To exhaust the man to manipulate the child so I would show you what I am. Now you see me. Do you like me, Cassie?

‘You disgust me.’ She realises that this is the first time she’s been able to hate it. The infection has her mind and controls what she feels, and right now it’s not doing that. It’s letting her hate it. It’s revealing itself. Like a demon that only ever lived in the shadows now edging forward into the light to be reviled and hated.

Let me help you. Her own words repeat back to her and sees herself saying them through the eyes of the boy. We’re going to try it again, okay? What we did earlier. We’ll figure it out and find a way. We’re in this together. Me and you.

You said you would help me, Cassie.

It is. It’s revealing itself. She can’t see it because it has no form. It doesn’t exist physically, but the essence of it is so very clear. Creeping forward, edging closer. She wilts back, still afraid and disgusted but senses the thing lifting its head to expose its throat and underbelly and that notion of vulnerability confuses her. The power of it is beyond anything she thought possible, but there’s fear too. It’s scared. This thing is scared. ‘What are you?’

I was created in a laboratory.

She swallows, guarded and tensed, ready to lash out or flee, not that she can do either.

You can go if you wish.

She senses something else. Like an opening behind her. A door through which she can flee. She edges towards it, ready to go. Ready to run, but the questions flaring in her mind outweigh the desire to escape. ‘Who made you?’

There are gaps. I do not know.

‘Gaps? What does that mean. How can you not know?’

I was created. I was nothing. Now I have life. I am the panacea. I am the cure.

‘The cure for what?’

For everything. I am the panacea. You had pre-cancerous cells in your body. Now you do not. Your body had 34% body fat. Now your body has 28% body fat and I will reduce the rest until you are physically perfect. You will never get sick, Cassie. I am the cure. I am the panacea. I am the one true race. I do not cause suffering. I am life. I AM LIFE. I HAVE LIFE. I AM THE CURE. I AM THE ONE TRUE RACE.

She wilts back again at the power of its voice ramming through her mind, turning to flee, terrified at the outburst then sensing the anguish and frustration as it prowls back and forth. The infection wants her help. It wants to believe her. It’s given her mind back and allowing her to choose. Letting her see how truly ugly it really is and holding still, waiting for her reaction. Showing her the sheer scale of what it possesses. By its very design it automatically fixes the physical bodies, making them stronger, leaner, fitter and impervious to disease and pain. But that’s just the physical. It’s the brain it wants and with so much noise it cannot control them. Only one here or there. Or many to do simple things. Run. Charge. Bite. Attack. Take more hosts. It doesn’t have an end game because it never had life, and now it has life, it doesn’t know what to do.

You show repulsion at my form, but I have none. I have no form except the hosts I possess. You think I am a parasite, but many humans believe the body to be a carriage for the soul. That you are defined by your souls. I am a soul, and the bodies I possess are carriages. How am I a parasite and you are not? I am not a parasite. I am not a disease. I am the cure.

She had cancer. No. She would have had cancer. Would she? Is that what it means? And she is losing weight. She put that down to the exercise and sex, but then she’s eating like a horse right now, and carb heavy food too. Grazing on snacks and junk all day. What did it mean by gaps? What gaps?

There are gaps. I do not possess the hosts that created me. I do not have their knowledge and memories and facts.

‘Why don’t you have them? Where are they?’

There are gaps. I am the one true race.

‘Stop saying that. What gaps?’

There are gaps to what I know…

The chaos and madness come back. The noise of the hosts. The images and memories and emotions all swarming about her again. The pain isn’t there this time, and so she’s able to at least try and withstand it. But it’s just impossible. There’s too much and it’s without end too. Seemingly infinite and finally she understands. It’s the point she was making originally. That it has too much knowledge and simply can’t grasp it all. Another realisation dawns too. The gaps are because it doesn’t have the minds of the people that created it, and that means they are safely away somewhere. And nobody would ever invent something like this and actually use it. They might be cured of everything and never get sick, but the cost is becoming a zombie host controlled by this thing who only has one primary function: To survive and replicate. That’s its driving force.

She snorts a laugh, shaking her head as it all starts to make sense and credit where credit is due. Reginald is one smart man. He said it first. The boy told her what he said, and she put it down as an insult designed to rile his enemy. But no. He was right. The clever little shit was right.

‘You’re not the cure.’

I am the cure. I am the panacea.

‘You’re not. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re not the cure. You’re the thing that comes before it. You’re the cull…’

She waits for a reply, but none comes and she frowns as the connection breaks and she’s cast out back into the real world of the now. Of the garden. Of the ground beneath her and her body soaked in piss and vomit and Gregori aiming a gun at her head.

‘Oh shit…er…we were sleepwalking?’

Chapter Twenty-Three

A bracken filled meadow on the north eastern fringes of the New Forest National Park and the free roaming ponies and grazing deer scatter to run deep into the woods. Running away from the man and the horde of many thousands. Running away from the vile stench of them.

The man does not pay attention to the smell of either himself, or his horde. He knows, from the collective knowledge of many, that the bad smell of a human was always associated with poor hygiene, and that poor hygiene indicated poor health. That is not the case now. The things that once posed risk and danger to hosts now do not pose risk or danger.

What does pose risk and danger, however, is walking long distances at night. Hosts, even with ramped senses, cannot see so well at night. They trip and fall. They break ankles and legs, and so the man comes to a stop and the many thousands behind him do the same with a concertina effect stretching back over the ranks of things that were once people.

The man sits down. The many thousands do the same. Men, women and children all lowering with a great rustle of motion and bodies and clothes and twigs being crushed.

The man then lies prone and the many thousands do the same. All lying on their backs to stare open eyed at the millions of stars now so visible from the lack of smog and filth polluting the air. Sleep is when human beings repair and recover, but the infection does that to the hosts. They do not need sleep, but by resting, their energy is conserved and better used when they reach the next village or town. And the man knows, as does the infection within him, that there are a great many villages ahead of them stretching down to the coast.

They will reach the shore and head east. Taking the coastal towns and villages as they march forever forward and head east towards the big city of Southampton.

But for now they rest and deer and ponies within the north eastern fringes of the New Forest National Park slow their escape as they realise they are not the prey for this thing moving through.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Day Twenty Seven

The night passes and the coming dawn heralds a new day in this brave new world as the people living within the bay start to awaken with a great feel of change in the air.

The world has fallen. Governments, infrastructure and organisations are all gone, and the land is now a dark and frightening place. But that’s out there. Not in here behind these big walls and armed guards where the first tiny glimmer of hope is starting to shine.

Yesterday changed things. Mr Howie came back, and a new chap called Henry. He used to work with Howie’s dad in military intelligence or something, and they’re having loads of meetings with Lilly and Norman and Kyle to get it sorted. That’s the vibe bringing forth the hope.

But what a fragile, folly of a hope it is because the flaws of humanity are already creeping back in. The clear lines of distinction between black and white are getting blurred and doing the right thing for the right reasons suddenly isn’t so clear, because what might be right for one, might be very wrong for another, and in their respective rooms, Lilly, Henry, Norman and Reginald come awake to think hard on everything happening. Reginald voiced it. The cure. The panacea. It exists, but Henry, for whatever reason, is refusing to be drawn and open up, or even acknowledge that Reginald is correct, and that needs resolving.

While Reginald thinks on these things, he also glances over to the snoring, slumbering form of Clarence. Reginald doesn’t think he would have ever been able to sleep near someone that snores like Clarence in his previous life, but it’s strangely reassuring now. Then he turns his head the other way to Roy’s sleeping form. Which is interesting because it means he didn’t sleep with Paula in her room. Great. That’s great. Now the person that normally deals with the interpersonal issues, namely Paula, has gotten herself in the middle of her own interpersonal thing. And if that wasn’t enough, there was something going on with Nick and Tappy and Lilly and Mary too. Reginald didn’t see any of that, but Marcy did. She told him in the kitchen later.

‘So, I’m pretty sure, like one hundred and ten percent sure that Nick and Tappy played hunt the sausage and then Lilly and Mary went off and came back all flushed, but they probably didn’t play hunt the sausage as they don’t have penises. Is that homophobic? I didn’t mean it if it was. I just meant there was a rumour going around that they’d snogged, but anyway, so yes…dramaaaa!’

Reginald wanted to tell Marcy that she cannot be pretty sure about something and then say she’s one hundred and ten percent, and also, you can’t be one hundred and ten percent of anything because one hundred percent is the maximum. He didn’t say that though, but only because Marcy would call him a know-it-all twat.

Howie wakes in his room down the hallway, but his mind doesn’t quite move as fast as everyone else’s. More of a shuffling from sleep to awake with much yawning and stretching while hovering in that nice bit between actually being awake and asleep. Then his eyes snap open from the hand on his willy and Marcy snuggling into his side. ‘Fancy a quickie?’ she asks all sleepily. Howie ponders this for a second, weighing it all up in his mind in the same way that Lilly, Henry, Norman and Reginald give great thought to the perils of the world, and he decides, in the way of deciding, that having a quickie would, in fact, be very nice. ‘No kissing,’ she says when he starts tactical manoeuvring. ‘Morning breath...’

Downstairs, Natasha Drinkwater also wakes up and immediately realises this is the first time since she killed her family that she hasn’t had the recurring nightmare. She floods with relief then has a weird secondary feeling of guilt and panic that not having the nightmare means she’s growing distant from them. Then she thinks of last night and forgets about her family and instead groans softly at her own bloody idiocy because it’s one thing to wake up drunk and naked on a beach, but it’s something else to wake up drunk and naked on a beach after having had sex with your crew mate who you fight with in the zombie apocalypse in a bay surrounded by giant metal containers that were built by the girlfriend of the guy you did the sex with.

Oh god. What a twat. That happened. She had sex with him. She lifts her head to peer over at Nick’s sleeping form and winces. Damn it. Damn arse and shit. Bollocks too. Damn arse and shit and bollocks.

She remembers falling asleep on Nick when they finished. Then they woke up and got dressed in that half-hangover, half-still-drunk kind of way and did the walk of shame back to the house where everyone else was already bedded down.

Right. Well, they are adults and they’ll just have to deal with it because the last thing Mr Howie needs is weird complications in his team. Then she spots someone else fast asleep and can’t help the smile forming. She crawls over and gently rests a hand on Danny’s shoulder while trying not to look at the enormous bulge standing proud in his shorts. ‘Roll over,’ she whispers, applying gentle pressure to his shoulder. ‘Lie on your belly. That’s it…’ She eases back while giving thanks that Nick doesn’t have a penis that big.

Sergeant Simon Blowers hears the motion and begins the journey from the land of sleep to the land of the living where for a few seconds he doesn’t really think of anything at all. He turns as he stretches, checking Danny isn’t trying to run a flag up his pole but the lad’s fast asleep on his belly. Murmuring softly and shifting about. Blowers yawns again which snaps off as he watches Danny’s arse going up and down a bit too much and the murmurs coming a bit too loud and a bit too quick. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he groans while rubbing his face and gently scratching at his ruined eye.

Danny murmurs again. Back in his dream in the deserted street with the hot zombie lady and her big boobs, except this time they are laying down on a nice bed that just happens to be in the middle of the road. Danny doesn’t ask why a bed is there. Even if it is a really hard one. Danny doesn’t ask that because the hot zombie lady with the big boobs is about to let him have sex with her. Like for fact. Like for reals.

‘Do you want to put it in me?’ she asks, in that sleepy dreamy hot zombie lady kind of way.

‘Yes please,’ Danny says politely, because you should always have manners.

‘You can’t,’ she says as their nice bed in the street shunts over a bit. ‘You’ve got double drill.’

‘Eh?’

‘Drill! Up, come on,’ Blowers says, on his feet as he kicks Danny’s bedding. ‘Double drill. Wakey wakey. Rise and shine. Stop shagging the floor. We didn’t drill yesterday so I positively guarantee that today will be pure evil. Come on! Up! Get moving. Time waits for no man, or woman seeing as we are an equal opportunities employer.’

‘We don’t get paid,’ Cookey says, sitting up with a yawn and a big yelp. ‘Morning everyone. Shall we talk about Nick and Tappy now or…’

‘Shut the fuck up you twat,’ Nick snaps, waking up too quickly and trying to surge to his feet while his legs get tangled in his bed sheets. ‘Fuck’s sake…fucking cunting wanking pile of fucking shit!’

‘Morning, Nick,’ Blowers says, motioning for Cookey to shut up. ‘Drill. Outside. Get moving.’

‘One fucking word, Cookey,’ Nick says, ripping his bedding from his legs.

‘Morning, Nicholas,’ Cookey says, offering a grin to light the touch paper a bit more.

‘TWAT!’

‘Nick. Pack it in. Cookey, shut the fuck up,’ Blowers says. ‘Danny! Stop shagging the fucking floor and get up. Drill. Now! Mo, why aren’t you Dave Training?’

‘He said to take the night off,’ Mo says. ‘Did Nick and Tappy do something then?’

‘No!’ Nick yells.

‘Yes!’ Cookey yells.

‘Cookey, shut up,’ Tappy says, throwing a bottle of water at him.

‘Gosh. This is a nice way to wake-up,’ Charlie mutters, realising she also missed her own training session. ‘I need to sort Jess out.’

‘We’ve got drill,’ Blowers says.

‘And we’ll have a very angry horse if she doesn’t get fed, Sergeant Blowers.’

‘Ooh. She called you Sergeant Blowers.’

‘Alex, shut up. You’re annoying me already,’ Charlie says, tugging her boots on as Blowers goes out. ‘Danny, you need to get up and dressed.’

‘Er,’ Danny says awkwardly, still lying on his belly. ‘It’s kinda still there.’

‘Right. Fine. Well just swing it about or whatever you do to make it go down. I’m going to sort Jess out.’

She rushes out as the last house on the bay comes to life and stops dead at the sight of Carmen standing patiently by the road. ‘Oh hey, you okay?’

‘Fine,’ Carmen says with a smile. ‘I’m here for drill, or, as your sergeant called it, double drill.’

‘Right,’ Charlie says. ‘Er, they’ll be a few minutes,’ she adds, looking up to see the dawn is only just coming over the horizon.

‘Sorry,’ Carmen says with a wince. ‘Sergeant Blowers said to be here at dawn.’

‘No. Of course. Sure. Yes, I understand. Er, I need to sort Jess out.’

‘That’s the horse isn’t it?’ Carmen asks. ‘I heard you mention her last night. Need a hand? I love horses. She’s Hanoverian, isn’t she?’ she asks, staring over the road to the big horse happily grazing on the grass.

‘Of course, thank you,’ Charlie says, too polite to say no as she heads to the horsebox trailer thing and pulls the bucket and oats out that sends the signal to Jess that it’s feed time, which means the horse coming in fast to eat. Like now. Feed me. Where’s my food? I’m hungry now. What’s that? Can I eat it? ‘Off,’ Charlie says, pulling her t-shirt from the horse’s mouth. ‘Just wait.’

‘Doesn’t she run off?’ Carmen asks, coming in slowly to smooth Jess’s flanks as the horse turns to stare at her in the way of searching for food before instantly dismissing her as not worthy of attention. Unless she has food in her pockets. Do you? Do you have food? ‘Whoa,’ Carmen laughs, pushing her head away as Jess snorts and sniffs while pushing Carmen about.

‘She’s too greedy to run off,’ Charlie answers. ‘And she’s too bad-tempered to be put away anywhere. We tried it in the back garden, but she just smashed the fence down. Mainly to get to Clarence for biscuits, which he thinks I don’t know about.’

‘I see,’ Carmen says, stroking the horse while listening to door slamming and people yelling to get out of the fucking bathroom and stop fucking about inside the house. ‘So what about you? What did you do before this?’

‘I was at university,’ Charlie replies, mixing the oats with water while trying to fend Jess off as Meredith comes over to sniff Carmen for food, then the bucket, then Charlie, then the horse, then Carmen again and all before taking a big poo while still watching them. ‘And I was captain of the England hockey team. Under 21’s.’

‘Now that is cool,’ Carmen says, showing genuine admiration.

‘Did you play hockey?’ Charlie asks.

‘Hockey wasn’t really a thing in my school. Knives were, and drugs, and you know, not going to school. Inner city London girl.’

‘You don’t sound it,’ Charlie says before wincing at herself. ‘I am so sorry, that was an awful thing to say.’

‘It’s fine,’ Carmen says with a gentle laugh. ‘Henry helped me lose the voice, you get me bro?’ she says, slipping into near perfect mimicry of Mo Mo and Maddox. ‘No, but seriously. I never really spoke like that. She is beautiful though. Strong too,’ she adds, patting Jess.

‘You have no idea,’ Charlie says.

‘She doesn’t look like she’s for dressage, jumping?’ Carmen asks.

‘Oh god no, she’s not my horse. Well, she wasn’t my horse, I think she is now. But saying you own Jess doesn’t quite feel right. More like she lets me ride her. But no, she was Neal’s. I think he said she was a police horse but got binned for being too aggressive.’

‘Too aggressive?’ Carmen asks, hiding any reaction to hearing the horse was Neal’s. ‘Well, I bet that’s a good trait now. Was Neal okay with you taking her?’

‘Poor guy was terrified of her,’ Charlie says, busily focussing on feed and oats and mixing. ‘Right, go on, eat,’ she steps back as Jess goes in to chomp and scoff. ‘Are you sure about joining us for drill?’

‘I’ve been cooped up for three weeks with only basic phys. Why? Does he go quite hard?’

‘Yes,’ Charlie says with raw honesty. ‘He’s really rather relentless. But in a good way.’

‘DRILL!’ Blowers shouts from the front door. ‘Outside, line up on the road…come on!’ he steps out and glances about at the world in this new day and spots Carmen with Charlie. ‘Morning.’

‘Sergeant,’ Carmen says. ‘I’m here for this drill.’

‘I swear to god, Cookey…one more fucking word,’ Nick snaps, spilling out with Cookey and the others.

‘Enough, line up,’ Blowers says. ‘Has Danny finished shagging the floor yet?’

‘I’m coming, sergeant!’ Danny shouts from inside.

‘USE A TISSUE,’ Cookey shouts back as Tappy comes out, shaking her head.

‘Fall in,’ Blowers orders.

‘Where do you want me?’ Carmen asks, walking over to the road. ‘What’s the dress code? I’m guessing fatigues and boots?’

‘Yep, fine as you are, just fall in,’ Blowers replies. ‘Danny!’

‘Sorry, Sergeant,’ the lad says, running from the house with his rifle and kit.

‘Into line. We all here?’ Blowers asks. ‘Magazines out of your rifles and pistols, we’ll be dry-firing so check the chambers. Check each other’s. Nick and Tappy, you both got drunk so double check your weapons.’

‘Tappy checked Nick’s weapon alright,’ Cookey laughs.

‘Fuck off!’ Nick shouts.

‘Twat,’ Tappy also shouts.

‘Jesus, you lot make enough noise to raise the dead,’ Paula says, coming out of the front door.

‘You joining us, Paula?’ Blowers asks.

‘Yep,’ she says, dumping her kit with everyone else’s as they check rifles and pistols. ‘Oh hi, Carmen. You were serious then? Foolish woman. Go back! Run away.’

Carmen smiles, pushing her rifle magazine into her bag then checking the chamber and doing the same to her side arm. Tac-vest off. T-shirt on underneath and she shows her weapons to Sergeant Blowers to check they are empty. Then she spots Howie rushing out, already somewhat flushed in the face and he does the same as everyone else. Ditching his kit and checking his weapons. Clarence and Dave too, and then Roy and Marcy. All of them getting ready.

‘Boss? You happy with me running drill?’ Blowers asks, suddenly feeling very weird at the prospect of telling Dave what to do.

‘Go for it,’ Howie says, slinging his rifle and getting into place as they line up on the road.

‘Are we too late?’ Willie calls, jogging over with a few lads from the camp.

‘Too late for what?’ Blowers asks as everyone else turns to look at the dozen or so somewhat sleepy looking young men. Tyson and Patrick. Callum and a few more.

‘For the drill,’ Willie says. ‘Your man Reggie told Peter ye’d be happy for us to join in.’

‘Reggie invited you?’ Paula asks.

‘Aye. He did. Then Peter called us fat shits and said we should do more running. Then Elvis told him we could run the arse off any soldier boys which kind of committed us…’

‘We didn’t need your life story, mate,’ Blowers says, cutting him off. ‘Sidearms emptied, chambers checked. Rifles too then fall in.’

‘Fall into what?’ Elvis asks, bridling a little at Blowers’ curt tone.

‘Ach, he means line up,’ Willie says. ‘It’s army speak.’

‘Is it army speak now?’ Elvis asks, taking the magazine from his pistol. ‘Got their own language, have they? Fancy that. And there was me thinking army lads were all thick fucks that can’t read…’

‘What did you fucking say?’ Nick asks, turning towards them.

‘Ah sorry, I didn’t mean nothing by it. I’m a gobby shite sometimes,’ Elvis says, lifting a hand by way of apology.

‘Lads, show me your sidearms,’ Blowers says, walking down the front of their ragged line. ‘Magazines out? Chambers empty…that’s fine. That’s good,’ he stops in front of Callum, looking from the semi-automatic pistol in his hand to another one on the back of his belt. ‘And the other one,’ Blowers prompts.

‘I’ll not be using that one,’ Callum says. ‘Just this one.’

‘Ditch it then, over there,’ Blowers says, nodding to the kit piled up at the side of the road.

‘It’ll be fine where it is.’

‘No live weapons in drill,’ Blowers says. ‘Lose it or fuck off.’

‘Who you talking to there?’ Callum asks, squaring his soldiers.

‘Callum, lad, do what the soldier says and put the gun down,’ Willie says.

‘I don’t see why,’ Callum says before clocking the look on Willie’s face. ‘Fine. Fair play, but if it gets lost or someone nicks it, I’ll be coming to speak to you, soldier boy,’ he says to Blowers.

‘Lads, drill means taking orders. If you can’t take orders then don’t be here,’ Blowers says simply.

‘We’ll be fine. It’s early,’ Willie says. ‘Honest now. We’ll get some running about done and that. Boys, you listen to what the man says now. You got that? No fecking about.’

Clarence steps back into the line with Howie, both ready to intervene but seeing Blowers handling it perfectly.

‘Okay, everyone ready? We’ll start light and build up. Everyone other than my team can drop out when they want. My team cannot drop out until it’s over. Clear? Good, gentle jog up the road to start. I’ll mark the pace. Move out…’

He turns to set off, rolling his one good eye as the two groups also turn with some moving faster than others, jostling and bumping into each other. Collisions and trips.

‘Booker!’ Cookey says, getting barged from the back. ‘You trying to shag me? At least take me down to the beach first…’

‘FUCKING TWAT,’ Nick shouts, turning towards Cookey which causes more stumbling and jostling as the groups compress.

‘Why you being such a bellend?’ Tappy yells.

Clarence starts to turn back with a look of fury, thinking he’ll bang their bloody heads together as Blowers steams in, pushing Nick and Cookey apart. ‘This is drill. Focus. Down and ten…everyone. Down now. Ten push-ups.’

‘What the feck?’ Elvis calls. ‘Why are we doing shit cos of them?’

‘Thought army boys had discipline,’ Callum shouts.

‘Ach, just do it,’ Willie says as they all drop down with stares and looks being thrown between the two groups.

Blowers lowers to do the push-ups. Getting to the ground between Nick and Cookey to speak low and hard. ‘You two show us up again and I will lose my shit and bang the pair of you out. We clear? Fucking switch on. Everyone up. Run on…’ On they go. Compressing and jostling once again. Grumbles and tuts. Sleepy bodies being made to work.

Carmen runs between Danny and Maddox, figuring the ill-discipline is a bit poor but then also knowing that close-knit fighting units are the same as families that fall out and wind each other up. The sergeant gripped it well though, and it’s good the officers are letting him do it. She did think the big bloke might explode for a second though.

Mind you, it is nice to be running again and feeling her legs warming up. Her lungs and heart working too. She looks over the shore to the sea and the sky growing gradually lighter. Birds singing in the air. A lone blackbird giving voice, sweet and high like a piper leading a charge to a flock of starlings swooping down like fighter jets. Gulls high in the sky, circling in reconnaissance. A pair of magpies clucking and cawing, their black and white plumage marking them out as Spec-Ops. Aggressive and dominant. Swift and devious. Then come the long-range bombers as the crows start coming in. The shock and awe of sheer size. Landing hard and scaring everything else away so only they can pluck the juicy worms from the muddy earth churned up by diggers, trucks and plant machines. And there, high above them all, flies the sparrow hawk, gliding silent and smooth like a drone ready to drop like a stone and kill. She smiles at the thoughts, looking ahead to Dave running next to Howie. That same ruthless streak runs through him. Silent and deadly. Howie doesn’t realise how lucky he is, and she wonders how much of this now is down to Dave. This fort. This bay. This security they have that’s prompting the petty squabbling. She also knows Henry will want Dave to go with them when they leave. Henry will time it just right too. He’ll pick his moment and deploy George to speak to Dave and use that leverage George has. George found Dave. George led Dave through training, and it was George that brought Dave into the team. With the right words in the right tone at the right time George might bring Dave back into the fold.

But still, that’s for later. She runs on, enjoying the feel of it when Sergeant Blowers increases the pace incrementally. Building them up as the air fills with the crunch of boots on tarmac and the sound of people breathing a bit harder.

On they go. Past where the other houses once were. Two groups running on the long shore road. Peter’s men jogging easily enough. Fit lads used to training hard. All of them into boxing and prize-fighting and that means you have to be lean and tough. They might smoke, drink and eat like horses but they’re young and full of energy and pride.

‘Everyone turn and face me, run sideways,’ Blowers calls, the pace naturally easing as their bodies work and move differently. Ungainly and awkward and not a move the camp lads have done before as they trip and stumble into each other. Shoving and pissing about as Callum starts skipping and swinging his arms. ‘This how they turn people gay is it?’

Sniggers and laughs sound out as Nick scowls, not quite sure if the dig is meant for him. A nudge in the side from Charlie telling him to forget it and keep going.

‘Face the other way, do the same…’ Blowers calls.

‘Showing him our arses now, lads,’ Callum mutters, his voice carrying a bit too well.

‘Yeah and you all look gorgeous,’ Blowers calls, deflecting the joke with a few chuckles and laughs coming back. ‘Okay, run on…get your arms up and down…stretch the shoulders out.

The two groups keep going along the road. Arms up and down, swinging circles and stretching as they run. The lads from the camp behind the others, staring forward at the backs of Marcy, Charlie, Tappy and Carmen. Digging each other in the sides, snorting laughs.

‘Nice view from back here, lads,’ Elvis calls.

‘Keep going,’ Blowers calls. ‘Knees up. Come on, bit higher, get the legs working…Tappy, bit higher.’

‘You want a hand, love?’ one of the lads from the back calls.

‘I’d give that black lass a hand,’ Callum says, earning a few more laughs as Maddox simply stops and turns back.

‘Want to say that again?’ he says, glaring at Callum.

‘Maddox, back in line,’ Blowers calls, running over to pull him back.

‘Just a joke, mate,’ Willie says. ‘Easy fellas, they’re bit sensitive in the morning.’

‘Back in line,’ Blowers says. Maddox complies, giving Callum a lingering glance as the lad smirks wide and happy. Maddox tuts, and falls back in to a hard look from Carmen.

‘I do not need defending,’ she says simply.

‘Everyone stop and run on the spot,’ Blowers calls out. ‘Knees up…come on! That’s it. Higher…hands out at waist height, touch your hands with your legs…got it?’ he leads the way, running on the spot with knees high, slapping his hands each time. ‘Heels to backside…keep it going…okay stop. Star jumps. Legs out, arms high…you know what this is right? This is the warm-up…for the warm up.’

‘Eh?’ Elvis says.

‘Think he’s having a show-off,’ Callum says.

‘Oh god,’ Marcy groans, thinking she’s glad she put the super-tight sports bra on.

‘Ready?’ Blowers calls with a grin, still doing star jumps as though doing nothing at all. ‘This is drill…this is double drill…DOWN AND TEN…NOW DOWN DOWN DOWN…UP AND STAR JUMPS…Faster now, come on! Arms up. DOWN AND TEN…DOWN DOWN DOWN…’ another drop, another round of grunts and gasps. ‘Stay down when you’ve finished. Hold position…ready? Knees to chest.’ In the press-up position, knees coming up. ‘Faster…’ he shouts out as stomach muscles start to hurt. ‘Everyone up, jog on the spot…shake it out. Go on! Give it all a good shake. Not that good, Danny.’

Another few chuckles as Blowers casts another look at the Callum, Elvis and a few more pissing about and dancing on the spot with piss-taking spasms.

‘Okay, we’re going to start properly now,’ Blowers calls. ‘RUN BACK…’ From a jog to a run. ‘DOWN DOWN DOWN…PUSH-UPS…’

Bodies starting to thrum. Down to burpees and suicide drills. Into a press up and back up to a star jump. A brutal gruelling exercise that taxes every muscle and gets them sucking air in, and only made harder by the rifles slung on their backs that swing around and get in the way, and Blowers notices the lads already falling silent now they’re forced to work and focus on breathing.

‘Paula! Come on,’ he calls out, cajoling and urging them on. ‘Marcy…keep going. Come on! Roy’s pissing all over you and he’s twice your age.’

‘Roy five times,’ Cookey quips, earning a few gasped laughs from those in the know.

‘Come on boys,’ Elvis calls, gasping for air. ‘We’ll be super soldier boys in no time,’ a joke made but an edge to the humour that gets one side laughing and the other frowning.

‘If you’ve got air to joke then we’re not working hard enough,’ Blowers calls. ‘UP AND RUN…THIS IS DRILL…RUN! FASTER…SPRINT TO THE HOUSE…come on! First one there isn’t a cunt.’

‘Ye a bit late for that lads,’ Callum says, earning more sniggers as they sprint down the road. A mindset formed in the lads from the camp because the bay is now theirs. They know Lilly was with Nick. They also know she wasn’t keen on seeing them again. That makes Nick fair game because human beings, by their very nature, are tribal and must take sides, and once you’ve taken a side, you must therefore form the judgement that the other side are a bunch of pricks and should fuck off.

Carmen loves it. She relishes hard exercise. The harder the better. Danny too. Maddox and Mo. Nick and the Cookey and Charlie. All of them hurting but loving it. Booker gasping, wishing he’d kept his fitness up and seeing the difference between him and them. Tappy holding pace but struggling. Howie breathing hard. Clarence keeping up for now, a big man not built for endurance. Dave pisses it with simplistic ease, like he’s doing a gentle yoga session for pensioners.

To the house and they stop to suck air, inflating chests. A long line stretched back as the slower ones reach the finish where they stand doubled over with hands on knees, breathing hard and fast.

‘Stand straight, breathe properly, recover,’ Blowers calls, not showing signs of exertion.

‘This isn’t soldier training,’ Elvis mutters. ‘Fecking running about.’

Blowers hears him and hides the smile, knowing he’s right. This isn’t drill. This is just the warm-up. Fine. They want drill. They’ll get drill.

‘Start back up the road,’ Blowers shouts, ordering them on as the lads mutter and tut, now mingling with the others. Pushing in with Tyson’s shoulder brushing Nick’s a bit too hard.

‘Ach, sorry, my fault,’ Tyson says, winking at Nick as Patrick does it from the other side.

‘Clumsy fuckers ain’t we,’ Patrick tuts, rolling his eyes.

‘Marcy, Danny and Tappy…that truck,’ Blowers shouts, running in amongst them while holding his arm out straight towards a stationary truck. ‘Get to it, aim up to the wall. GO! Everyone else…ATTACK FROM THE REAR! About turn, aim rifles…’

Marcy, Danny and Tappy run off with Danny knowing he can outrun them but holding back to keep pace. Everyone else stopping with chests heaving, pulling rifles forward. Blowers charges back through the group, pointing at Callum, Elvis and Tyson.

‘You, you and you, get down flat on your bellies, aim forward and fire…you and you,’ he shouts at Patrick and Willie. ‘Take a knee and fire.’

‘What the feck we shooting at?’ Callum gasps.

‘You three up!’ Blowers roars, running back to them. ‘DOWN,’ he drops to his belly with them. ‘UP!’ Back up and firing. ‘DOWN.’ Down he drops. Making them work. Seeing their cheeks flushing red. ‘UP…You, your rifle is jammed,’ he screams at Callum, going in close, dominating his vision. ‘Clear the weapon… CLEAR YOUR WEAPON… everyone else run to the truck…you’re taking too long,’ he shouts at Callum trying to paw at his rifle. ‘Draw sidearm…DRAW SIDEARM…fucking useless. Everyone is dead. Up and run.’

He urges them on. Pushing them hard as the others reach the truck and draw air quickly while glancing back.

‘You,’ Blowers shouts, grabbing Callum by the scruff of his collar. ‘Get down…you’re a casualty.’ Blowers helps him down, a little rough and a little hard with a little show of strength. Dumping the gasping man down. ‘MEDIC! CASEVAC…everyone get over and give covering fire…MOVE NOW!’

Roy runs out, flanked by others. The lads from the camp feeling a bit silly at aiming and shooting at nothing. Like it’s a game. Silly and immature.

‘Drag the casualty to the truck,’ Blowers shouts as Maddox and Nick grab Callum’s wrists and start dragging him over the ground. The two lads strong and hard, gripping tight.

‘Ye fecking twats,’ Callum shouts at the pain in his arms.

‘I thought you were dead, bellend,’ Nick mutters.

‘Grab his legs, lift him,’ Blowers shouts as Cookey and Booker run to heft Callum’s legs, lifting him with ease, bouncing him hard.

‘Not very heavy, is he?’ Cookey says.

‘He’s only little,’ Maddox replies.

‘COME ON…RUN RUN RUN…Good work, put him down…’

They drop him like a stone and the lads springs up, disliking the fact he was carried, his cheeks smarting with humiliation. Glares starting. Chests puffing up. Shoulder barges and tempers fraying.

‘The next objective is the house,’ Blowers says. ‘We reach and circle it. Aim out…GO GO GO.’

On they go with Blowers making them stop to get a section off here, to guard this, to flank here. Get down. Get up. Weapons jammed. Draw sidearms. Sidearm is jammed. Clear it. Up and run. On and on. They take the corner several times. They take the house and back to the truck and other points because this is drill. This is double drill and Carmen loves every brutal, unforgiving second of it, and she loves that Sergeant Blowers makes her work as hard as everyone else. Making her drop and get up. She clears her weapon. She draws her sidearm. She does as told and keeps discipline and watches as the lads from the camp slowly lose their humour as they get beasted and start hurting.

Blowers watches them all closely. Working on Booker and Tappy to get their speed up.

‘You’ve got lazy you fat fuck,’ Blowers tells Booker, knowing the lad can take it. Gripping the back of his shirt to help him up. ‘Good work, we’ll get you back to speed, run on…Tappy! Run you sod.’

‘I am, Sergeant,’ she yelps, sprinting for all she’s worth and Blowers powers on, reaching Danny, getting to his side as they run.

‘You’re holding back, Danny. You’re faster than this.’

‘Sorry, sergeant,’ Danny says, speeding up a bit.

‘Come on, Callum,’ Elvis gasps, ‘you’re faster than this…’

‘Sorry captain,’ Callum says. ‘But I caught gay from a soldier boy I did…’

That joke again. Barbed and vicious and clearly meant for Nick. Blowers thinks fast, figuring maybe it’s time to put these lads in their place. An idea in mind and when they reach the house, he finds Paula and Marcy, pulling them to one side. They nod quickly, sweating and gasping for air.

‘Paula and Marcy…your objective is to take that corner…everyone else, run back to the truck…move out…’

They set off again. Carmen guessing the sergeant has something at play while Callum feels puke rising inside. He sank a few beers too many on the beach last night and was hoping the army lads would kick off so they could have a ruck. He’d also hoped they’d have bitten by now and kicked off from the barrage of jibes, and he swallows it down, gasping for air and running on with the main group. Tyson once again jostling into Nick who snarls and pushes back then finds Patrick coming in from the other side as Cookey rams the lad from behind. Maddox shouldering Willie. The elders at the front, aware of the issues developing but not wanting to step in and take over from Blowers.

Jess, having made absolutely sure there were no more oats in the bucket by smashing the shit out of it, now figures that some running about would be cool and decides to join in. Meredith too. Happily running and barking. Wishing there was a ball or frisbee to catch. Or some body parts. Carmen runs on, still loving it then feeling a surreal moment of looking left to a huge horse on one side and a dog on the other while a guy in an eye-patch yells at them all.

‘Thank fuck for that,’ Marcy gasps as she reaches the corner with Paula. They both turn to look back, seeing the others almost reaching the truck. ‘He didn’t say which one of us is injured,’ she adds.

‘Sod it, we both look injured,’ Paula says, dropping down to the ground.

‘I’m in,’ Marcy says, falling slowly over in the way of flopping down exhausted and knackered.

‘Cheeky sods,’ Blowers mutters, seeing both Paula and Marcy are pretending to be hurt when he said just one. He holds off for a few more seconds, letting the distance grow. Wanting the biggest run up possible. On past the truck and he spots the pushes and jostling, the muttered insults and glares getting harder. He needs to end it. It’ll be a brawl otherwise.

‘Listen in!’ he shouts out, sudden and hard. ‘Last sprint…two of our mates are down. We need to get to them. RUN…GO GO GO…’

The group turns as one, heading back with an instant change in gear as the speed ramps. Shoulders still jostling. Callum reaches out to grab at Nick’s arm. Maddox and Tyson pushing into each other. Everyone too close. The pressure building.

‘MY TEAM…ON ORDER WE GO…’

A smile touches Howie’s lips. Clarence too. Both guessing what’s about to happen. Both fed up of the idiots from the camp fucking about and trying to pick a fight.

‘Get your fucking hand off me,’ Nick snaps, pushing Callum off as they run. The lad feeling sicker by the second and getting spiteful with it. Blowers holds off for another second. Letting the speed build a bit more. Seeing his team are ready. Then he spits to the side and sucks air.

‘MY TEAM…RUN!’

Nothing seems to happen for a second as it takes that long for the words to be heard and processed and for brains to send signals to apply power to bodies now infected with a virus that makes their sinews and muscles stronger, that makes their lungs work better to replenish and distribute oxygen. That prevents lactic acid and primes their bodies. That makes them stronger. That makes them faster. That makes them do this now and as one they push out. As one they run with a burst of speed that leaves the lads from the camp behind. Howie can’t help it and bursts out laughing, slowing his run with Clarence and Roy to simply watch Blowers wipe the floor with them.

‘Nicely done,’ Blowers mutters, sprinting hard with his team and he glances over with a surprised look to Carmen keeping pace. She spots him looking and grins. Loving this.

‘MORE,’ Blowers shouts, giving more speed and power, driving his arms harder as the gap between them and the lads from the camp increases even more. Another second passes. Another then Booker eases back. Simply unable to sustain the output from three weeks of inactivity. Tappy next. Cookey after her. He’ll run all day, but not at that speed.

The rest hold neck and neck. Maddox, Mo, Danny, Carmen, Nick and Charlie. All relentless. All determined. Blowers with them, shooting glances across. ‘DANNY! DO NOT HOLD BACK…’

Danny has only ever wanted to be like his dad, to be in a unit in the army, to be accepted and part of the group, so going ahead and showing off are not his way, but when your angry sergeant yells at you, you do as told and so he doesn’t hold back.

‘Fuck me,’ Maddox says, easing back as Danny starts going ahead. Mo, Carmen, Charlie and Nick stay with Danny, but only for a few seconds. Charlie slows. Nick too. Carmen, Danny and Mo surging on. The three of them leaving the others behind.

‘RUN, DANNY!’ Blowers orders, slowing down. ‘I SAID RUN.’

‘Holy shit,’ Carmen gasps as Danny goes faster still. Mo at his side. The two lads glancing at each other and trying not to laugh.

‘Go,’ Mo urges. ‘Go on, Danny…’

Danny finally goes for it. Finally giving it full speed, and he leaves Mo standing.

Reginald by the front door of the house drinking tea steps forward at the sight. People from the camp going silent. People on the beach looking over.

‘Jesus,’ Marcy says, sitting up with Paula at the sight of Danny running full pelt. Seemingly flying. His legs blurring. His body in perfect motion. A symmetry of art flowing over the ground. Hands open. Knees coming up high. Each step so perfectly placed and even with Mo still running, the distance between them becomes bigger with each step. He’s graceful too, seemingly effortless, gliding without trying.

‘GO ON, DANNY’ Mo yells, the others doing the same. Meredith streaks past him. Jess galloping hard. Both animals reaching Danny, flanking his sides and for a few perfect seconds it’s just them in this world. Three creatures running simply because they can.

Carmen can’t believe it. That’s Olympic speed. It has to be. She’s never seen anyone run that fast over that distance.

Then it’s done and quick as anything, Danny reaches his mark, slows, stops, turns and pulls his rifle forward while looking down at Paula and Marcy. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks politely.

‘Good lord,’ Reginald remarks to himself. Mind you, Carmen can shift too. Henry’s certainly only chosen the best for his team.

‘That’s how you run, Danny,’ Blowers says, breathing hard as the others catch up. And he claps a hand on the lad’s back. ‘When I say run, you do that. Got it?’

‘Yes, sergeant,’ Danny says earnestly, breathing hard.

‘Danny!’ Carmen says, smiling and shaking her head as she gasps for air. ‘I can run, but that! Wow. And you,’ she says to Mo.

‘We’s the boys, you get me,’ Mo says, flushed and sweating and glowing with pride for his mate as the others finally get closer, ragged and sucking air and a weird retching noise makes them look over to Callum bent double, puking his guts up.

‘Go on, puke it up,’ Cookey calls. ‘You did well for a little fella.’

‘Who you calling little?’ Callum tries to say but breaks off to puke again, prompting a fresh burst of laughing from the others.

‘You’ve had that coming,’ Clarence says, strolling past the vomiting lad. ‘We done, sergeant?’

‘Yeah, cheers,’ Blowers calls. ‘My team stay back. We’ll do some tactical work now we’re warmed up,’ he adds with a grin to Tyson and Patrick shooting dark looks back at them.

‘Thank god it’s over,’ Marcy groans, flopping back down.

‘I’m still happy to keep going,’ Carmen says.

‘Lads,’ Blowers says, turning to Willie. ‘Cheers for joining in, you er…worked quite well…I guess.’

Blowers team take their turn to snigger and laugh. The thing inside of them and twenty-six days of constant fighting making them recover faster with staggering fitness. Their breathing already coming back under control.

‘You boys take it easy,’ Nick laughs, walking past Elvis. ‘Might be a hedge that needs guarding somewhere…’

‘Fecking twat,’ Elvis mutters. ‘Got a bee up your arse from your girlie leaving you for Mad Mary is it?’

‘What did you fucking say?’ Nick snaps, turning back.

‘Talking of hedges,’ Callum says. ‘Blondie had a fumble in one last night, didn’t she? But then I heard she prefers bush now.’

‘Fucking cunt,’ Nick says, charging in as Elvis flares up, pushing him hard to the chest.

‘Learn to read you thick cunt,’ Elvis shouts.

‘Watch your fucking mouth, mate,’ Blowers says, getting in front of Nick to push Elvis away.

‘Feck off ye blind cunt,’ Elvis shouts back, shoving Blowers away as the others swarm in from both sides.

‘Here, love,’ Callum says, spotting Tappy and giving a nasty smirk. ‘Aren’t you the one that got shagged last night? You turned gay yet?’ he asks a split second before he flies off his feet from Maddox smashing a fist into his face, and the brawl that was brewing now goes up in earnest as fists start flying. Yells and shouts. Everyone swarming in to fight. Paula yelling at them to pack it in and stop. Clarence trying to pull them apart as more fights break out all around him.

Danny hesitates, but only for a second, because his dad always said that if your unit gets in a ruck then you’d better get in quick. His dad also said that a fight like that isn’t about killing or even really hurting your opponent. No weapons, no dirty hits and certainly no bones should get broken. Unless they’re noses. Noses are fair game. Actually, Danny. Aim for the nose. It makes the eyes water then they can’t see properly. Danny does that now and runs in, looks for a face from the other side and punches it on the nose then blinks in surprise at himself before someone else punches him back. He staggers away, a bit stunned and a bit dazed as the hits keep coming because this is fair game to the lads. Tyson, Willie, Elvis and Patrick are all fighters. More of the lads are like them too. Ready and happy to swing fists and Danny brings his arms up to protect his face then catches a glimpse as Sergeant Blowers steams in and lays his attacker out with one brutally hard punch. Thereby instantly earning even more awe.

Off it goes. Brawling and scrapping. Fists flying everywhere. Blowers and his side outnumbered but holding their own with ease, while all the time remembering this is a scrap and not a battle. This is about bloody noses and cheeks and sore heads and sore knuckles and teaching the other lads a lesson.

The fight gets spotted in the camp which prompts more men and women to run out. People from the beach running over. Mary going fast, seeing her family in a scrap. Lilly and Kyle rushing behind her.

Callum rolls to his side, still down from being walloped by Maddox and he spits blood and puke, now even more humiliated from being dropped by a single punch. Something black on the road beside him. His pistol that must have fallen from his holster. He grabs it in hand, bumping against the kitbags dumped at the side of the road as feet shuffle and scuffle all about him. Blood spattering the ground. Yells and curses. Shouts and deep voices. Women yelling. He starts rising to his feet, thinking he’ll clump the lad that hit him round the back of the head with his pistol, sneaky like, when no one is looking. That’ll teach him. He looks about, swaying and still feeling sick. The gun in his hand. Gripped by the barrel to be used as a club. He gets jostled and knocked then spots Maddox slugging it out with Tyson and rushes in. His fingers pushing into the trigger guard, knocking the safety off on the side. But it doesn’t matter. His gun is empty. He lunges in, tensing up, not realising his gun is still in the holster on his belt and this is the other one that Sergeant Blowers told him to put down that got kicked over the road when the brawl started. Callum doesn’t know that, so he tenses and lunges in at Maddox as his fingers push the trigger which fires the round with a huge retort in the confined press and Danny yells out, staggering back with blood pissing out.

‘SHOTS FIRED,’ Blowers roars and in that instant, in that beat of a heart, this is no longer a brawl. This is a battle. This is war. Mo moves fast, the closest to react and he goes at Callum who stares stunned at Danny flying off his feet and he grips Callum’s hand, wrenching it over, and Mo does what he was taught. He breaks the wrist and elbow then up to break the shoulder. Three breaks. Three massive blooms of pain and he rips Callum off his feet while all about him his team hit hard and fight harder.

‘END EX END EX,’ Clarence roars. Howie and Roy going in hard, heaving them apart.

‘ENOUGH,’ Howie shouts, pushing Blowers back who just laid three men out with three hits and everyone else swarms in. Mary and Peter. Kyle and Lilly. Everyone shouting.

Carmen goes in fast, reaching Danny and dragging him clear, protecting him with her body and seeing the blood. ‘Where are you hit?’ she demands, checking his body then seeing his hand clamped over his arm. ‘Show me…’

‘Danny!’ Roy pushes in, dropping at his side.

‘He’s okay,’ Carmen says, pulling Danny’s hand away to see the bullet grazed his skin. ‘Just clipped his arm…’

‘Danny,’ Howie rushes in, more of them getting over to Danny.

‘He’s fine,’ Carmen says. ‘Just clipped his arm…he’s alright…’

‘Get him in the house,’ Howie orders. ‘My team…in the house now!’

Chapter Twenty-Five

Day Twenty Seven

Silence in the Saxon. Blowers gets in and slams the door closed then turns to look at his team in the back. All silent. All pensive. Cookey, Nick, Maddox and Mo. Danny, Booker, Tappy and Charlie. He sighs and faces front then starts the engine that fires up sweet and deep, solid and rumbling. Tappy cocks her head, listening for blockages and chugs and hearing none. She sounds gorgeous. Good girl she thinks, patting her hand on the metal chassis. A second later and they set off, driving on the shore road away from the house.

‘Hang on,’ Howie transmits through the radio. Blowers slows to a stop, thinking maybe he’s changed his mind. ‘Open the back doors.’

Blowers turns to look as Mo cracks the back doors open to grin at Meredith racing flat out over the road to catch the Saxon, leaping up and in to take her place in the middle. Sitting with her tongue out and her ears up.

‘Looks like she’s going with you,’ Howie transmits, and once more the Saxon pulls away, slowing to pass through the wall manned by men with guns that all flick middle fingers and give hard glares at the passing Saxon.

‘Right. That went well then,’ Cookey says, breaking the silence.

* * *

It’s the equivalent of a diplomatic faux-pas. A bit of a stink, as they used to say when squaddies and locals started brawling. Because that is exactly what happened.

‘FUCK OFF,’ Elvis yells as he’s held back from the immediate aftermath of the huge brawl.

‘YOU FUCK OFF,’ Nick yells back as he’s dragged away by Clarence and Roy.

‘Did ye need to break his arm?’ Peter asks, shaking his head at Callum weeping like a baby on the ground. His face pale from the shock and pain.

‘He fired a weapon,’ Clarence replies.

‘IT WAS A FUCKING ACCIDENT,’ Willie shouts.

‘He shot my fucking mate you cunt,’ Cookey says, trying to go back in as it threatens to spark back up.

‘That’s enough,’ Lilly says, bringing an instant quiet from her side. ‘Peter, get your men back to the camp.’

‘Aye,’ he says darkly, glaring over at Clarence. ‘Go on lads, get back now. Ye’ll be minded to keep a distance, boys,’ he adds with a look around at them all.

‘Ye not fecking wanted here ye twats,’ Callum yells, helped to his feet and limping off while cradling his ruined arm. Three more lads knocked out cold being roused and pulled up. Ann and Anika rushing here and there, telling them to watch for concussion and trying to check for head trauma and being told the boys are fine, it’s just a ruck now.

‘Into the house now,’ Paula orders, pushing her side away.

Jeering and calling. Shouts and insults. Noses and cheeks bloodied. A few fat lips and a few puffy eyes.

Carmen gathers her kit and slips away, leaving the mess and chaos behind. To the beach and over to the fort, through the gates and to the rooms they used last night. Her face still gleaming with sweat.

‘Morning,’ she says, walking in to see Frank dozing on his bedroll and Henry and George already at the small wooden table drinking coffee. ‘No Marion?’

‘Already over at the canteen,’ George says. ‘I believe she’s made friends with a woman called Joan, they’ve got a connection from bridge club apparently. How was your drill?’

‘Yeah it was okay, the bit after was interesting too,’ she says as Frank looks over to listen while she explains what happened.

* * *

‘That was bloody embarrassing!’ Paula snaps at them all lined up in the barracks room of the house. Danny with a white dressing tied on his arm. ‘What the hell! Seriously. What the hell was that?’

‘Sorry, Paula,’ come the murmured responses. Clarence stands behind her. His huge arms folded. His face stern.

‘Jesus. It’s not like Mr Howie and Reggie have enough to deal with. There might be a cure somewhere, and we’ve got to be nice so we can find out where it is, and instead they’re over at the fort sorting this shit out! How does that look good? How the hell does that help our cause?’

‘Sorry, Paula,’ come the murmured responses.

‘This isn’t our fort anymore. Got it?’

‘Yes, Paula,’ come the murmured responses.

‘They did start it…’

‘Yes, Cookey. I know, but we’re professionals. We don’t brawl.’

‘And he pulled a gun.’

‘Yes, Mo. I saw. But the point is it should never have escalated in the first place.’

‘They were baiting them,’ Clarence rumbles, earning a hopeful look of reprieve from the lads as Paula switches her glare from them to him. ‘But yes, still not good. Not good at all.’

‘Not good,’ Paula repeats, glaring back at the lads.

‘Sorry, Paula,’ come the murmured responses.

‘You’re lucky this is me telling you off and not Dave. Do you want Dave in here?’

‘No, Paula,’ come the very quick murmured responses.

‘Right. Well. Get yourselves cleaned up, and you’re confined to the house and garden from now on until further notice.’

‘Yes, Paula.’

‘Can we go swimming?’

‘Is the sea in the garden, Tappy?’

‘No, Paula.’

‘Then no, you cannot go swimming. Get cleaned up…’ she marches off out of the room, leaving them with heads bowed and Clarence standing massive with his arms folded. A second of silence as they look at his stern expression and wait for the extra telling off as he leans in.

‘Shower of shit,’ he booms, making a few of them flinch before he drops to a whisper. ‘Good effort. Always back each other up…yes, bloody awful. Never let it happen again.’

‘Yes, Clarence,’ come the murmured responses as the big man about turns and walks out. Another second of silence. Heads still bowed. All of them equal parts ashamed, thrilled, weird and shaky. Then Booker snorts a laugh which sets Cookey off as the sniggers and smiles start showing.

‘I hope you’re not bloody laughing in there,’ Paula yells from the kitchen.

‘No, Paula,’ come the murmured responses.

* * *

‘Trust me, Reggie. They were being pricks from the second they joined us,’ Howie says as they clamber from the boat on the fort shore. Dave as unhappy as ever at being near water and he leaps clear then strides away with a suspicious look at the sea. ‘I’m actually proud of them for staying so calm. Me and Clarence were going to wade in way before the fight started. I’m telling you, this fucking fort. Bloody thing is cursed.’

‘It certainly is a toxic environment for them,’ Reginald says thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps we should consider sending them out today.’

‘Out where?’

‘Out of the fort. For supplies or something. Blowers is more than capable of running a mission on his own and it gets them out of here while we discuss our matters.

‘No,’ Howie says instantly, then pauses to think about it. ‘No,’ he says again.

Through the gates they go, into the fort proper now buzzing with gossip and rumour of Mr Howie’s lads and the boys from the camp all having this huge fight, like dozens of them smashing chairs and throwing things then this one guy tried to shoot someone and like, everyone else gave him a kicking and nearly killed him.

They head across to the offices and in through the door to a place feeling less like home with every passing day and a room filled with chat that ends the second they walk in. Carmen sitting at the table looking very sour faced next to Frank.

‘Morning,’ Howie says, lifting his hand. ‘So, drill was good.’

‘That’s not what I would call it,’ Norman says.

‘It was a joke.’

‘Right. Sorry, how is it funny when one man gets shot and another has a severely broken arm?’ Norman asks. ‘We have a fort full of refugees that need to believe the people protecting them are working together.’

‘Fuck me, ease up,’ Howie says. ‘It was a scrap and the twat with the broken arm shot one of my lads.’

‘Norman’s right,’ Lilly says firmly. ‘This fort does not need that level of aggression.’

‘Okay,’ Howie says slowly. ‘Try telling that to your lads making gay jokes about you and Mary then…’

‘What’s that fecking mean?’ Mary demands.

‘Ach ease it down,’ Kyle says, waving a hand at Mary.

‘We were being baited from the second they came over,’ Howie says.

‘Where are they now?’ Norman asks.

‘Going over to the camp for round two…joke! They’re in the house.’

‘I’m not appreciating your humour, Mr Howie.’

‘I’m not appreciating being spoken to like a cunt, Norman.’

‘Okay, enough. Enough now,’ Kyle says. ‘Howie, get a coffee will ye. Reginald? What’s the play?’

‘Yes, indeed. Paula has them confined to the house for now.’

‘What about your lot?’ Howie asks, making a drink at the end table. ‘Are they confined to the camp? Don’t reply. I know the answer, Anyone else want a drink? We’ll be gone as quick as we can.’

‘I want them out of the fort,’ Lilly says.

‘Do you now?’ Howie asks quietly in that tone that sets Reginald and Kyle into panic mode.

‘Right, well, I am sure we can fathom a solution,’ Reginald says quickly.

‘Aye, we can. Sure of that,’ Kyle says.

‘I said I want them gone now,’ Lilly says again. ‘I have nearly a thousand people here that do not need to see that aggression.’

‘Might I make a suggestion?’ Henry enquiries politely.

‘My spidey senses are telling me you already made it, Henry, and now you’re trying to make it sound like a new idea, so Reggie and I don’t feel like we were being discussed, but yeah, sure, you go ahead,’ Howie says, the irritation levels rising by the second. ‘Did anyone else want a drink?’

Henry smiles, thinking it’s easy to look at Howie and see him as a scarred and battered brawler, but he’s sharp. Sharp as his father, and he doesn’t miss a trick either.

‘Henry did make a suggestion,’ Norman says.

‘I’ll have a brew if you’re making one, lad,’ Frank says, cutting across Norman in a way that might suggest he quite likes Howie and doesn’t like Norman, or it could just be that he wants a brew.

‘Right, yes,’ Norman says, blinking at Frank. ‘Henry mentioned a er…what did you call it, Henry?’

‘Weapons cache,’ Henry says. ‘Effectively it’s a small divisional depot that security services use to house ordnance. Down the coast from here. George and I thought it might come in useful for you. There should be some good kit in there, assault rifles, a few other bits and bobs. Oh and I believe there’s a fifty cal machine gun in there too, that would fit on that Saxon of yours. Whatever you don’t want you can bring back here.’

‘Gosh, now that is kind,’ Reginald says. ‘Mr Howie and I did discuss requesting Sergeant Blowers to conduct a mobile patrol today to ensure we’re not being massed upon.’

‘Aye, that’s a grand idea,’ Kyle says. ‘They can get these weapons while they’re out.’

‘There’s that other commune we mentioned too, out towards the west,’ Norman says. ‘Lilly spoke to them at the docks. We thought perhaps they could make contact and establish communication.’

‘Cool,’ Howie says. ‘Lots of ideas. Good for you.’

Reginald tenses, sensing they’ve put Howie’s back up.

‘But no,’ Howie says, walking over with two mugs. One handed to Frank. ‘They’re not going out without a medic and Roy won’t go with them without us.’

Carmen rolls her eyes and tuts softly into her mug, knowing what’s coming.

‘No way,’ Carmen said a little while ago in their rooms down the wall.

‘Carmen, it’s a perfect solution,’ Henry said.

‘You said this Charlotte girl mentioned Neal,’ George said. ‘You get in with them, make friends and get the intel for us, and if Henry is right and it looks likely Lilly and Norman will try and expel them from the fort then we can get you in their team, and by giving them the stock from that divisional armoury we’re offering an olive branch and showing we’re in this together.’

‘Oh god no,’ she groaned. ‘I’m sorry but really? A whole day of dick jokes and lads making eyes at me? I did the Neal thing for you. I didn’t even want to have sex with him. When have I ever had sex with anyone for you? I did that. Don’t ask me…’

‘Carmen, I am sorry, but needs must,’ Henry said. ‘And for the record, we never required you to have sex with Neal.’

‘She likes nerds,’ Frank muttered. ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t gone for that Reginald.’

She shrugged, thinking there is something cute about Reginald.

‘And you’re closer to their age,’ George added.

‘I’m thirty two! They’re like all twenty. We’re literally a whole generation apart. Send Frank.’

‘Carmen, you get on well with everybody, and especially with people not of your age. Look at your bond with Frank,’ Henry said.

‘I’m like his bloody carer,’ she fired back. ‘Seriously, the drill was fun but no, really no, honestly no. I mean it. No.’

‘I believe we may have a solution,’ Henry says in the offices. ‘Carmen said she’d love to go with them. She enjoyed the drill and gets on well with your Sergeant Blowers and his team. She knows where the weapons dump is, and she’s a combat medic. Carmen? Up for it?’

‘Sure,’ she says, offering a smile to Howie. ‘Glad to help.’

* * *

They line up in the garden, and this time it is Mr Howie and Dave speaking to them. Paula by the back door. Showing she’s not happy with the idea by folding her arms. Clarence nearby with Marcy. Roy out the front with Carmen.

‘So that’s what’s happening,’ Howie says. ‘Head down to this weapons place, get the goodies and bag the best for us. Have a drive about and check to see there isn’t a huge horde about to come for us, and then there’s the other commune out west they want you to check. How do you feel about it? I know we said we’d never separate, but Dave and Clarence said you’re now ready as a team to handle missions on your own. Up for it?’

They share looks, clearly surprised at the turn of events and the prospect of going out alone.

‘Can I speak freely, boss?’ Blowers asks. ‘I hate this fucking fort. Seriously. I fucking hate it. I’ll go on my own if it means getting out of here.’

‘I’m with Blowers,’ Nick says instantly.

‘Sergeant Blowers,’ Dave says.

‘Sergeant Blowers,’ Nick says.

‘Same,’ Cookey says. ‘It’s a fucking shit hole. We’ll literally find another place and never come back if you want, boss.’

‘Okay, everyone else?’ Howie asks.

‘I’m in,’ Charlie says as the others nod.

‘Maddox?’ Howie asks.

‘Sure, why not,’ he says, as casual as ever, still trying to give the impression he’s not one of them and he’s only keeping an eye on Mo.

‘Okay. Sorted,’ Howie says. ‘And Carmen’s going with you…thought that would get some grins,’ he adds at the lads sharing looks. ‘She’s going to show you where the weapons place is, plus her radio system is military grade and way better than our shit things so you’ll be able to stay in contact. On that note, do not bite off more than you can handle.’

‘Boss,’ Blowers says.

‘Righto, well…Dave? Anything?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ Dave says, stepping forward. ‘Sergeant Blowers will need a second in command.’

‘Okay, er…Blowers?’

‘Charlie,’ Blowers says.

‘I second that,’ Clarence says.

‘Charlie?’ Howie asks.

‘I’m not military trained, but of course.’

‘Charlie will also carry out my role,’ Reginald says.

‘That means you need to listen to her advice,’ Howie says. ‘Same as I do with Reggie. Then ignore it and attack anyway.’

‘Howie!’ Paula says.

‘I’m joking! I’m not joking,’ he whispers to the lads, making them smile. ‘Dave? Anything else?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie. You will listen to the orders given to you by Sergeant Blowers and Corporal Doyle. You will stay disciplined. You are a fighting unit. You will not joke when the time to work starts. Are we clear, Alex?’

‘Yes, Dave.’

‘Carmen is highly experienced in combat. She is exceptional at hand to hand, close quarters and skirmish engagement. Use her knowledge. Understood?’

‘Yes, Dave,’ come the responses.

‘If you let Mr Howie down, I will find you, and I will punish you. Understood?’

‘Yes, Dave,’ come the grave responses.

‘If you get in trouble, do not panic. Hold the line. We will get to you. Understood?’

‘Yes, Dave,’ come the quiet responses.

They start getting ready as Paula goes into overdrive. Packing enough for them to scale Everest and camp out for three months.

‘Think laterally,’ Reginald says to Charlie and Maddox, having taken them aside. ‘You know the bigger picture. You know the whole of the game, apply it to everything you do. Think for them and be sure your advice is clear. I would hesitate in suggesting you tell them what to do. Alpha types do not like being told. We suggest, we guide, and we shape. We use our brains to get the result.’

‘Do not fuck about,’ Clarence says, having taken Cookey to one side.

‘I won’t. I promise,’ Cookey says.

‘Be smart and make decisions outside of anger,’ Reginald tells Charlie and Maddox.

‘I said do not fuck about,’ Clarence says to Cookey again.

‘Honestly. I won’t.’

‘Protect your leader,’ Dave tells Mo.

‘I’m being serious, Cookey. If you fuck about, I’ll find out.’

‘I really won’t, Clarence.’

‘You good?’ Howie asks Blowers, having taken him aside.

‘Yep, all good,’ Blowers says.

‘You’re going to fuck about. I know you are,’ Clarence says to Cookey.

‘Sure?’ Howie asks Blowers.

‘Yeah, think so,’ Blowers says. ‘We’ll keep in regular contact and shout if we need help.’

‘Right,’ Clarence says to Cookey. ‘I’m changing my orders. Do not fuck about too much. Is that better?’

‘Got it,’ Cookey says earnestly. ‘Just a bit then.’

‘Twat,’ Clarence says, patting him on the shoulder as he walks off. ‘Look after them.’

‘Right,’ Paula says. ‘I’ve packed enough of everything. Spare underwear, hygiene kits, torch batteries, loads of food, snack bars. There’s plenty of Lucozade in the Saxon and water…’

‘Great,’ Tappy says. ‘Why are you telling me? I’m the mechanic.’

And so they load up into the Saxon. The first mission without Howie, without Clarence, without Dave or Paula and without Marcy and Reginald. Meredith sits by Howie, watching on and wondering what the to-do is all about. Jess grazes, content and happy in the sun. The decision made not to take her so the Saxon can stay mobile and fast. Then it’s done and Blowers slams the door, starts the engine and the Saxon pulls away with the others feeling a bit like parents watching their kids go off to college.

Meredith watches the Saxon drive off and looks up at Howie and the older people and the younger pack going away. She looks at the Saxon again, then at Howie. The younger pack need an elder. They’re pups. She whines that intent but her concerns are not addressed. She whines again, but still goes ignored.

Fine. If you want something done, do it yourself. She barks and sets off as Howie transmits and the Saxon slows, the back doors opening for Meredith to jump in and they set off with the elders feeling strangely reassured for the dog going with them.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Day Twenty Seven

‘Right. That went well then,’ Cookey says, breaking the silence.

Smiles from the others. A few chuckles. Everyone feeling a bit weirded out and not quite sure how to be. The sense of responsibility bestowed upon them now a real and tangible thing. A mission of their own. An actual mission out of the fort and bay. A thing to do. Places to go. People to see. Adventures to be had. Charlie swallows, feeling a little bit intimidated by the prospect and hoping to hell nothing drastic happens.

Blowers feels the same. His hands on the wheel and his arse in the place normally occupied by the boss. That’s big boots to fill for sure and he shifts in his seat, navigating the road and the trucks parked up and the men flicking middle fingers as they go by. New arrivals still streaming past. Some in cars and vans. Others on foot. The fort is growing bigger and becoming a real thing now. But it’s not theirs, and if truth be told, Blowers would be happy if they never set foot in the place again. To say he hates it is now an understatement of epic proportions. He hated it before. Now it’s a whole new level.

‘You’re very quiet,’ Charlie says, feeling the need to break the silence as she looks across to Cookey.

‘Under orders not to fuck about,’ he replies seriously.

‘Oh. Sure,’ she says. ‘More space in here now though. I can actually stretch my legs out.’

‘Yeah, that’s good,’ Tappy says, looking about the Saxon. ‘Good space. And it’s cleaner too.’

‘Much cleaner,’ Booker says politely. ‘We really scrubbed her out.’

‘Yes, er, it shows,’ Tappy says as the others listen in.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Blowers says from the front.

‘What’s up?’ Charlie asks, ready and poised to deploy her lateral thinking in the event of an intellectual emergency.

‘That was aimed at Cookey,’ Blowers calls.

‘What did I do?’ Cookey asks.

‘What did he do?’ Charlie asks.

‘Nothing. That’s the point. The wait is killing me…’ he turns in his seat to grin at his mate. ‘Well go on then.’

‘I don’t know what you mean, Sergeant Blowers,’ Cookey says seriously and that wait spreads out. The expectancy of it. The lure of it hanging in the air and even a very grumpy Nick cracks a faint smile as Maddox smirks and looks across to Mo.

‘Just get on with it,’ Charlie says, reaching over to slap Cookey’s leg.

‘FUCK YES!’ Cookey booms, grinning like a Cheshire cat. ‘Seriously! Fucking seriously! Was that all it took? If we’d know that we could have kicked off the second we walked in. And now we’re on a mission motherfuckers!’ he sings the words, buzzing with energy. ‘And holy shit, did you see that punch Maddox gave that Callum twat? Dude. That was some skill,’ he reaches over to offer his hand to Maddox who takes the shake with that ever-present cynical expression. Albeit his right eye a bit puffy and his upper lip a bit swollen.

‘That was a beauty,’ Blowers calls.

‘I heard it,’ Charlie says. ‘I was right on the other side too.’

‘You’s hench, bro,’ Tappy says, grinning at Maddox and slipping into her surfer voice. ‘Work-out? bro?’

‘Protein up, bro!’ Cookey laughs. ‘He went down like a sack of shit too. All that gobbing off and bang, dropped like a stone. Then Booker’s flying in and Blowers is hammering away and Mads is on it with that big dude, Tyson or Patrick or whatever…’

‘Did you see Danny?’ Booker asks.

‘No, what did he do?’ Cookey asks.

‘Ran in like this,’ Booker says, holding a clenching fist up beside his head as he mimics an angry looking Danny. Everyone else starting to laugh. ‘He’s like running about just looking for someone to punch then this lad turns to look at him, but this lad is like I don’t want to be here and Danny’s like fuck that and punches him on the nose!’

‘No way!’ Cookey bursts out laughing, leaning over to whack Danny’s leg as he gets jostled and poked, grinning shyly.

‘Got stuck in though,’ Booker says, winking at Danny. ‘That was good, mate.’

‘Well done, Danny,’ Maddox says.

‘Yeah cheers,’ Danny says, shy as anything.

‘What about you, you fat wanker,’ Cookey says, looking at Booker. ‘What happened to you? That’s three and a half weeks of eating Doritos and wanking that is. You were slow as shit, mate.’

‘Fuck off,’ Booker laughs as Tappy grimaces at the thought of someone masturbating and eating Doritos at the same time.

Blowers grins at the jokes now flying. A bit loud, a bit forced from the energy needing to vent to settle to become normal again and he glances over to Carmen who detects his gaze and offers a polite smile.

She sighs quietly, thinking she really doesn’t want to be with a group of kids playing soldiers. Her role meant she was sometimes embedded with military units all over the place who were nearly always made up of young men. She doesn’t mind the work. Not at all. Carmen loves the work, and this could be a nice challenge as it means seeing the world after twenty seven days of such a huge change in humanity. That’s all fine. It’s just the dick jokes and lads bragging about fucking and fighting.

Ah well. She’ll do it for Henry and George. They know they’ve only got to ask and look at her in that way and she’s back to being in the car with them all those years ago. Desperate to be out of her life and wanting to be like Frank and Kyle. That same need to please them. To do what they say. A strong, independent and highly capable woman still feeling beholden because of the chance they gave her, even though she’s repaid it a million times over.

It’s a mission though, and if she never had that chance, she would probably have still been a prostitute in London. She turns to the jokes flying about and laughs along.

‘Did you all know Danny could run like that?’ she asks.

‘God no,’ Charlie says. ‘That was incredible. And Mo, he was up there too. Oh god, and you were too, Carmen. Sorry, I just remembered.’

‘It’s fine,’ Carmen says. ‘He’s very fast, but you all are really. The way you left the others standing when Sergeant Blowers gave the order. That was very impressive.’

‘Thank you,’ Charlie says, replying on behalf of everyone as they all remember the final words said by Reginald in the garden.

Carmen is a plant. She is being sent to find out what we know. Chat. Joke. Be yourselves, but do not, and I repeat, do not mention anything about being infected, or Cassie, or the offer of a truce, or anything else about what we know. That is very important. If you are in doubt, then say nothing and let Charlie speak.

‘Honestly, that’s some serious fitness,’ Carmen adds.

‘Down to our evil sergeant,’ Charlie says with a mock wince. ‘Drills us constantly.’

‘Bit like Danny drilling the lounge floor this morning,’ Cookey quips. ‘Tent Peg turning into Woody Woodpecker…’

Nice deflection Charlie thinks, smiling along at the banter.

‘Was it the same girl, Danny?’ Cookey asks.

‘Dunno,’ he says, shifting uncomfortably.

‘Oh bless, leave him alone,’ Tappy says. ‘Ignore them, Danny.’

A day of dick jokes. Awesome. Carmen smiles at the banter and checks forward with another heavy sigh. ‘So, what’s the plan?’ she asks Blowers.

‘I thought we’d do a wide circuit first and check the area, maybe look for a drone shop or…’

‘Drones?’

‘Yeah, drones,’ he replies. ‘The flying things.’

‘I know what a drone is.’

‘Okay,’ he says, giving her a confused smile. ‘What’s the question then? We use them for aerial reconnaissance.’ He adds as she thinks back to when she’d hang out at the drone clubs and nerd places. ‘You’ve probably used proper military stuff before. We can only get hold of like hobby ones, but they do the job. Some have got built in cameras or we fit a GoPro and send them up. We keep saying we’d love to get one with heat senses on. So we can see where they’re massing at night? That would be cool.’

‘I keep hearing that word. Massing?’

‘Yeah, when they all gather in one place before they attack,’ he says, glancing to see her waiting for more.

‘Swap places,’ Charlie says in the back, nodding at Tappy to move so she can sit behind the front seats.

‘They do that a lot then?’ Carmen asks.

‘Sadly yes,’ Charlie says, making her turn to see her now sitting behind. ‘The drones give us advanced warning.’

‘Right, sure. That’s a good idea. Sounds quite scary though, just the word massing,’ she adds a mock shudder. ‘How many do they mass?’

‘It varies,’ Charlie says, doing a Reggie and thinking very bloody fast about everything she is saying. ‘Sometimes a few dozen, a few hundred…sometimes more.’

‘More? Like thousands more or?’

‘As I said, it varies,’ Charlie says. ‘So, yes. I think the first bit of today will be scouting the area, looking for a drone and ranging out. After that perhaps we can find this weapons stash, if that’s okay with you, of course, and then we can head west and connect to this other commune.’

‘Sure. Sounds good. You’ll have to give me some pointers though. We’ve been on lock-down since it started. What’s the specifics of what we’re looking for? Any tell-tale signs? That sort of thing.’

‘You know the people that got infected,’ Blowers says. ‘We’re looking for them.’

‘Yeah, is that right?’ she asks, smiling at the joke.

‘Simon is the best at that,’ Charlie says. ‘He’s trained all of us really. What to look for, points of attack.’

‘Ah, you don’t need me telling you,’ Blowers says.

‘No, do. I’m not complacent here. Only idiots and dead people think they know it all.’

‘Good motto,’ Charlie says, more to herself. ‘Meredith’s always good to watch, she can smell them.’

‘The dog?’ Carmen asks.

‘Yeah, and Mo’s got this…’ Blowers starts to say.

‘And Mo’s very good with her,’ Charlie cuts in. ‘He’s got a bond with the dog. Nick too.’

‘Cool,’ Carmen says, wondering what Blowers was about to say. ‘I’m not a spy, guys. I know how this must look, but…’

‘She’s a spy!’ Cookey calls. ‘Don’t tell her nuffin’.’

‘You got me,’ Carmen says, holding her hands up.

In the back, Tappy kicks Nick foot, getting his attention, you okay? She mouths. Nick nods, still grumpy, still smarting, still thinking about Lilly and now about having sex with Tappy last night. About the fight today. About the fort and the bay and all of it. He doesn’t say anything but looks away to the front and the world outside.

Carmen looks too, making low chat now and then with Charlie and Blowers but mainly watching the world outside and seeing that beauty she glimpsed on the way to the fort. The majesty of life without people. The serenity of empty roads and open fields. Of seeing birds and wildlife and flowers. Butterflies and bees. Foxes and rabbits. The sun dappling on the windscreen. The warmth of the air. The thrum of the engine. The low chats and laughter coming from behind.

‘There’s a town ahead,’ Charlie says, studying a map open across her legs.

‘Yep,’ Blowers says, spotting the electricity pylons running across the fields and the telephone wires overhead that all indicate they are coming nearer a place of populace. A few more houses at the side of the road. Cottages here and there and Carmen spots the first signs of the carnage. Broken windows. Busted in doors. A decomposing body sprawled in the road. ‘Okay, switch on now,’ Blowers calls.

Weapons checked. Magazines out and in. Bags on. The clunk of hand-weapons being hefted.

‘Axes?’ she asks, looking at Blowers.

‘Yeah,’ he says simply.

‘What about contagions?’

‘Talk in a minute,’ he replies, his attention focussed as they reach the outskirts of the country town. He slows the speed, staring left and right.

‘Talk me through it,’ Carmen says quietly. ‘What are we looking for? Imagine I’m a recruit.’

‘But you’re not,’ he says simply. ‘We’re looking at points of attack. Ambush sites. Anywhere they can hunker down and wait for us. Don’t think of it like sniper points. These things don’t shoot…yet. They charge out and attack. Look up at windows. At doors. Then we’re looking for any signs of infected moving through here. Blood smears on cars or walls or windows. See that smear over there? That’s old blood. Three weeks easy. We’re looking for fresh blood, or recent kills, or anything on the ground that looks disturbed. The weather’s been weird as shit, so there’s litter and leaves and crap everywhere, but it looks organic. Does that make sense?’

‘Yep, got it,’ she says, reading what he means. Seeing the lay of the litter and debris.

‘Town centre is dead ahead.’

‘We’ll stop first and just wait for a second,’ Blowers says, easing the speed down. The nerves of the first mission now showing. The need to be text-book correct and do it right and not fuck up because the shame of having to call for help at the first stop would be awful. He’d still call for help. Shame gets you killed, but then as Paula always says, proper pre-planning prevents piss poor performance.

They come to a stop. The engine ticking over. Nick goes up through the hole to look about and sniff the air while a few others look to Meredith who seems relaxed. Even Cookey now silent and serious.

‘Nick?’ Blowers calls softly.

‘Looks fine,’ Nick replies from up top, turning a slow circle.

‘Okay, everyone out. Weapons up, look for the hot-spots…stay close and be ready to exfil.’

Doors opened and they pour out with rifles braced and ready. Aiming at doors and windows. At alley points. Carmen follows suit, rifle up and ready as she makes her way forward to join Blowers at the front.

‘Sniff the air,’ he whispers. She inhales deeply. ‘It’s clean, that’s a good sign. They stink sometimes.’

‘Okay,’ she murmurs.

‘Empty towns feel weird too,’ he says. ‘It’s because we’re not used to it, so it makes you feel like you’re being watched. The windows look like eyes. Sounds wank but…’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ she says, thinking that’s exactly what it feels like. ‘What’s the SOP if they attack?’

‘Shoot them,’ he says, earning a look. ‘It’s a dynamic risk assessment. If we can handle it, we’ll fight. If not, then we’ll bug out.’

‘How is that judgement made?’

‘Each time is different. Plus, it’s just us now. We haven’t got Dave and the boss and Clarence, or Roy on overwatch. Those four can handle more than the rest of us put together.’

‘Howie?’

‘Fuck yeah, he’s off the chart.’

‘He worked in a supermarket. I saw him on the first night chucking stuff from his house. That was less than a month ago.’

‘Strange times,’ he says, lowering his rifle. ‘Nick? See anywhere to get a drone from?’

‘Could try down there,’ he says, pointing to an electrical store. ‘I doubt they’ll have one but…worth a go I guess.’

‘Charlie, stay here. Mo, take point. Nick and Tappy, you come down once we’re in.’

‘I’ll take this side if you want,’ Carmen says, shifting over to the left side of the street to advance with Mo. Surprised at someone so young being allowed to go forward. They hold their pace steady, their treads nice and soft. Weapons hot. Nick and Tappy a short distance behind and she tenses slightly when the dog rushes past, not used to having an animal running free like that.

Mo reaches the store and Carmen sweeps on to check further beyond, aiming up at windows then down at doors as Blowers clocks her perfect foot placement. Everything smooth and easy. So poised and graceful that it screams Spec-Ops training.

He reaches the door with Mo, testing to see if it’s locked. It is. If the boss was here, they’d just smash it in and get what they want, but he’s being ultra-cautious now and so he pauses again, listening hard as Carmen completes her sweep and positions centre of the road a bit further up, taking a knee.

‘Making noise,’ Blowers transmits and uses the butt of his rifle to smash the glass pane in the door. Striking it several times to get it in. Each one a big resounding bang that rattles the door in the frame. Everyone else holds ready. As nervous as Blowers at being on their first solo mission and assuming that every single infected in the country will attack them right now. At this very instant. All of them at the same time.

That doesn’t happen. Nothing happens and Carmen glances back to see Mo and Blowers peering through the now open door. ‘Room clearance?’ she asks softly over the radio.

Blowers gives a thumbs up. She moves quickly, taking position closely behind Mo with a hand on his shoulder. She taps once and they go in. Carmen hot on Mo’s heels with Blowers coming in behind.

‘Clear,’ Mo whispers, pointing towards the single door leading to the back. She nods and rushes over, taking the side as he positions and readies for the entry. Another nod and he pushes in, she goes after him. The two sweeping the back rooms.

Blowers figures it’s safe from the dust on the floor thick and undisturbed and the air stale and unchanged for a few weeks.

‘Clear, sergeant,’ she says, coming into the main shop from the back.

Blowers nods, exiting with Carmen and Mo and giving the signal for Nick and Tappy. Everything done properly. Everything textbook. No fuck ups.

Nick goes in, his rifle held to the front. His mind switched on to the job at hand but his face still showing his mood.

‘Over here,’ Tappy says. Nick comes over, scowling at the one drone on display.

‘It’s just a toy,’ he says, turning it over to look at the built-in camera.

‘Nick?’ she asks softly, the first time they’ve been alone since last night. He looks at her, his soft brown eyes pensive and worried. ‘We okay?’ she asks.

‘Sure,’ he says, swallowing and nodding slowly. ‘Er, like…I’m really sorry about last night.’

‘Sorry about what? I’m not. It’s fine. We got drunk and had sex, it’s cool,’ she sees him struggling with the concept. ‘I’m not Lilly, Nick. I’m not going to humiliate you or anything. We’re adults. It’s fine. Honestly. We needed the…the emotional connection or…or the release. Whatever. It’s fine. I’m fine with it. No issues.’

‘Right,’ he says, not quite sure what he was expecting, but thinking it wasn’t that.

She smiles at him. ‘Honestly, no dramas from me. It was what it was. Okay? Buddies? We’re not falling in love or anything weird and I won’t give you any shit so, you know, we don’t have be strange with each other. It was just a one-night thing. Yeah?’

‘Sure, yeah…thanks, Tappy.’

‘And, Nick?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Don’t bite if Cookey takes the piss. You’re his mate and he loves you.’

‘Yeah, I know, he just takes it too far sometimes,’ he says, feeling a weird change inside. Like there’s one less worry now. A slight lessening of the confusion. ‘Them jokes though. Not Cookey, the other jokes from those lads and that gay shit they were saying…’

‘Yep, well, the stuck-up bitch has her own army now…don’t look at me like that. She is a fucking bitch and you’re better off without her. Trust me on that.’

‘Nick, Tappy? You got anything?’ Blowers asks through the radio.

‘Just coming,’ Nick responds.

‘Didn’t you do that last night?’ Cookey asks.

‘Nick!’ Tappy says as he reaches for the radio button with a flash of anger. ‘It’s just Cookey being a dick.’

‘Hold your radio discipline,’ Blowers orders.

‘See,’ Tappy says. ‘Sergeant Blowers told him off for you.’

‘What the fuck is that?’ Cookey asks in delight as they gather back at the Saxon, all of them laughing at the bumble bee shaped yellow and black striped drone held by Nick.

‘That’s all they had,’ Nick says. ‘It’s got a camera though, the display’s built into the controller.’

‘I love it,’ Cookey says. ‘It’s really cute. Ah look! It’s got eyes…no way.’

‘Where?’ Charlie asks. ‘Oh it has. That’s so lovely.’

‘Let’s have a look,’ Booker says, cramming in. ‘It’s got a mouth too, all smiling and a little tongue poking out.’

‘The blade guards look a bit like wings,’ Tappy says as it gets passed about. ‘You seen it, Mads?’

‘It’s cute,’ he says with a smile, turning it over. ‘The lens looks okay…might be alright. Is it charged up?’

‘Doubt it,’ Nick says as Tappy pops new batteries into the back of the controller. ‘Switch it on and see.’

‘Hang on,’ Maddox says, looking for the switch. ‘Got it…nah, she’s dead. Don’t we use the power outputs in the van for charging? The Saxon hasn’t got any has it?’

‘Not for that kind of thing,’ Tappy says.

‘Nick can sort it,’ Cookey says. ‘He’ll get a charge into anything. Speaking of which, are doing a Mr Howie yet?’

‘Not yet,’ Blowers replies with a smile.

‘What’s a Mr Howie?’ Carmen asks, thinking they’d rip the piss out of the toy drone and quite surprised at their gentle reactions.

‘A Mr Howie is when we break into a café and get power into a coffee machine,’ Charlie explains. ‘Normally when Paula spots him getting a bit…you know…’

‘Oh,’ Carmen says, thinking back to Howie in the offices earlier. ‘I saw that. He gets quite…yeah.’

‘Yeah,’ Charlie says. ‘Direct.’

‘To the point,’ Maddox adds.

‘Forthright,’ Charlie says.

‘Speaks his mind,’ Maddox says.

‘Candid,’ Charlie adds.

‘Frank,’ Maddox says.

‘Alright, dictionary corner,’ Cookey says. ‘Where is Frank anyway?’

‘Back at the fort smelling of piss probably,’ Carmen says, earning a few laughs.

‘Are you and Frank…?’ Cookey asks, letting the question hang.

‘Are me and Frank what?’

‘You know,’ he says, nodding at her.

‘Related?’

‘Er…no?’ Cookey says, not wanting to say that Carmen is black and Frank isn’t.

‘We’re colleagues,’ she says with a smile, seeing him struggling.

‘Cool,’ Cookey asks.

Here it comes, Carmen thinks. One of them will now ask if she’s single.

‘I just thought,’ Blowers says, making everyone look at him. ‘I get to say the thing.’

‘You do,’ Charlie says.

‘Ah mate,’ Cookey says. ‘This is special this is.’

‘I know, right,’ Blowers says.

‘Do it,’ Mo urges.

‘What’s the thing?’ Booker asks as Carmen realises nobody asked if she is single.

‘You know, the thing,’ Cookey says. ‘Ah you wouldn’t know cos you’ve been eating Doritos and wanking for a month.’

‘Blimey,’ Charlie says. ‘This is a moment.’

‘Don’t make it a moment,’ Blowers says.

‘Too late, it is now a moment. Okay, everyone ready? Sergeant Blowers, say the thing…’

Blowers pauses, looking ready to go then winces, ‘it’s built up too much now.’

‘Just say the thing,’ Cookey urges.

‘I don’t want to say the thing. It’ll be weird. Maybe it should be Mr Howie’s thing and I’ll say something else.’

‘What? No!’ Charlie says. ‘It’s got to be the thing.’

‘You say it then,’ Blowers says.

‘I’m not saying it. You’re the sergeant.’

‘You’re the corporal. Fuck it. I’m ordering you to say the thing.’

‘You can respectfully sod off, Sergeant Blowers.’

‘Stalemate,’ Cookey says.

‘Scissors paper rock,’ Mo says.

‘Ooh fuck yes, good one, Mo,’ Cookey says. ‘Scissors paper rock…’

‘Fine,’ Blowers says, holding his hand out towards Charlie.

‘Just say the thing,’ she says.

‘Scissors paper rock,’ Tappy says. ‘If the thing is the thing I’m thinking the thing is.’

‘Dude,’ Booker says, shaking his head. ‘Didn’t get a word of that.’

‘Too much Doritos and wanking,’ Tappy tells him. ‘Charlie, come on. Ready?’

‘Who’s reffing?’ Blowers asks.

‘I’ll ref,’ Cookey says.

‘Fuck off,’ Blowers says. ‘You fancy Charlie, so you’re biased.’

‘I fancy you as well, Sergeant Blowers.’

‘Get bent. Mads, you can ref.’

‘I’m not part of this.’

‘Fuck off!’ Cookey laughs with the others all jeering. ‘Still saying that shit. Do the reffing.’

‘How do you know I don’t fancy Sergeant Blowers as well?’ he asks, moving in to the middle.

‘Do you?’ Blowers asks.

‘No,’ he says flatly, timing the joke perfectly. ‘On three. So, it’s one, two…then you go on the three. Ready?’

‘Fuck yes, you’re saying the thing,’ Blowers says, looking at Charlie.

‘Stop!’ Charlie says, pulling her hand back. ‘Are we playing to see who goes or who chooses?’

‘Whoever loses says the thing,’ Maddox says.

‘Hmmm, fine,’ she says, putting her hand back into the middle. ‘Enjoy saying the thing, Sergeant Blowers.’

‘You will,’ Blowers says.

‘One. Two…three!’

‘Ha! Boom!’ Charlie says, coming down with paper over Blowers’ rock. ‘Winner.’

‘What!’ Blowers says as the others cheer. ‘No way.’

‘So obvious,’ Charlie says.

‘What was?’ Blowers asks.

‘What else would the unkillable Simon Blowers select other than rock? Anyway, say the thing.’

‘That’s cheating,’ Blowers says. ‘Being all clever and shit.’

‘Say the thing,’ she urges with the others.

‘Fine. Fuck it…load up, we’re moving out.’

‘Oh there it is,’ Cookey says as Carmen realises that was it. That whole joke was for that. For one of them to say that. She stills smiles though, it’s impossible not to, and it’s not a dick joke either, which is nice. She does wonder what Charlie meant about Simon being unkillable though. Mind you, he is a patchwork quilt of injuries and scars.

Into the Saxon and on they go with Nick taking the front seat to access the wiring in the dashboard, his mind settling a bit from having something to tinker and play with. Yanking wires free and cutting them apart. Carmen watches him for a few minutes. Leaning over the seat to see his deft, assured movements and noticing he doesn’t once glance at the instruction book for the bumble bee drone.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Day Twenty-Seven

They cross the sea once more. Back and forth from the bay to the fort. From the fort to the bay. From the house to the beach. From the shore to the offices. Motion without progression. Too many things happening without anything happening at all and it’s a strange mood holding over them. A different mood to one they have felt before because things are changing.

Paula rests against the side of the boat letting the wind ruffle her hair and closing her eyes to feel the warm sun on her face. She reaches for her pocket to get a cigarette then stops herself, knowing she won’t be able to light it in the breeze. She’s smoking a lot more now too. She’d normally have one or two a day. Now she’s lighting up all the time. Howie is too, and even if they can’t get sick from them, they still stink something rotten.

She glances back to the beach and the containers where Roy is hanging out with Anika. A weird stab of jealousy inside, but something else too. An awareness of her own flaws because everything Roy said last night was right. She was treating him like an idiot when in fact Roy is an incredibly gifted and highly intelligent man. Marcy said this is the perfect solution and she can now have guilt free bonky times with the big man, but right now that just doesn’t feel right. She’s worried about the lads too. About Nick and she’s cross and confused at Lilly for her reactions.

There’s another feeling too. An urging, pressing need to be away from here. She thought she longed for a couple of days of peace where they could potter about the fort and not be in life and death situations every two minutes, but now she is here, she wants to be back out there. Just her and the team.

Dave sits in the middle gripping the seat beneath his backside and hating every second of being on another boat. He wants to be back out and working too. So they don’t have to keep getting on boats, but also because being near Mr Henry and Mr George creates a weird feeling inside. Dave’s mind doesn’t work quite like Paula’s, or anyone else’s for that matter. He doesn’t examine thought processes or seek to understand emotional reactions. He can never really voice the things he feels, but that doesn’t stop him feeling them, and although he doesn’t have such deep introspection, there is still the same instinct to be away from here. To be back out there where things are clean and easy with enemies they can find and kill. Dave is good at that, and so he wants to leave, but mainly so they don’t have to keep going on boats. Dave really does not like boats.

Halfway over and Marcy watches Howie glaring at the sea. The frustration is pouring off him, and she knows this is the longest period since this started where he’s effectively done nothing at all, and if they don’t get progress soon, she knows he will snap. She felt it in him this morning when they had sex before drill. The intensity and raw hunger of his aura saturated her. Like he couldn’t get close enough, like he couldn’t have enough. It was breath-taking and amazing, but she also knows it wasn’t entirely born from an altruistic love but his need to be going forward fuelling him on. She sighs deeply and leans in to Reginald, speaking so only he can hear.

‘We can’t stay here,’ she says. Reginald nods, feeling the same way. Glancing to Paula looking so pensive and Clarence so quiet. Dave so miserable and Howie now looking like he wants to pick a fight with the fishes. ‘What can I do to help?’ she asks.

He blinks at her, caught out by her words spoken without sarcasm or spite. Without jest or goad, and for the first time in a long time, he really doesn’t know what to say.

And so once more they reach the shore and head back in through the gates to cross the fort and into the offices and the heavy scent of coffee and people. Conversations already in full swing. People coming and going to ask questions and get answers before the rooms get shut off for the next meeting. They go inside and head to the back to make drinks and a few minutes later Norman clears everyone away and they’re back to the table. Back to the chairs. Back to the endless minutes that tick by where nothing happens at all.

‘You’re right,’ Norman says in reply to someone. ‘It is unseasonably hot weather…’

A casual remark and Howie’s mind is instantly taken back to the last meeting he had in Tesco on the Friday it all began. The unseasonably hot weather. That’s what the store general manager said. Jesus. It feels like years ago. A lifetime even. He shifts in his chair, looking at the grimy windows and the marks on the wall from where Lilly threw grenades in here. He looks at the faces of the people about him. Just like the people that sat at the table in that last meeting in Tesco, then he feels a rush of guilt at not being able to remember their names and faces before another bizarre realisation hits that they’re all dead. Fuck. Everyone is dead. His father lied. His mother lied. They were never who they said they were, and suddenly, that fog clouding his mind and stopping him remembering his old work buddies extends out and he can’t remember his mother or father. Not what they look like or the sound of their voices. His heart starts beating harder with a sensation akin to panic prickling inside.

Why can’t he remember them? He has to remember them. He swallows and imagines being in their house, but it feels alien and wrong and in his mind he goes to the wall in the lounge where all the pictures are hanging and thinks if he looks at photographs then he’ll get instant recall. But it doesn’t work, and instead he looks at the images of an older guy with dark hair and an aloof, standoffish manner. Head tilted up and looking down. An older woman with dark curly hair. They look like strangers.

A hand on his leg squeezing his thigh. He looks down at it then up to the worry in Marcy’s eyes and he blinks at being here when he was just at home. Not at home. Was it his home? Reginald, Paula and Clarence all looking at him in concern.

‘You okay, boss?’ Clarence asks.

Howie nods. It’s all he can do because no words will form right now.

‘Reginald?’ Norman says in a tone that suggests he already tried to get his attention and the line of people on Howie’s side all turn heads to look over. ‘I said are we ready? We’ve already lost time this morning due to unfortunate events and we really need to move on. Now, about what you said yesterday. About this panacea…this cure. That’s the area to focus on. Henry?’

‘We’re going to need to see Neal’s information before we go any further in these discussions,’ Henry says.

‘Henry, come on now. If there’s a cure I think we all have a right to know,’ Norman says.

‘There are things at play here that none of you are aware of, and unless we have Neal’s data then we will not be discussing anything. In fact, I think we’ll be moving out very shortly seeing as there is clearly a lack of cooperation here.’

Reginald leans forward slightly as Henry talks and looks at Howie. Seeing that every inch of his skin is marked in some way. The man is a walking tapestry of each battle. He leans a bit more to look at Marcy. At the woman that infected him. At the woman that killed thousands of people and who had that power again at the army base, but she stepped back from it twice. He turns to look at Paula as Norman says something in reply to Henry. She looks so drained. Her mouth pursed and there’s no spark in her eyes. Clarence at the end, stoic as ever. Looking down at his hands on the table. A strange sensation inside Reginald and while Henry and Norman squabble with big words, the small man turns to behind at Dave. The saviour of them all.

‘Are you okay, Dave?’ he asks, because right there and right then, it is very important that Reginald knows if Dave is okay.

‘Fine thank you, Reginald,’ Dave replies as Henry stops talking and the room falls quiet.

‘Good,’ Reginald says, still looking at Dave. ‘Be better when we’re not going on those boats, eh?’

‘Yes, Reginald.’

‘Reginald?’ Norman asks with clear annoyance in his voice. ‘This is important.’

‘Of course,’ Reginald says, turning back to the table. ‘Yes. Indeed it is. Absolutely.’

‘Right,’ Norman says, blasting air through his nose as Kyle frowns over at Reginald, wondering what the wee man is up to. ‘Henry? You were saying?’

‘Oh, he was saying he won’t tell us anything until we provide Neal’s data,’ Reginald says brightly. ‘Which we won’t give you. Namely I won’t give you. And I don’t have to. Because we have a Dave, and a Clarence, and a Mr Howie, and do you know what else we have? We have Sergeant Blowers who is not inside your wall…’

‘Reginald, what’s this about?’ Norman cuts in, clearly irritated.

‘Interrupt me again and we walk right now,’ Reginald says bluntly with all trace of humour vanishing instantly. An anger inside radiating out that suggests that he was hiding the irritation he felt up until this very second. A small man he may be, but he held the line with a fly swatter and kept the spiders from Roy and made Neal drive the fire engine back into the battle of the ten thousand and the way he speaks and the words he uses charges the energy within the room. ‘We have two forces in play. Us, in here, and our team outside. I’m telling you that, so you don’t do anything stupid. Because if you do then Sergeant Blowers will wreak a vengeance you will not survive. We will be leaving this bay either this evening, or at the very latest, tomorrow morning. We are going to continue our mission. Our mission is to find the panacea. You see, old chap,’ he says, looking at Henry. ‘Your mission ended the second you hunkered down in that safe house of yours…do not interrupt me,’ he snaps when Norman goes to speak.

‘Henry, if you go back outside you will not last more than two days. The infection will find you, and it will send everything to take you. You’d be a prize for it, and trust me, because for you, they would line up and open arteries to drench you while sending hosts until all of your shiny little bullets are gone because you cannot take axes and knives against them and tolerate their blood like we can. And as for Doctor Barrett. Good lord man. Do you honestly think that Neal used his list to round up immune people to fight back? How the buggering hell would Howard’s son, Paula’s niece and Dave end up on that list? What almighty coincidence would that be? And then how the hell would Neal find them all? Good god no. Absolutely not. Neal hid the same as you, and do you know how he found us? He followed the trail of bodies we left behind. And he was dead within a few days. The infection hunted him down and tore hosts apart to get infected matter into the local water treatment centre and through the damned pipes into the hotel we were using. Henry, you are too behind in this. Neal didn’t find us because we are immune. He found us because we are infected. WAIT,’ he snaps again when both Henry and George go to speak.

‘This is what you don’t know. This is what you’ve missed by hiding. The virus is mutating and we, all of us and Lilly, have a very specific version that only works with us. We are infected and contagious, but only people with the same genetic structure as us will respond to it. We are the test version of the panacea. We are the lab rats you bloody dithering fools. The gypsy people all have natural immunity because they share genetic types within their DNA.

‘You have no idea what this is, and you have equally no idea what it will take to stop it. You’re all worrying about Neal’s data and undercover agents in research studies and who is having sex with who and who offended who because they didn’t stay. And that is beneath you, it is beneath us and what this is. Let me make this perfectly clear because I need you to understand this. We do not care. We do not want the fort. We do not want to be here, and we are not staying. Have orgies and spy on each other. Form factions and live the lives you were meant to live, but we will find the panacea, and we will release it…and we’ll go into that knowing it will probably kill us. Each one of our team knows what we are against, and we know that for every blasted day we spend talking about it, the other side is evolving and getting stronger.’

He pauses, drawing air and shaking his head in reflection of all they have seen and done.

‘Did you know they can now leap from first floor windows and land on their feet without any injury whatsoever? We’ve seen it. They absorb the impact because their tendons and muscles are now so much stronger. We went into a town a few days ago and saw a whole carpet of them lying down. We thought they were dead. They weren’t dead. They were pretending to be dead. Oh it was an awful trick and very obvious, but another week and it won’t be so obvious. They run upright now like people and use their arms to gain balance and it’s only a matter of time before they realise they have opposable thumbs. They slow down when they charge towards us now and we’ve seen some basic re-structuring in how they form up. Give it another few days and they’ll be flanking and circling. And do you know what else they can do? The infection manifests in certain individuals that clearly have a specific genetic structure and it bloody speaks to us. We’ve been having conversations with it. That’s why we came back; because a woman called Cassie speaking for the damned thing offered a truce and I will be damned if that conniving bitch hasn’t approached Lilly or someone from this fort and offered the same deal in exchange for killing us. But mark my words. Even if you did kill us and by some divine miracle you withstand the onslaught that will follow from the unkillable Simon Blowers then that thing will come for you. It will evolve until it can present itself at your gates looking and acting like any other person, and you’ll take it in and feed it and then, when you are all asleep, it will strike because it has be the apex predator, and in order for that to happen it must eradicate us. And the only blasted hope you have is to tell us where that panacea is because right now, we are the only group of people able to withstand what they throw at us…do you understand? I need you to understand, because this fort is just one tiny fraction of survivors, and we will turn our backs on it for the greater good of our species. And if you have any doubt whatsoever about anything I say, ask that man there what happened in the square during the battle of the ten thousand,’ he stops talking to point at Kyle and sits back to smile that genial smile once more, letting the silence hold, letting his words sink in as Reginald pushes the game on.

‘Right. Well. That was jolly interesting,’ he says with sudden brightness and cheer. ‘We shall leave you alone and retire to our little house. You have until tomorrow morning to tell us where the panacea is. I say, shall we make cupcakes?’ he asks, turning away from everyone else to look at his group as though nothing just happened. ‘I couldn’t help but hear Marcy saying she wanted to do that. Perhaps we can obtain the ingredients here before we go, oh and chaps,’ he adds, addressing the room again. ‘We shan’t be coming back to the fort, Dave doesn’t like boats, you see. Anyway, shall we?’ he asks, pushing his chair back as that side all rise with rueful smiles, the mood already lifting.

‘I wish you had a microphone to drop for these speeches,’ Paula says as they head out into the bright sunshine.

‘How much of that did you just make up?’ Howie asks quietly.

‘More than you want to know,’ Reggie says, blasting air through his cheeks.

‘Think they’ll tell us?’ Clarence asks.

‘Good gosh no. Henry is far too smart for that. By my calculations, the only route left open for Henry is to ask us to be human shields for him to reach the panacea, and I doubt he even knows exactly where it is. Anyway, my apologies for not informing you of the plan in advance but I rather think I just winged it.’

‘But what if he doesn’t go for it?’ Paula asks. ‘Do you know where to look for it?’

‘Not a bloody clue,’ he says in such a way it makes Howie and Clarence snort laughs. ‘So fingers crossed chaps,’ he adds, shooting a look to Marcy with a discreet nod.

‘Ah bugger,’ Marcy says, coming to a stop. ‘I’ve left my hairband inside. Paula, can you see Aggie and Sunnie and get what we need for the cupcakes. I’ll catch you all up, be like two minutes,’ Marcy says, darting back inside to a rushed conversation cutting off. ‘Sorry! I left my hairband on the table…’ she rushes over to grab it and stands straight, pulling her hair back. ‘Actually, Lilly? Can I have a quick word in private? Girls things,’ she says to the others as Lilly follows her to the back rooms. ‘What a day. All this stuff going on,’ Marcy says conversationally. ‘This is a bit different back here now. You’ve got all the rooms sorted…very nice. Oh is this where you wash and change?’ she asks, walking into the room at the far end and looking about as Lilly follows her in. ‘You’ve got a good thing going here, Lilly.’

‘What do you want?’ Lilly asks coldly, coming to a stop with her arms folded.

‘Just to say hi,’ Marcy says, finally getting her hair pulled back. ‘Can’t get enough hair bands, right?’

Lilly doesn’t reply but stands silent, waiting for whatever it is Marcy feels she needs to say.

‘Colder than ice, aren’t you,’ Marcy says, staring into Lily’s blue eyes. ‘Perhaps this was a mistake. I’ll get going…’ she walks towards the door, timing it right and waiting for Lilly to turn before pulling her knife and getting a hand across Lilly’s mouth as she shoves the younger woman hard into the wall. The point of the blade pressing into Lilly’s throat and her dark eyes glaring hard.

‘I heard you like kissing girls,’ Marcy whispers softly, her lips brushing Lilly’s ear. ‘Guess who else likes kissing? And you know what happens when I start kissing people, don’t you. They all die, Blondie. All of them,’ she exhales slowly, blasting hot air over Lilly’s cheek and offers a vicious smile. ‘You cross us, and I will go through this place faster than you can blink. I’ve killed thousands, and I will not lose sleep by adding you or your brother to that list…’ a shove back from Lilly. That fury flashing in her eyes, but Marcy holds her in place. ‘Are you going for your grenade, little girl? You do that and see what happens because I’m a fucking nuke.’

She nicks Lilly’s neck enough to draw blood then pulls back, releasing her hand and watching as Lilly stares back defiantly. Then gently, ever so gently, she reaches out to scoop the drop of blood oozing from the cut on Lilly’s neck and takes it on her fingertip to her own mouth, licking it clean. ‘I’ll remember that taste…anyway! So great to see you again. And it’s lovely down here. You take care now, Lilly. Bye!’

Out the room and into the office to see Mary already moving closer towards the rear. Another flash of her movie star smile and she goes out into the sun to the others waiting for her. ‘All sorted, my dear?’ Reginald asks.

‘Yep, right where I left it,’ she says with a self-effacing eye-roll. ‘Anyway, I need a brew. Something’s left a nasty taste in my mouth.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Saxon shunts through a five-bar gate into a big field at the crest of a hill chosen as high ground to launch the bumble bee drone.

They drop out, stretching and groaning and somewhat more relaxed from having clear line of sight all about them. The sun shining down. The day now gloriously hot once more. The sky a shade of blue Carmen thinks she may never have seen before. The colours too. The greens of the trees so vibrant. Even the grass and the hedges.

‘Smoke?’ Booker asks her, holding a packet of cigarettes out.

‘No,’ she says quickly. ‘I hate smoking.’

‘Yeah they stink,’ he says affably, putting one in his mouth. ‘Still, can’t get sick from them now.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Twat,’ Tappy says, rolling her eyes at him. ‘Get your words straight. He means it doesn’t matter if we get sick now…you know. The world’s over? Live fast. Die young. Yay.’

‘Right,’ Carmen says, clocking the glare going from Tappy to Booker.

‘What she said,’ Booker says, lifting his eyebrows then walking quickly away.

‘Too much Doritos and wanking,’ Tappy says.

Carmen smiles, taking the joke as the others watch Nick getting the drone ready and inhales again. Scenting the wild flowers and earthy smells and the rich heady aroma of dog shit from Meredith curling one out a few feet away.

‘Didn’t get much charge in, but,’ Nick says, still tinkering away to get the battery pack back inside the little drone. ‘Might give us a few minutes…who’s got the controller?’

Carmen watches them for a second before glancing away. ‘Nobody move,’ she whispers, urgent and fast, making every head snap up as adrenalin starts dumping and they hold poised and ready, all of them looking for threat but seeing nothing.

‘What you got?’ Blowers asks, turning a circle and not seeing a thing.

‘My twelve o’clock. Telegraph pole.’

‘Okay,’ Blowers says, staring at the pole. ‘And?’

‘On the top.’

Every head tilts to look up to the top of the pole.

‘It’s a goshawk,’ she whispers, staring at the bird on the top of the pole. ‘An actual goshawk. They’re so rare down here. I think there’s less than five hundred breeding pairs in the whole country. She’s sat right there too. So beautiful. They’ve got these amazing yellow eyes. I’ve never seen one in the wild before.’

‘Is it dead?’ Mo asks. ‘It ain’t moving, you get me?’

‘It would fall off the post if it was dead,’ Maddox says. ‘I think,’ he adds quickly.

‘She’s watching something,’ Carmen whispers. ‘Their eyesight is incredible.’

She bites her lip, staring up with adoration. ‘Who is closest to me?’ she asks.

‘Me,’ Tappy says.

‘There’s a scope in the left side compartment of my bag. Can you move really slowly and get it out please?’

‘Sure,’ she says, easing over to gently and slowly unzip the compartment to pull the military grade high-powered scope free. Long, sleek and matt black. ‘Got it.’

‘Can I use you as a frame?’ Carmen asks.

Tappy smiles, getting in front as Carmen positions, resting the scope on Tappy’s shoulder and working to get focus and the super clear image of the Goshawk on the top.

‘I can see her eyes,’ Carmen whispers in awe. ‘Her plumage is beautiful and she’s so big too. This is incredible. Oh my. She is watching something. This is amazing…Frank and I were bedded down on obs in these hills in Afghan once, right by the hunting ground of a golden eagle. I could have stayed there forever. And we saw a Caracara in Iraq too, but there’s something special about seeing native birds in your own country. Do you know what I mean? Shush! She’s lowering…she’s gonna go…oh my god oh my god…she is! Look!’ she pulls back from the scope to watch with the naked eye as the bird drops from the pole, plummeting towards the ground before those huge wings open and she hugs the earth as Carmen tracks her motion and runs to leap up onto the Saxon’s front wheel to gain height. Spotting the white flash of a rabbit tail just as the bird goes in and down, the legs extending, snatching the creature up and soaring skyward. Carmen’s heart thumping at the sight with a grin stretching from ear to ear.

‘Did you see that!’ she calls out, hardly believing it. The others all smiling simply from her infectious grin. ‘She took a rabbit. Straight down and bang, up and away. Thank you! Really. I really mean that. Thank you for letting me watch it.’

‘Anytime,’ Blowers says. ‘Er, is it okay to put the drone up now?’

‘Yes, of course. Sorry. Yes, go ahead.’

‘No, I mean is it okay to launch it here? Like will it disturb anything?’

‘We can go down the road if you want,’ Nick says.

‘Or a few miles away if that’s better,’ Charlie says. ‘Shall we do that? Do you want to do that?’

‘It might have a nest or something,’ Cookey says. ‘Like baby birds.’

‘Oh, we should bug out,’ Charlie says.

‘We’ll bug out,’ Nick says, gathering the drone up.

‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ Carmen says.

‘No worries, we’ll find somewhere else,’ Blowers says. ‘Amazing to see it though.’

Into the Saxon and the drone put back on charge as Carmen marvels at what she just saw, wishing she could have filmed it to watch back. But still, that was a bucket list thing for sure.

‘Have you seen other rare birds?’ Maddox asks.

She blinks at him, cynically expecting it to be a line of chat to be used as flirting then realises they’re all listening intently. ‘Er, yeah. A few.’

‘What was the best one?’ Charlie asks.

‘Lesser Spotted Woodpecker,’ she replies instantly. ‘But that one was more from the challenge. It took weeks to see it. We built this hide and camped out for…I don’t even know how long.’

‘Your unit built a bird hide?’ Maddox asks.

‘No! My bird watching club. I was the secretary.’

‘Are you being serious?’ Tappy asks.

‘Yeah. I loved it. I had to get clearance from Henry to join, then had this whole fake ID thing…whatever, point is, we built this hide and I’m pretending to all these guys I’ve no clue about how to build an observation point…which I kinda did for a living, and normally to shoot people from…but yes, we saw it. Beautiful too. We even got some pictures onto an RSPB website.’

‘My aunt had a parrot,’ Booker says. ‘Big grey thing. Used to tell the postman to put his dick away…funniest thing ever… putyourdickaway…my aunt said it heard it on telly and just kept saying it.’

‘You’s like all wildlife, Carmen?’ Mo asks.

‘Sure, but birds mainly. You know, in between work and stuff. That’s funny about your aunt’s parrot though, Booker. There was a pet shop on my estate where I grew up and they had one. Every time someone walked in it was like stopnicking and fackorfoutofit. Oh and we had this job once. Listen to this. This guy, lone wolf we called them. A terrorist without a cause. Middle class hates everything and everyone. Wants to be far right and far left and anyway, he hears about the Houses of Parliament using Falconers to scare the pigeons away. So he thinks, that’s how I can sneak in and attack an MP or whatever. So, the idiot finds a Falconer club, breaks in, steals the biggest bird you have ever seen and turns up at the Houses of Parliament with it in his car. But the thing is going wild because he’s not contained it and he’s cut to ribbons, scratches down his face and arms, he had more ear missing than Charlie. Blood everywhere…he gets out and starts running towards the police checkpoint and they’re like, armed up and aiming at him as this angry eagle comes out the car chasing this guy down and ripping shreds out of him. Funniest thing I ever saw. Honestly. We had the tip off it was going to happen, so we were nearby, and I have never seen Frank laugh so much in my life. The guy’s yelling at the cops to shoot the bird and they’re like no way. In the end they gave him a riot shield to hide behind until the local falcon handler came along and took the eagle away calm as you like. Just gave it a dead mouse. Thing was like a puppy on his arm and this guy’s in handcuffs being carted off by an ambulance.’

Tears in eyes and on cheeks from the retelling. Even Nick laughing as Blowers drives on, navigating lanes and roads, going here and there and anywhere as long as it’s not the fort.

A few minutes later and the surreal day continues as she watches a bright plastic yellow and black bumble bee drone lift into the air with four sets of whirring blades.

‘How high will it go?’ Blowers asks.

‘I doubt we’ll get much,’ Nick says. ‘The screen’s the issue. It’s too small to see detail so we can’t go too high…and the signal starts getting weak too.’

‘Do you have that map, Charlie?’ Carmen asks, listening nearby.

‘Sure,’ Charlie says, pulling it from a side pocket of her trousers to open out on the ground. ‘Okay, so we were on this road…’ Charlie says, tracing along the map.

‘We’re here,’ Carmen says, pinpointing their exact location. ‘Have you got a pencil? Nick, can you hold the drone directly over us for a minute.’

‘Er, yeah sure,’ he says as everyone starts hunting for a pencil.

‘It’s fine, I’ve got one,’ Carmen says, slipping her bag off to take one from a side pocket. ‘Okay, so we’re here,’ she marks an X on the map. ‘Sergeant, can you look for a reference point on the edge of the view on that screen. Like a church or a lake, any geographical feature.’

‘Church,’ Blowers says, pointing to the edge of the screen. ‘Er…north east.’

‘North east,’ Carmen murmurs working out and seeing two churches marked. ‘Does it have a spire?’

‘Confirmed,’ Blowers says.

‘Got it,’ Carmen says, marking another X then she pulls a small compass fitted within a straight edge from her bag and draws a solid line between the two points. ‘That marks the distance we can see. Now if we hold the centre and measure that distance in a circle…bit rough but…’ she moves it round, focussing on keeping the measurement right. ‘Then we get the radius of our view. See,’ she says, showing Charlie the circle as Blowers looks over. ‘So we know this area is effectively sterile, and it means all we have to do is head to the edge point and do it again. Now if the fort is south, then we can work an east west route then we’ll effectively create a sterile corridor circling our target location.’

‘That’s brilliant, cheers,’ Blowers says.

‘Anytime, Sergeant. And obviously, the better the drone, the higher you can go then you can minimise your own movement and let the device do the work,’ she thinks to say more then thinks better of it and stays quiet.

‘Okay, so looking at that,’ Blowers says, peering over them at the map. ‘We’ve picked a random spot in the middle. I think we should go east then start back west…then head on to the weapons place and then the other commune. The weapons place is west too isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ she replies. ‘May I make a suggestion?’

‘Yeah sure, do,’ Charlie says. ‘Dave said you’re highly skilled and to listen to you.’

‘He actually said you’re shit and to ignore everything you say,’ Blowers says. ‘We’re just being polite.’

‘That makes more sense. My suggestion would be to start west and go east because that means you can drive back along the route and look for anything that came in behind you.’

‘Got it. Happy with that,’ Blowers says, sharing a nod with Charlie. ‘We’ve got a plan. Cheers, Carmen.’

‘No worries,’ she says as she gets to her feet. ‘There was something else I saw, okay to have another look on the screen?’ she trails off and gets back to Nick and leans in close. ‘Okay, that’s great thanks.’

‘What did you see?’ Blowers asks.

‘Ah,’ she smiles at him and Charlie. ‘Now, if you’ll trust me and let me say thank you for giving me time to watch the goshawk, I’d like to show you something I think you might like.’

‘Okay,’ Charlie says, smiling as she shares looks with the others. ‘Er, sure. I guess. I mean…if it doesn’t take too long.’

‘Nope. Won’t take long at all,’ Carmen says. ‘Fancy it? Sergeant, do you wish to say your thing?’

‘Oh god don’t start that again,’ Blowers says. ‘Er, everyone get in, we’re going somewhere else.’

‘That so doesn’t work,’ Tappy says as they all move back towards the vehicle. ‘She sounds better though.’

‘What, Carmen?’ Cookey asks.

‘Bellend. I meant the Saxon. She feel okay through the pedals?’

‘Er, yes?’ Blowers says with a shrug. ‘How the fuck would I know? You drive for a bit if you…fuck me,’ he adds at Tappy sprinting off. ‘Didn’t run like that this morning.’

‘I’m not built for running. My boobs bounce…ask Nick, he saw them last night…’

‘BOOM!’ Cookey shouts, bursting out laughing with everyone else as Charlie shoots a half shocked, half horrified look at Nick. The poor lad thinking to be angry and cross and embarrassed but unable to stop the grin as he shakes his head.

‘Haha!’ Tappy shouts, grinning and poking her tongue out as she leans out from the driver’s seat. ‘Own that shit, Nicholas. Load up my lovelies, we’re going places…that should be your new thing, Sergeant Blowers.’

‘Jesus,’ Blowers says, crossing around to get in the front passenger seat.

‘Your face,’ Booker says, clapping Nick on the shoulder.

‘Fucking speechless,’ Nick mutters, slumping into the bench seats. ‘Can’t believe you said that.’

‘Well,’ Tappy says, waving a dismissive hand. ‘We’re all grown-ups and not tetchy little twats with pointy up noses thinking we’re the dogs danglies.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Cookey says. ‘How come Tappy gets to say shit and I get yelled at?’

‘Cos I shagged him, that’s why,’ Tappy calls, poking her tongue out again and starting the engine as the jeers and laughs sound clear in the back. Even Carmen chuckles at the audaciousness of the comments and the crimson blush deep in Nick’s cheeks as he lowers his head to smile and wince at the same time. ‘Oh she sounds good,’ Tappy says, nodding at Blowers. ‘All smooth and clean…right, how do you adjust the seat?’

‘Er, I think there’s a handle on the side but…’

‘Got it,’ she says, winching it up a bit higher.

‘But I left it to keep the boss’s driving position.’

‘Oops. Oh well, done now. Okay, so…can I see?’ she asks herself, checking the windows. ‘Yep. Good enough. I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw her. Literally. Everyone in? Come on baby…’ she eases her foot down, feeling the power build as that lop-sided grin stretches wider and they bounce over the field and back onto the black-top road. ‘Which way?’

‘Down the hill,’ Carmen says from behind and down the hill they go with Tappy holding that smile in place while feeling the bittersweet burn of wishing her dad could see her now. He’d love driving this, and he’d have loved working on the engine too. A moment’s pause in another weird day and she thinks about last night with Nick and not having the nightmare when she finally slept. It’s like everything is moving so fast now and there’s no time to stop and think and reflect on what’s happening, but all she can do is grip on for dear life.

It’s the same for all of them. Danny sitting quietly in the back, listening and smiling at the jokes and chat. Still too shy to join in properly. He woke up trying to shag the floor in front of everyone, then did drill and ran faster than everyone else, got in a fight, got shot and then watched a big bird catch a rabbit, and it’s still only the morning.

Booker opposite him, taking a big breath to inflate his lungs. His mind feeling like it’s running a bit slow because so many things are happening. Finding the lads again then getting to the fort and all that stuff going on with Howie and Dave. Drill and the fight and leaving and seeing Tamarra last night. Now he’s back in here going places he doesn’t know to do things he has no real clue about.

‘Should be an entrance on the left side,’ Carmen says a minute or so later, staring out the front. ‘There, see it?’

‘Got it,’ Blowers says, seeing the opening to a small track on the left. Tappy slows, aiming in and through the wide gap in the hedges to an unmade parking area and another wide rutted lane leading off through a thicket of trees. ‘This it?’ Blowers asks.

‘It is,’ Carmen says. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

Once more out and into the sun. The same vigilance as before. Weapons up and everyone staying quiet. A new place. A new area. Meredith runs wide, nose to the ground and showing no signs. A glance from Blowers to Mo who shakes his head and the sergeant finally looks to Carmen. ‘Seems okay.’

‘We need to go that way,’ she says, pointing to the rutted track.

‘What’s that way?’

‘The fruit. This is an orchard…hungry?’ she asks, walking off.

‘Seriously?’ Charlie asks as she double takes at the trees all in straight rows. Seeing the shape and size of them. ‘Oh they are. They’re fruit trees. Fresh fruit.’

‘Can we go in, Sergeant?’ Danny asks, his mouth watering at the prospect.

‘Dig in, just stay close and listen out,’ Blowers says, setting off after Carmen into the shade dappled glades rich with the scent of fruits. Bees with heavy loaded pockets flying low and slow past their heads. Birds singing and he looks up at the gloriously red apples hanging from branches. Charlie off to his left. Nick on his right. Everyone spread out in a line as though advancing slowly through enemy territory. All of them gawping at the apples. Too scared to touch one. Too timid to reach out. Carmen turns from walking ahead, seeing their trepidation. She reaches up to pluck an apple down and holds it close to her nose, inhaling the aroma before biting deep into the crunchy skin. The juices flooding into her mouth so rich and tangy. So clean and real and organic.

‘Nice?’ Blowers asks, all of them seemingly happy for Carmen to have that first experience. To watch and wait.

She nods once, taking another mouthful and closing her eyes as the others share looks and smiles. Nick goes first, reaching up to take a high one and doing the same as Carmen by inhaling it first. ‘Smells so nice,’ he says quietly then holds it out towards Tappy. ‘For you.’

‘Aw that’s cute,’ she says, moving over to take it then bursting out laughing when he flicks a middle finger and starts eating it.

‘Fuck you,’ he says with a mouthful.

‘Twat,’ she says and grabs her own. Biting deep as the others do the same. None of them having ever taken an apple from a real fruit tree before and Carmen notices the way they all copy what she did and sniff first before eating it. Biting down and savouring that first hit of juice and taste. Of something that isn’t from a tin or a packet.

‘Maybe we should wash them first,’ Carmen says. ‘Might have used pesticides.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ Blowers says, taking another bite.

A confidence in his manner that again does not go unnoticed, but she shrugs it off and takes another bite of her apple as they walk on.

‘Pears!’ Maddox calls from the end, waving at the others who jerk about in surprise at his voice then start rushing over to join in him gazing at a pear tree.

‘Fuck,’ Cookey whispers in awe. ‘That’s a nice pear…get it? That was a boob joke. Tough crowd,’ he goes silent as they watch Maddox take a pear from the tree. His half-eaten apple in his other hand and he bites into the new fruit. Soft and ripe with juice spurting over his chin.

‘It’s like food porn,’ Tappy says.

‘It is,’ Charlie says quietly.

‘Bite it again,’ Tappy urges, gnashing her teeth at Maddox. ‘Go on big boy, bite that pear…’

‘Dick,’ he bursts out laughing, spraying pear over the ground as the others move in to pluck and eat pears and apples. Making noises of joy and pleasure as they set off to delve deeper into the groves. Slurping and munching. Bellies gurgling with pleasure and chins getting sticky and wet.

‘Schnectarimes,’ Carmen says with a mouthful, waving her hand over to the right.

‘Submarines?’ Cookey asks, giving her a look.

She grins and eats, the sugar from the fruit giving them all a rush. ‘I meant nectarines,’ she says, leading them over for another scene of food porn as Danny and Mo watch hot Carmen devour a nectarine. Both wishing they were fruit right now.

‘We shouldn’t go nuts,’ Carmen says, trying to bring some common sense into the proceedings. ‘Too much fruit and all that.’

‘All what?’ Nick asks.

‘Gives you the shits,’ Booker says.

‘Can we still get the shits?’ Cookey asks.

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t we be able to get upset bellies?’ Charlie asks, holding eye-contact with Cookey who seems to realise he said something and quickly eats on.

It’s so obvious. Carmen thinks. ‘Are you guys immune?’ she asks conversationally and detects the way they all seem suddenly very focussed on the fruit they are eating. ‘Wow, I’m not asking for state secrets. You’ve all got bite marks and Sergeant Blowers said you go hands on, and there’s no hazmat suits anywhere, and Charlie’s ear has clearly been bitten off…and Sergeant Blowers really didn’t snap his finger off up his arse.’

‘He really did,’ Cookey says as everyone else looks to Charlie.

‘Tell you what,’ Carmen says. ‘I’ll go down there to the plums and apricots I can see while you decide what Charlie’s allowed to tell me. Sound fair?’

‘What if it’s nothing?’ Maddox asks.

‘Then I won’t tell you where the strawberries are growing.’

‘Damn. Hard bargain,’ Tappy says. ‘I love strawberries.’

Carmen walks off, heading deeper into the orchard and clearly giving them space to talk but also enjoying the serenity of the place. Finches and tits fluttering through. Sparrows and thrushes. A paradise of small birds.

‘Shall we just tell her we’re immune?’ Charlie asks, tucking into another nectarine.

‘One question leads to two,’ Maddox says, also eating another nectarine. ‘We tell her that and she’ll start asking more questions.’

‘What do you suggest?’ Blowers asks.

‘Say nothing,’ he replies. ‘Just say you’ve been told not to answer any questions. She’s military. She’ll get it. Sets the boundary then too.’

‘But it’s obvious we’re either immune or something,’ Tappy says.

‘So? Just because something is obvious doesn’t mean you have to account for it.’

‘That’s a good point,’ Blowers says. ‘I think we should do what Mads said.’

‘Fair enough,’ Charlie says.

Carmen pauses down the glade and reaches up to pluck a big fat plum free. A hue of colour somewhere between blue and purple but maybe more red. It’s gorgeous though. She loves the heavy feel of it too. The solidity of it and she takes a bite, thinking she’d better ease up or she’ll be the one with a bad belly.

Bushes ahead and she aims that way, figuring there will be berries. Into another lane and she was right. Wild blackberries within thick thorny bushes and strawberries growing up fixed canes. Blueberries further one and more lanes running hither and thither. A few into her hands. A few into her mouth. The explosion of taste and juice so addictively moorish.

The growl comes. Sudden, harsh and guttural. Motion from the bushes at her side an infected male thrashing within the tangled thorns, tearing his own skin apart as he struggles to get free. ‘CONTACT,’ she yells out, snatching her pistol free and getting the aim, ready to double tap. A flash of black from the left side. Another deep growl and Meredith launches past, flying into the bushes and snapping her jaws about the throat of the naked male, ragging him about with such utter violent it sends a spray of hot blood splattering across Carmen’s face. She steps back and keeps her aim on the infected, looking for an opening to fire while feeling the hot wetness on her face as the others rush in with rifles up and only then does she bend forward to spit the fruit out of her mouth. Fearing that blood went in her mouth while the dog destroys the naked infected, tearing him apart with savage brutality.

‘Blood on my face,’ she says quickly, forcing calmness into her manner from years of combat while feeling the panic inside that such a thoughtless, stupid act could means she gets infected.

‘It’s okay, show me,’ Blowers says, moving in close as the others spread out.

‘I felt it…might have gone in my mouth…’

‘I can see it,’ Blowers says, taking in the drops of blood on her right cheek. ‘Just stay still, you got some wipes?’ he asks as Charlie drops her bag. ‘There’s a couple of drops on your cheek. That’s it.’

‘How close to my mouth?’ she asks, not daring to move as Blowers comes in close, reaching up to cup her head and pressing his thumbs to her cheeks.

‘Inches away. My thumbs are between your mouth and the blood. It won’t go in you. I promise.’

‘Gloves!’ Carmen says urgently, pulling away. ‘It’s dirty blood.’

‘It’s okay,’ Blowers says. ‘Charlie.’

‘Yep, on it,’ Charlie says, moving in to wipe the blood away. Pressing firm and hard. Removing the two drops then ditching the wipe to use fresh ones. ‘Move your hands, thanks,’ she adds, setting to work to scrub Carmen’s cheeks. Knowing invisible drops could still have hit her. ‘Don’t lick your lips,’ she says calmly. Taking more wipes to clean Carmen’s lips then chin. All over her face. Her nose and ears. Around her eyes. Anti-bac gel from her bag poured into Carmen’s hands for the woman to rub in.

‘If I turn you will shoot me,’ Carmen orders.

‘You would have felt it by now,’ Charlie says, using yet more wipes to work on Carmen’s bare arms. ‘It takes two minutes from start to finish. We’ve seen it lots of times now. You’ll feel it in the stomach first. Like a deep pain. If that’s not happened then you are fine. And it doesn’t survive outside of the body for long. It needs living tissue to remain alive.’

‘Are you sure?’ Carmen asks, standing still while assessing her body for sudden weird pains. But there’s nothing there. Nothing at all.

‘Very sure. Reginald said it cannot survive for long at all.’

‘Are you immune?’ Carmen asks, looking at Charlie.

‘Maybe don’t ask yeah,’ Maddox says from a few metres away. ‘You’re very nice and they’re very polite but I’ve been nicked a whole lot of times and I know how to say no. So no. And stop asking. Reginald will tell you what you need to know when you need to know it.’

‘Understood,’ Carmen says clearly, thinking that perhaps was a sharp reminder of the threats out here now as she takes in the now ruined corpse of the infected male. The skin all cut to bits, criss-crossed scars and livid welts and his flesh drawn and tight over his frame. Ribs showing and hands clawed even in death.

‘OI! WHAT THE BLEEDIN’ HELL YOU THINK YER DOIN’?’ A loud voice bellowing out. Old and deep and coming from a man in corduroy trousers and a checked shirt striding towards them. A flat cap on his head with tufts of white hair poking out the sides. Sleeves rolled up and more white hairs thick on his arms that grip the double barrelled shotgun across his front. ‘SCRUMPIN’ MY BLOODY FRUIT. THAT’S WHAT.’

Carmen’s hand drops to the butt of her pistol as she assesses the new threat and clocks the shotgun is closed and ready for firing but not aimed forward.

‘Sorry sir,’ Blowers says. ‘Er, we were just…’

‘Just bloody nicking my fruit, that’s what. Bad enough before with the little shits from the village in here every bloody day, now the bleedin’ army’s helping themselves and all. Oh no. No no no,’ he says, coming to a stop and staring down at the body. ‘Barry lad. You poor sod. What you kill Barry for?’

‘He was in the bushes,’ Blowers says.

‘I know he was. I bloody put him in the bushes. I didn’t ask why’s he in the bushes. I asked why you killed him. He weren’t doing no harm…I had him tied up…’ the old guy shouts as they all spot the thin rope tied to the infected male’s ankle stretching back into the tangled thorn bush. ‘Running about here stark naked he was. I said to him ‘ere, Barry, you pack that in then pushed him in the bushes and tied his leg up…he’s bloody dead now though isn’t he. Walkin’ in ‘ere robbin’ my fruit and killin’ my farm hands.’

‘He’s infected,’ Blowers says as everyone looks from Barry to the old man.

‘I know he was bloody infected! Why d’yer think I tied him up? Think I’ve got a bleedin’ sex club going on? Tying up naked farm hands in bushes?’ he stops talking as Barry groans with a low, throaty rasping noise and twitches an arm. ‘Barry? YOU ALRIGHT BARRY?’ the old man yells as Meredith pounces in to savage the former farm hand about the orchard a bit more. ‘OH BLOODY HELL! BARRY…BARRY…now he’s dead. Look! He’s head come off his neck. Well. That’s it then. No going back from that. Is there? Do they keep going when their heads come off?’ he asks Danny.

‘No sir,’ Danny says then frowns and looks at Charlie. ‘Do they?’

‘No, they definitely do not er…you know…keep going.’

‘Well. He’s dead then,’ the old man says, sighing heavily. ‘I’ll get some shovels.’

‘Shovels?’ Charlie asks.

‘For digging,’ the old man says, marching off. ‘You killed him, you can bloody help me bury him.’

‘Right,’ Charlie says. ‘Er, we are rather busy, sir.’

‘Not too busy scrumping my bloody fruit though are you. Stay there. I’ll bring the barrow back.’

Half an hour later and the air fills with the scoops of earth flung out of the grave. The corpse of Barry the farm-hand now rolled up in an old carpet held together by bungee cords. Hit feet poking out the end and his head wrapped up in a Walking Dead pillow case on top. Meredith sulking at not being allowed to take something to chew on. Danny, Mo and Booker working in the hole, grunting as they scoop the earth out. A field on the other side of the farmhouse wall bordering the orchard.

‘Done it yet?’ the old farmer demands, walking out of his back door carrying a tray holding a big jug of liquid and several plastic beakers.

‘Not quite,’ Charlie replies as he plonks the tray on the top of the low wall, peers over, grunts at the hole underway and walks off. ‘Thank you,’ she calls. ‘For the drinks.’

‘It’s fresh,’ he bellows over his shoulder. ‘My own lemons too, and none of that pesticide shit either…Barry loved it…before your dog bit his head off…’ he goes in, slamming the door as the three lads in the hole stop working and look up.

‘He’s a nice old chap,’ Tappy remarks.

‘Lads, grab a drink,’ Blowers says, nodding for the three to climb out as he ditches his rifle and bag to drop in and grab one of the shovels.

‘It’s fresh,’ Tappy tells Danny, pouring him a drink. ‘None of that pesticide shit either.’

‘Thanks, Tappy,’ he says, heading over to sit in the shade with Mo and Booker as Cookey, Maddox and Nick clamber down to join Blowers and it takes but minutes for the sweat to start to start flowing and for faces to grow red with exertion. The grunts sounding out from the exertion as the lads work in a line.

‘Jesus, it’s baking,’ Nick says, the first to ditch his shovel and pull his top off, flinging it out before working on. Maddox goes next, stripping down to his waist. Cookey after him then finally Blowers. The four working on in the heat, bodies glistening with sweat and muscles showing from the hard labour.

A moment comes to pass with Tappy, Charlie and Carmen standing by the low wall, each with a plastic beaker of deliciously sweet and ever so tangy organic lemonade that makes them pull faces with each sip while staring at the grave and the four men working away.

A moment broken by the impacts of the shovels hitting the earth and the softer noise of soil hitting the mound as it’s flung out. The odd grunt and hard breathing and they sip and wince and gawp.

‘Should help them really,’ Tappy murmurs.

Sip. Wince. Gawp.

‘Not enough room,’ Charlie murmurs.

Sip. Wince. Gawp.

‘Oh,’ Tappy says.

Sip. Wince. Gawp.

‘Six pack city,’ Tappy adds, more to herself than anything. ‘I’ll get in in a minute with my wobbly bits flopping about,’ she says as Charlie snorts a laugh.

‘You don’t have wobbly bits,’ Charlie says.

‘But I’m not like them,’ she replies, nodding at the lads. ‘Or like you and Carmen. Have you got a six pack?’ she asks Carmen who sips. Winces and shrugs. ‘That’s a yes then,’ Tappy says. ‘Me and Booker are going to start the non-six pack club and eat Doritos.’

‘And wank,’ Carmen adds, not realising she was going to say it until the words came out.

‘You alright?’ Blowers asks, looking over at the three women coughing lemonade while laughing.

‘Fine!’ Charlie says, waving a hand. ‘We’re all good.’

‘Got to admit, that is a nice view though,’ Tappy says once they’ve calmed.

Carmen tilts her head side to side with another sip, wince, gawp. ‘I can admire it, but it’s not my thing.’

‘No?’ Charlie asks.

‘I like nerds.’

‘Nerds?’ Tappy asks.

‘Nerds. And not groomed fake nerds either. Real nerds.’

‘Wow,’ Tappy says, not quite knowing what else you say to that. ‘Fair play…’

‘What about you?’ Charlie asks Tappy.

‘Me? I had sex with Nick. What do you think I bloody like? Have you actually seen him? Look, he’s right there…I mean look at him. Just look at him…we had sex,’ she whispers, setting the other two off laughing again. ‘Like actual sex. I did that. With him. Best. Day. Ever.’

‘Was it nice?’ Charlie asks, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

‘Er, not so much nice as more like just fucking frantic, or frantic fucking I guess. Do you know what I mean? Like clothes flying everywhere and we’re like animals. Rarrrr,’ she adds, mimicking a big cat. ‘He was like a rodeo bull, bucking about and trying to fling me off…I’m like…whoa and clinging on…’

‘You alright?’ Blowers asks again, seeing Charlie now bending over the wall laughing so hard she can hardly breath and even Carmen turned away while Tappy looks like she’s telling a story about horse-riding.

‘Fine,’ Tappy yells back. ‘Keep going, you’re doing a great job.’

Lemonade drunk and it’s not long before the old farmer comes back out to inspect the grave, grunting once more with satisfaction at seeing it’s deep enough.

‘Right, fling him in then,’ he says gruffly. ‘And his head. Don’t forget his head. I don’t want it jabbering away on the next full moon…’

‘I think that’s werewolves,’ Booker says.

‘Expert on the occult are you lad? No. Didn’t think so. Stop answering back then and get Barry’s head in that hole. And whack it with a shovel to make sure he’s proper dead. Or shoot him. Go on. Shoot him.’

‘Er…’ Booker says, looking to Sergeant Blowers.

‘We’re not shooting him,’ Blowers says.

‘He’s really very dead,’ Charlie says.

‘You told me that a month ago and I’d have believed you, but Barry’s been pissin’ about in my bushes without food or water for weeks and he didn’t die, so thank you very much but how the hell do I know he ain’t coming back as a vampire or something? Sod it. I’ll get my shotgun.’

‘You really don’t need to shoot him,’ Blowers says as the farmer stomps off to his house. ‘Fuck me…is this actually happening? Just get him in the hole,’ he adds, grabbing Barry’s ankles as the others help lift the carpet rolled body to dump in the grave.

‘And the head!’ the farmer yells, marching back out with his shotgun.

‘Got it,’ Mo says, lifting the Walking Dead pillow case up.’

‘Right. Chuck him in then and I’ll give him both barrels…that’s it. In the hole…everyone move back then. BARRY? CAN YOU HEAR ME?’

‘He’s fucking dead,’ Blowers says.

‘BARRY? I’M GONNA SHOOT YOU. IF THAT DON’T WORK AND YOU COME BACK AS A GHOUL THEN FUCK OFF UP THE ROAD TO THAT WANKER ALFRED. HE STILL OWES ME A DRUM OF OIL…’

‘Jesus,’ Blowers mutters as the air fills with two huge retorts from the shotgun firing into the hole.

‘Did I get his head?’

‘Yes!’ Blowers says.

The old farmer peers in, muttering and churning his face up while thinking. ‘You know what? I might give him another couple of shots. To be sure like. Unless one of you’s got a wooden stake to drive in.’

‘Fuck me,’ Blowers says, drawing his sidearm.

‘What’s that little thing gonna do?’ the farmer asks, sneering at the pistol.

‘Right!’ Blowers snaps, pushing his pistol away and grabbing his rifle. ‘Fine. This one do it?’

‘Go on then. Get a few rounds in there, lad.’

‘I am!’

‘BARRY?’ The farmer yells as Blowers takes aim then tuts and lowers his rifle again. ‘THE SOLDIER LAD’S GONNA PUT A FEW MORE IN YOU. TO MAKE SURE…’

‘Finished?’ Blowers asks, aiming again and he empties his magazine with burst fire into the body and head. ‘Done. Finished?’

‘Yeah, that should do it I reckon,’ the farmer says with a nod. ‘Mind you, maybe we should set him on fire. What do you think? Vampires don’t like fire do they.’

‘Just fill the fucking grave in,’ Blowers orders, slinging his rifle and grabbing a shovel.

Another half an hour and they finally emerge from the orchard onto the parking area.

‘You lads stop there so I know you got this right,’ the farmer says as the unit comes to a stop. ‘That one,’ he says, pointing at the little wooden crate piled with fruit in Danny’s arms. ‘Is for Mrs Millett.’

‘Yes sir,’ Danny says.

‘And that one,’ he tells Booker.

‘Mrs Potter,’ Booker says.

‘Mrs Potter,’ the farmer says.

‘Mrs Potter,’ Booker says.

‘Yes. Mrs Potter. What are you? A parrott? That one is for Mr Cracknell,’ he tells Maddox. ‘And the rest are for them idiots living in the village hall. Don’t want ‘em getting’ scurvy and dying so they come back like Barry. Got the addresses?’

‘We have,’ Charlie says, holding the gas company envelope up now filled in with hand-written names and addresses.

‘Right. Well bugger off then. And one of them’s crates is for you. So you don’t come back nicking stuff. And tell ‘em if they see Barry not to let him eat garlic.’

‘Eh?’ Blowers asks.

Don’t Charlie mouths at him. ‘Everyone in…we now have some errands to run.’

‘Can I drive?’ Tappy asks.

‘Crack on, mate,’ Blowers mutters, piling into the back with the others as Charlie takes the front with the map. ‘Did that just happen?’

‘Why’s he even here?’ Cookey asks.

‘Charlie told him to leave,’ Carmen says. ‘He said he’s not going anywhere near that fort because of the price of coffee in the visitor centre. Are we really delivering this fruit?’

Blowers shrugs, staring down at the crates of food stacked up in the middle. ‘Keeps us busy I guess. How far off are we?’

‘Two minutes,’ Charlie says.

‘Fucking unbelievable,’ Blowers mutters a few minutes later, holding a crate of fruit while Carmen knocks on the front door. She turns back to look at him in his eye-patch then down to the fruit and over to the others loitering by the Saxon. The big dog at her legs, eagerly waiting to see who opens the door.

‘Nobody home,’ she says after a minute. ‘Shall I knock again.’

‘Knock again,’ Blowers says.

‘I’ll knock again,’ she says, knocking the door while thinking this is not what she expected when Henry told her to go and spy.

Noise inside. A door closing and footsteps coming from above them followed by the squeak of a wooden framed window opening and an old woman peering out. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello!’ Carmen says. ‘Down here.’

‘Down where? Oh. Down there. Hello,’ the old woman says.

‘Hi,’ Carmen says, waving a hand. ‘We’ve got some…’

‘Are you the zombies?’

‘Sorry? No. No we’re not,’ Carmen says. ‘We’ve got fruit from…’

‘How do I know you’re not the zombies?’

‘Because we’re not zombies,’ Carmen says.

‘Zombies don’t talk,’ Blowers calls up.

‘They do,’ Cookey says from the beside the Saxon before getting shushed.

‘What do you want then?’ Mrs Millett asks.

‘We’ve got fruit,’ Carmen says as Blowers lifts the crate to show her while trying to smile nicely.

‘What’s wrong with you? Got wind have you? And what happened to your eye?’

‘It…’

‘Never mind that. What do you want?’

‘I said we’ve got fruit from…’ Carmen pauses, realising she doesn’t know the farmer’s name then turns to see everyone else shrugging and looking at each other. ‘From the farmer at the orchard,’ she adds.

‘Which one?’ the old woman asks.

‘How many farmers and orchards have you got here?’ Carmen asks.

‘Just the one my love.’

‘That one then,’ she replies.

‘Righto. I’ll be right down. You hang on there and watch out for them zombies.’

‘Will do,’ Carmen calls as they listen to footsteps and doors opening and doors closing and a few more bangs, treads, doors and noises.

‘Righto,’ Mrs Millett says, appearing at the window again. ‘I’m coming now…’

‘Jesus,’ Blowers says, shaking his head as she disappears.

‘I had to put the cat away,’ she says, appearing at the window again. ‘He don’t like dogs much. Or zombies.’

A minute later she opens the front door and tentatively leans out to peer left and right. ‘No zombies then?’

‘Er, no, not seen any,’ Carmen says.

‘Barry still in the bushes is he?’

‘Barry? Er, no. Sad news. Barry’s dead I’m afraid,’ Carmen says.

‘Fuck him. He was a prick,’ Mrs Millett says, smiling at the crate of fruit. ‘Lovely. I’ll be shitting like nothing all week. Righto. Bye!’

Silence as Carmen and Blowers stare at the door while everyone else stares over at them. ‘Is it always like this?’ Carmen whispers.

‘Yes,’ Blowers replies instantly.

Into the Saxon. Down a few more roads. Out of the Saxon with Blowers once more carrying a crate of fruit and following Carmen to the door. She did offer to go first, trusting her own reactionary skills should something go wrong. She knocks the wooden door, frowning at a five pointed star fashioned from dried and twisted vines hanging from the knocker.

‘It’s open,’ a voice calls inside. She looks back at Blowers, figuring this can’t be right and half draws her pistol while pushing the door inwards. Her assault rifle hanging at the front.

‘Hello? Mrs Potter?’

‘Down here,’ the voice calls. ‘Bring the fruit into the lounge will you…’

Another look between Carmen and Blowers. He shrugs, she rolls her eyes, sighs and moves inside with her pistol now drawn and held at her side.

Spice hanging in the air. Like joss sticks or incense, or maybe pipe tobacco. Weird paintings and artefact’s on purple walls. A deep red carpet on the stairs and they head down to the lounge door.

‘That’s it, in here,’ the voice says.

Carmen swallows, gripping her pistol and easing the door open. Ready to react then simply stopping at the sight of the woman inside smiling at them from an armchair. Her ankles swollen from arthritis. ‘Takes me ages to get up it does,’ she says as Carmen holsters her weapon. ‘Not so bad once I’m up mind. Got me some fruit have you?’

‘Er, yes, we have,’ Carmen says, moving in to let Blowers into the room filled with scent and she realises the smells do come from joss sticks and pipe tobacco. An old man with a big belly fast asleep in another armchair. His hand clutching a pipe over his stomach. Books on shelves line the walls. Artwork in frames. Old pictures of strange symbols and a big glass ball on the mantlepiece above the fireplace.

‘Ooh lovely,’ Mrs Potter says, shifting to see the crate as Blowers carries it over. ‘Pears and apples, got some strawberries too. This is lovely.’

‘Why are you here?’ Carmen asks, unable to stop herself.

‘This is our home, love,’ Mrs Potter says, picking over the fruit.

‘No, I mean…’

‘We’ve heard them, but they haven’t found us yet,’ Mrs Potter says, cutting her off.

‘There’s a safe place, ma’am,’ Blowers says.

‘The fort? We did hear about it. We chatted it over and we thought no, we’ll see our days out here if it’s all the same.’

‘Sure,’ Blowers says, detecting a quiet dignity pouring off the woman. Her health clearly not so good, but she smiles ready enough and her eyes seem full of life as she finally looks up from the fruit to study Blowers.

‘Hurt did it?’

He fingers his eye-patch, feeling very scrutinised, but strangely not uncomfortably so. ‘Not really.’

‘No, or the finger I should say,’ she says without a glance at his hand. ‘You did well.’ He swallows, unsure of how to respond as she smiles at him, her brow crinkling in thought as she seems to look into his eyes and deep inside. ‘Don’t be alarmed. Just a gift I have.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he says, wishing only to be polite and respectful.

‘You’ll see it through, just keep doing what you’re doing, and don’t mind the losses. This world isn’t the only one,’ she adds with another grin before switching her gaze to Carmen.

‘We need to go,’ Carmen says quite abruptly. ‘You should move to the fort as a place of safety.’

Mrs Potter nods and stares up, unafraid and as though she is entirely mesmerised by the black woman.

‘Sergeant Blowers?’ Carmen asks.

‘Yeah sure,’ Blowers says, looking from Mrs Potter to Carmen. ‘Er, is there anything else you need, Mrs Potter.’

‘We’ll be alright my love,’ Mrs Potter says without taking her eyes off Carmen. ‘And you my angel. You choose the right path when the time comes.’

‘Seriously?’ Carmen asks, arching an eyebrow. ‘Hocus pocus shit. I’m going.’

‘Everyone has to make the choice at some point,’ Mrs Potter says, dancing her fingers over the fruit and picking a big juicy strawberry. ‘Mrs Millett okay was she?’

‘Er, she was fine,’ Blowers says.

‘Rude old cow sometimes, but she doesn’t mean any harm. Got Mr Cracknell next have you?’

‘How do you know?’

‘Magic,’ she says, winking at Blowers. ‘And we always get delivered in the same order. Mrs Millett, then me, then Mr Cracknell…but I prefer the magic answer.’

‘Okay,’ Blowers says, already in love with the old woman. ‘Are you sure we can’t escort you to the fort?’

‘Go on with you. We’ll be fine. I said we’ll be fine,’ she says, seeing his hesitancy.

‘Ma’am,’ he says, dipping his head and moving to the door. ‘Er, take care then I guess.’

‘We will,’ she says, offering him another big smile before taking a bite out of the strawberry in a way that makes him laugh. ‘And you help Carmen choose the right path, Simon.’

He pauses, wanting to ask, needing to know and she smiles as though daring him to do it. An unspoken thing in the air and for once, he backs down and lets someone else have the win. She winks. He salutes and goes out, chuckling to himself at hearing her telling Mr Potter to wake up and eat some fruit.

‘Like some mad old fortune teller or something,’ Carmen tells the others as Blowers walks over to the Saxon.

‘Really? I love that stuff. Did she say anything?’ Tappy asks.

‘Maybe,’ Simon says, looking at Carmen as they load back up.

‘Oh god, it’s just crap,’ Carmen says.

‘No, my aunt was into all of that,’ Tappy says. ‘Like a medium or…’

‘An average?’ Cookey asks. ‘What? That was quick…come on…’

Into the Saxon. Down more roads. Out of the Saxon for Mr Cracknell to get his crate of fruit.

‘What’s next?’ Carmen asks, walking towards the door with Blowers. ‘We’ve had zombies, vampires and werewolves, a mad old sweary lady and a fortune teller…Mr Cracknell’ll be a…a pirate or something.’

‘Why did you look at my eye when you said pirate?’

‘Because you look like a pirate,’ she says, knocking the door. ‘Why are we even doing this?’

‘Cos that farmer asked us to,’ he replies.

‘It’s not exactly a good use of our skills,’ she says, knocking louder. ‘And why are all these bloody people still here?’ she asks before falling silent at the sound of voices inside. Men and women shushing each other. An internal door opening and the creak of floorboards coming closer to the door and once more Carmen rests the hand on the butt of her pistol.

‘Hello?’ a woman asks from inside. Polite and courteous.

‘We’re looking for Mr Cracknell,’ Carmen says.

‘You sound like a police officer,’ Blowers whispers.

‘Are you a police officer?’ the woman calls.

‘See,’ Blowers whispers.

‘No,’ Carmen calls back. ‘We’ve got fruit.’

‘Fruit?’ the woman calls.

‘We’re the fruit police,’ Blowers whispers.

‘We’re not the fruit police,’ Carmen calls, wincing at calling out when she meant to whisper.

‘The fruit police?’ the woman asks from inside the door.

‘No! I meant…look, some old farmer gave us a crate of fruit to give to Mr Cracknell.’

‘Oh I see! Right of course. Yes, hang on a jiffy,’ the woman calls as Blowers and Carmen listen to lots of locks being pulled back, turned and undone and the door swings in to a woman in heavy make-up peering round the edge. ‘Do come inside,’ she urges as they step into the long wide hallway. ‘Ooh, soldiers, that is exciting,’ she says, pushing the door to behind them.

‘What the fuck!’ Carmen says, balking at the woman’s shiny black skin-tight PVC catsuit and the huge strap-on dildo belted to her waist.

‘Who is it, Alice?’ A man calls from inside a downstairs room.

‘I think some soldiers are dropping off Larry’s fruit crate,’ she calls back. ‘Shall I take that from you? This is lovely of you to drop it round. How is Larry?’

‘Er…’ Blowers says, leaning past a stunned Carmen to hand the crate over.

‘What did you say, Alice?’ the man asks, walking out from a room.

‘What the fuck,’ Carmen mutters again.

‘Oh don’t mind us,’ Alice says, looking over the fruit.

‘He’s got a fucking nappy on,’ Carmen says, pointing at the man padding up the hallway wearing an adult’s size old fashioned cloth diaper complete with oversize safety pin and a white cotton bonnet.

‘Oh the fruit!’ the man says, rushing forward. ‘Marvellous. From Larry are they? Has he put the lemons in, Alice?’

‘He has, Chris. Lemons, strawberries…apples…’

‘What’s the to do then?’ another man calls out from inside the same room.

‘Larry’s fruit basket is here,’ Chris yells back.

‘Oh well done,’ the other man says, stepping into the hallway.

‘Seriously!’ Carmen says. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Anything nice?’ the new guy asks, walking up the hallway in a tiny black thong with a tight cropped meshed top on bearing the word police in gold letters and a PVC cop hat perched on his hat.

‘But, seriously,’ Alice says, looking earnestly at Carmen and Blowers. ‘How is Larry? Is he holding up alright?’

‘Er, seems okay, yes, ma’am,’ Blowers says.

‘Oh that is good. And have you done Mrs Potter and Mrs Millett?’

‘Are you coming back?’ another woman calls, coming out of the same internal door.

‘Fuck this,’ Carmen says, shaking her head.

‘We’ve got Larry’s fruit,’ Chris says, holding a banana up to show the new woman dressed as a nun.

‘An actual nun,’ Carmen mutters.

‘She’s not actually a nun,’ Alice says. ‘I think Deirdre is actually atheist. Atheist aren’t you. Deidre?’

‘Well, sometimes I am and sometimes I’m not,’ Deidre says, coming to a stop in her tight and ever so revealing nun’s outfit. ‘But Chris does like the whole religious thing, sooo,’ she trails off with a what-can-you-do look.

‘Ooh plums,’ Chris says as Carmen blinks.

‘Someone say plums?’ A sailor asks, coming out of the same door. More shiny PVC, a little white hat and a stick-on tattoo of an anchor on his chest.

‘How many have you got in there?’ Carmen asks, trying to imagine the inside of whatever room they’re all coming from.

‘Eight,’ Alice replies, looking back over the fruit with the others. ‘Why? Fancy joining us?’

‘Oh do,’ Chris says eagerly, looking Blowers up and down.

‘Eh? Don’t look at me,’ he says quickly.

‘Ooh, could I borrow your eye-patch do you think?’ the sailor asks.

‘No!’ Blowers says, clamping a hand over his eye-patch in fear of PVC clad people trying to snatch it away.

‘Are you coming back?’ a PVC soldier asks, leaning out of the internal door with a martini glass in his hand. ‘Oh I say. Real soldiers. Hello, privates…’

‘He’s a sergeant,’ Carmen says.

‘Even better!’

‘What the fuck!’ Blowers says.

‘So Larry is okay then?’ Alice asks.

‘Still got Barry in the bushes has he?’ the PVC cop asks.

‘Er no, sorry, Barry’s dead,’ Blowers says.

‘Oh shame,’ Alice says. ‘Did you hear that. Poor Larry’s lost his brother.’

‘His brother?’ Carmen asks. ‘That fruit farmer man had his brother in a bush?’

‘I know,’ Alice says knowingly. ‘We kept telling him. But they didn’t get on,’ she adds in a whisper. ‘Barry sold his share of the farm to Larry then ended up working for him. Awful really.’

‘Come on!’ a PVC cardinal calls from behind them. ‘This lube dries out you know.’

‘Right yes. Coming,’ Alice says. ‘Sure don’t want to join?’ she asks, looking at them hopefully. ‘Or your friends?’

‘We’re fine thanks,’ Blowers says, backing away with Carmen as he spots Meredith licking the end of the dildo wobbling about in front of Alice’s groin. ‘Urgh! Get off…Jesus…’

‘What?’ Alice asks, looking down. ‘Oh it’s just the lube. It’s flavoured. Anyway, do come back if you fancy a martini…’

‘Will do,’ Blowers says, pulling the dog away as they work a reversing retreat down the hallway as a six foot four naked body builder walks out of the downstairs room wearing a zipped up gimp mask.

‘Ooh soldiers,’ his muffled voice says waving a muscled arm at Blowers as the lad stumbles out of the door with Carmen and hurries on back to the Saxon.

‘All sorted?’ Charlie asks.

‘Yep,’ Blowers says, climbing in.

‘Yep,’ Carmen says, climbing in. ‘Just get in. Tappy, we need to go…sorry for ordering your team, Sergeant.’

‘Order away,’ Blowers says, ducking down in the back and peering over the front seats as Tappy starts the engine.

‘Right,’ Charlie says from the front, staring back at a somewhat silent Sergeant Blowers and Carmen. ‘Great. Village hall then please driver.’

‘Fuck!’ Carmen says. ‘I forgot about that. You can piss off if you think I’m going in there,’ she adds, pointing at Blowers. ‘I mean it. This village is like something from a movie.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Blowers says unconvincingly.

‘Really? Would you care to lay odds on that, Sergeant?’

‘What happened?’ Nick asks.

‘Don’t even ask,’ Blowers mutters as the Saxon once more navigates the winding streets of a quaint old sleepy English village.

‘There it is,’ Tappy says from the front, bringing the Saxon to a stop. They cram forward, peering out at a fortified village hall. Harris fencing erected around the outside which wouldn’t stop a blind badger. Some old rusty razor wire here and there and a few sharpened sticks poked in the ground. Wooden boards nailed to the outside of the windows but with enough gaps for the blind badger to pull off with ease.

‘Me, Frank and Kyle were once hiding in this Russian castle in the middle of the spookiest forest you have ever seen,’ Carmen says, looking at Blowers. ‘Middle of winter and the whole place was just dead trees and dirty snow…and that was less sinister than this place.’

‘I really like your stories, Carmen,’ Tappy says. ‘Wish I had interesting stories.’

‘Yeah?’ Cookey asks. ‘What did you do last night?’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Nick mutters as the sniggers roll about the Saxon.

‘Right. Best get it done,’ Blowers says, heading to the back doors.

‘I can go if you want,’ Charlie offers.

‘Oh god no,’ Blowers says. ‘Trust me. Things we’ve seen…’

‘You’re not really going in are you?’ Carmen asks.

‘Yeah, we’ve got to. We promised Larry.’

‘Who’s Larry?’ Cookey asks.

‘Barry’s brother,’ Carmen replies. ‘Good luck, Sergeant,’ she adds with a thumbs up.

‘Whatever,’ Blowers says. ‘If you’re too chicken. Danny, grab a crate.’

‘Yes, sergeant.’

‘Did you call me chicken? What are we, twelve?’

‘I said whatever.’

‘Give me that crate, Danny.’

‘Yes, Carmen.’

‘Keep hold of that crate, Danny. We keep our promises.’

‘Danny, give me that bloody crate. I’m seeing this through now.’

‘Um…’ Danny says, turning this way and that. ‘Corporal?’

‘I’d give it to Carmen, Danny.’

‘Yes, corporal,’ Danny says, gladly handing the crate of fruit to Carmen as Blowers drops out and sets off with Carmen rushing to fall in at his side.

‘This won’t end well,’ Carmen says. ‘There’ll be an orgy going on. Or a satanic thing. Or a satanic orgy.’

‘Probably,’ Blowers says, pushing the none-badger proof fencing aside with the tip of his toe.

‘Hang on,’ Carmen says, lifting a knee to help hold her crate while she draws her pistol and tucks it under the box. ‘I’m shooting anyone in a nappy. Other than a baby,’ she adds quickly. ‘Jesus, seriously,’ she groans when they reach the door and the sign pinned up.

There are no human people to eat living in here.

‘That’ll stop ‘em,’ Blowers murmurs, going forward to tap his foot on the door. ‘Hello? We’re the fruit police…’

‘Wasn’t funny the first time,’ Carmen whispers, rolling her eyes at the chorus of voices inside all shushing each other with no attempt whatsoever at being discreet.

‘Hello?’ a voice whispers from inside the door.

‘Hi, we’ve got fruit from Larry,’ Blowers says.

‘Who are you?’ the voice whispers.

‘My name is Simon Blowers. I work with Mr Howie…’

Carmen blinks at the rushed whispers rolling around the inside of the hall. ‘They won’t know who he is,’ she says.

‘Is he here with Dave?’ the voice whispers out.

‘Er, no. They’re at the fort on urgent business.’

‘What about the big one?’

‘Clarence? No, he’s with Mr Howie too.’

‘Oh. Okay. What about the one with the big boobs?’

‘Marcy? Er…right. Yeah she’s with Mr Howie too.’

‘Yeah we heard there’s the big one, the little one called Dave, this Mr Howie and the one with big boobs.’

‘Right. Sure. Yeah they’re at the fort.’

‘How do we know you work with them then? I mean anyone could say that couldn’t they.’

‘Yep. Fair point,’ Blowers says. ‘Er, we’ve got the dog? Does that help?’

‘Hang on,’ the whisperer whispers before more whispering whispers about the hall and Blowers casts a look to Carmen to see another expression of stunned disbelief.

‘This the big dog is it?’ the whisperer asks.

‘Yep, she’s right here,’ Blowers says, looking down at Meredith cocking her head over at the door and the whispers inside.

‘Hang on…’ the whisperer whispers. ‘Right, we heard they’ve got a lad with an eye-patch too…and only nine fingers, or was it nine toes?’

‘Nine fingers,’ Blowers says.

‘He says nine fingers,’ the whisperer whispers.

‘And that’s me,’ Blowers says.

‘He says it’s him,’ the whisperer whispers again. ‘How do we know it’s you?’

‘Fuck me. Do you want this fruit or not?’ Carmen asks.

‘Which one are you?’

‘I’m the one holding this bloody fruit.’

‘She’s called Carmen.’

‘Don’t tell them my name!’

‘She’s not called Carmen.’

‘Hang on, we’ll open the door. But no funny business. We’ve got guns you know…and er…attack dogs! And a er…flamethrower?’

‘Yep. Okay,’ Blowers says as the single thin bolt is slid back and the door cracks open to an unshaven man waving holding a broom handle with a steak knife tied to the end.

‘He’s got an eye-patch,’ the man whispers. ‘How many fingers have you got?’

‘Nine,’ Blowers says.

‘He says nine…’ the man says to the people behind him. ‘No, I can’t see ‘em cos he’s holding the fruit…hang on,’ he says, opening the door and coming out to take the crate from Blowers as the lad holds his hands up, showing them his injured hand. ‘Yeah, he’s got it all taped up,’ the man calls. ‘I reckon we’re safe to open the door now.’

‘Great,’ Blowers says.

‘Are you the one with big boobs?’ the man asks, trying to peer through the fruit at Carmen’s chest.

‘No,’ she says, actually thinking to lower the crate so he can see better.

‘Oh. That’s the dog though is it?’ he asks, peering at the dog as though she might not be a dog while other people start venturing out. Unshaven men and unshaven women. Children with tangled hair and all of them smelling a bit wiffy as the stale hot odour from inside the hall wafts out.

‘Ooh fruit,’ a woman says, pushing and prodding the produce in the crate held by Carmen as more come over to do the same. ‘How’s Larry?’

‘Larry’s okay,’ she replies. ‘But Barry’s dead.’

‘No, really? Larry had him in the bushes all this time too,’ the woman says as the new gossip rolls about to many tuts and sad eye rolls.

‘Mrs Millett says hi though,’ Carmen says.

‘Oh that’s good,’ the woman says, squeezing a lemon. ‘How’s Mrs Potter?’

‘Ah you know, still average,’ Carmen says as Blowers blinks at her. ‘But the Cracknell’s seemed to be having a good time.’

‘I bet they bloody are,’ the woman says with an angry tut.

‘I was meant to go to that,’ the whispering man with the steak-knife spear says. ‘We had lots.’

‘Lots?’ Blowers asks.

‘Yeah, you know, lots. To see who was going. Right old knees up they are…anyway, so what’s going on? Found a cure yet have you? What’s the government doing about it all? Not heard a dickie bird down here from anyone. Bloody awful. We sent emails to our MP, but they don’t give a shit do they.’

‘Right,’ Blowers says. ‘Er, so…I think the government has fallen, the whole country has fallen, and all the MP’s are probably dead.’

‘Were they all dressed up?’ the woman asks, squeezing a plum. ‘At Chris Cracknell’s house?’

‘Yes,’ Carmen says.

‘Knew it,’ she says with another angry tut. ‘My husband’s down there.’

‘Okay,’ Carmen says.

‘Body builder he is. Dark hair and blue eyes…did you see him?’

‘Right. Yeah, we er didn’t see much hair and eyes really. Anyway, so as my Sergeant was saying. The whole world is over and you should all go to the fort where it’s safe…’

‘Yeah we voted on it last week,’ the whispering spear holder says. ‘Majority still want to hold out here.’

‘The rest of you can go,’ Blowers says.

‘Eh son, that’s not how democracy works.’

‘But it’s really dangerous to be out here.’

‘I know I know…I’ll put that forward at the next vote.’

‘When’s that?’

‘In a week. Anyway, fancy a cuppa?’

‘No!’ Carmen and Blowers say at the same time. ‘We’re very busy,’ Carmen adds.

‘Really busy,’ Blowers says.

‘Tons to do,’ Carmen says.

‘Loads,’ Blowers says as Carmen shoves her crate of food at the woman then realises she’s still holding the gun in her hand.

‘Ooh can I have a go?’ the spear holder asks her. ‘Always wanted to shoot one of them.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Carmen replies, walking off.

‘What about the big gun?’

‘Not that either,’ she calls as Blowers waves at the people and rushes away.

‘Go to the fort,’ he calls. ‘Do not stay here.’

‘Great fence by the way,’ Carmen says, pushing a section over with one finger.

‘We didn’t want to make it look lived in,’ the spear holder explains. ‘Camouflage. You army boys should know about that. You pass it in to Mr Howie for us. And that Dave. And the big one…and the one with the big boobs.’

‘Will do,’ Blowers says.

‘And the nine-fingered lad, you tell him too.’

‘That’s me,’ Blowers says. ‘But yep, absolutely.’ He adds, rushing off and getting back into the Saxon.

‘I bloody told you,’ Carmen says as they sit down.

‘Where’s next?’ Tappy asks.

‘I know where we’re going,’ Carmen says quickly. ‘Head east. I know where to find a decent drone so we can stay away from these freaks,’ she adds while pulling her radio from her tac-vest. ‘I need to check in…what a day. Seriously, what a bloody day.’

‘This is actually very normal,’ Charlie says as Maddox and Nick watch Carmen operate her radio. Pressing buttons and reading the small screen to make the thing chirp and vibrate as though making a call.

‘Receiving, go ahead,’ Henry’s voice transmits back.

‘It’s me. Just checking in,’ Carmen says. ‘I’m not free to speak, you’re on loud-speaker.’

‘Understood. All well?’

‘Answer yes. All well. We’re heading to the drone location I mentioned earlier so we can get eyes up. That okay?’

‘As you see fit. Can they all hear me?’

‘Answer yes.’

‘H is safe and well. I repeat. H is safe and well.’

‘What’s that mean?’ Nick asks sharply.

‘No idea,’ Charlie says, seeing the equal confusion on Carmen’s face.

‘Not fully understanding your last transmission,’ Carmen says into the radio.

‘H has one of our radios. Suggest your team make contact.’

‘Will do.’

‘Maintain regular contact. Out.’

‘What was that about?’ Blowers asks.

‘H will probably be Howie, we don’t use names in transmission,’ Carmen says as the radio bleeps again with a number on the screen. ‘Right, see that?’ she says, showing it to Blowers. ‘That’s the code for the radio he’s given to Howie. I’ll call it now, then you can speak to him. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ Blowers says, thinking their own radios now look like the cheap budget ones they really are and again they watch as she keys the numbers in and presses the side to make it chirp and vibrate before passing it over to Blowers.

‘Hello? Is this working?’ Howie’s voice says through the radio.

‘Just hold the side button down and talk into it like a normal radio,’ Clarence’s voice in the background.

‘Righto. Blowers? It’s Howie. That you?’

‘Yes, boss. Loud and clear. Er, Carmen’s letting us use her radio.’

‘No names,’ Carmen says urgently, swiping her hand back and forth across her throat.

‘Er, she said no names. It’s wasn’t Carmen…it was er…’

‘Say it was Carl,’ Cookey says.

‘Carl,’ Blowers says.

‘Why can’t we use names?’ Howie asks.

‘Why can’t we use names?’ Blowers asks.

‘We don’t use names or specific locations unless vital,’ Carmen says.

‘Did you hear that?’ Blowers asks.

‘It’s highly likely that Henry and George are listening,’ Reginald says in the background. ‘We need to keep that in mind.’

‘They can’t listen,’ Carmen calls out. ‘It doesn’t work like that. This is a call from set to set, like making a phone call.’

‘Did you get that boss?’

‘Yeah, we heard it. Listen, get you, Charlie and Maddox somewhere private to talk for a minute…’

‘Carmen said not to use names,’ Marcy’s voice calls in the background.

‘Er, okay….um…Sergeant? Get C and M somewhere private, but not their C. I mean our C.’

‘How the hell are you lot still alive?’ Carmen asks.

‘I said the same thing when I joined,’ Charlie tells her.

‘And me,’ Tappy calls. ‘Am I pulling over?’

‘Yes, pull over,’ Charlie says.

‘I’ll pull over,’ Tappy says.

‘Tappy’s pulling over,’ Blowers transmits.

‘Why is Tappy driving? Not that there’s anything wrong with Tappy driving. I’m not like suggesting women shouldn’t drive or anything. It’s cool. Tell her it’s cool. I mean, er…are you okay with her driving?’

‘I’m happy. She wanted to listen to the engine and stuff…right hang on, boss. We’re just getting out,’ he says as Maddox pops the back door open and the three set off down the lane they’ve stopped in, circling together out of earshot of the Saxon. ‘Yep, we’re out and away from the vehicle.’

‘Cool. Maddox and Charlie with you?’

‘We’re here,’ Charlie says.

‘Okay. Chances are we probably are being listened to. But it doesn’t change anything. Reginald said Charlie and Maddox need to think on what I say. Got it?’

‘Got it,’ Charlie says.

‘Reggie’s told them everything. About us, who we are and what we have. Got it?’

‘Yes, got it,’ Charlie says.

‘He said you’re free to talk to Carmen now. This is the bit you need to think on, you are now our insurance policy. Understood?’

Blowers frowns, shaking his head. A look from Maddox to Charlie, both hold eye-contact and working it through.

‘Yeah yeah,’ Maddox says suddenly, speaking into the radio held by Blowers. ‘Got it. That’s understood.’

‘Maddox, it’s Reginald. Do not return unless ordered.’

‘We won’t,’ Maddox says. ‘How often do you want contact?’

‘I’d say every two hours,’ Reginald replies.

‘We’ll do that. Any other instructions?’

‘Not really, but for the benefit of anyone listening. If we do need to make use of our insurance policy, then do not hold back. Remember the army base.’

‘Got it,’ Maddox says as Blowers shrugs and pulls a face to suggest he really doesn’t understand.

‘Right, well have fun,’ Howie says. ‘We’re making cupcakes by the way. We’ll save you some, and by that, I mean we’ll eat them all. How’s things with you?’

‘All good, boss. Much better out here.’

‘Thought you’d say that. We’re bugging out of here latest tomorrow morning. But don’t come back. We’ll meet you somewhere. Take care and shout if you need us.’

‘Will do, thanks, boss.’

The call ends as Blowers and Charlie look to Maddox expectantly. ‘What did that mean?’ Charlie asks. ‘Army base?’

‘Yeah. I think that’s Reggie telling us we’re to go in hard if anything happens to them. He must have threatened them or said something to piss them all off.’

‘Fuck,’ Blowers says.

‘Okay. Got that,’ Charlie says, sharing a look with Blowers. ‘This is intense’

‘So we can tell Carmen who we are now?’ Blowers asks.

‘Yeah, that’s safe,’ Maddox says as another thought pops in his head. ‘This morning. That fight. I bet he’s used that.’

‘Used what?’ Blowers asks. ‘Fuck me, is this what the boss feels like talking to Reggie every day?’

‘The fight. That was a show of strength. That’s Reggie showing them what a few of his boys can do against a bigger force. Or, it just happened, and Reggie’s made it look like he created it and got us kicked out on purpose. Either way, we’re not going back to the fort.’

‘Happy with that,’ Blowers says. ‘Right, back on with it then. We’ll get to this drone place and give Carmen the news.’

* * *

Howie ends the call in the kitchen of the last house on the bay. The gas pipe from the back of the oven pulled out and connected to a bottle. A few eggs from Bobby, who, it turns out, values trade over loyalty. Especially when he’s passed a few bottles of spirits from the understairs cupboard. Flour, sugar and other magical ingredients sourced from Aggie and Sunnie, who also don’t give a shit about people kissing and having sex, or Henry and Neal and secrets and stupid stuff.

Now the room fills with the heavenly scent of sugary things baking while every worktop and cupboard front seems coated in flour.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Marcy says, clocking the looks on Howie’s and Paula’s faces as she uses a spoon to get at the last remnants of gooey goodness from a bowl. ‘They’ll be having a blast and flexing their muscles at Carmen.’

‘I’ll be glad when we’re out of here,’ Paula says. ‘Why don’t we just leave now and join them?’

Howie nods, thinking he’s in full agreement. ‘That’s a very viable option, but we need to know where the panacea is.’

‘Yep, and all this time Cassie’s out there building an army,’ Paula says, moving over to join Marcy in scraping the bowl. ‘and I guarantee Henry and George don’t know where the bloody cure is. If they knew they’d have got it already. All of this shit is just mind games and I hate it. It’s not our way, Howie. I’m telling you. This is not our way.’

* * *

Cassie is not building an army. Cassie is lying on a blanket in the garden of the bumfucknowhere house, bored out of her mind while pretending not to be bored out of her mind. The boy nearby drawing those freakily good pictures in a big sketch pad and Gregori sitting in a deckchair between them.

They haven’t discussed last night and the absence of any such discussion speaks volumes all by itself and makes clear that last night, or anything else to do with the thing inside the boy, will not now or ever be discussed.

‘The boy will be a boy,’ Gregori said, pointing the gun at her head when she snapped out of the hive mind thing last night. He seemed so big too. So dreadfully awful, standing over her just in his jeans with the scars and bullet holes showing clear on his naked upper body. The threat within him so clear and obvious. That sense of guardianship she detected through the infection and why it chose to manifest in this child in the first place. Because of the uglyman. Because the uglyman will kill anything to protect the child. Even his own people.

After that it got a bit crazy.

Gregori grabbed her wrist and dragged her across the garden. He went fast too. Too fast for her find her feet while her legs were still rubbery and weak. While her mind was still reeling from what she’d felt and heard.

‘Boy. Come!’ Gregori ordered and the child followed behind. Mute and watchful as Gregori pulled Cassie over the grass to the side of the house and he kept hold of her while pulling the hose out.

‘Get off,’ she cried out and tried pulling free, but the man was too strong. His grip like an iron clamp about her arm. She gasped too when the first freezing cold jet of water hit her body. Soaking her flimsy cotton top and shorts. ‘What are you doing?’ she shouted out, snatching air from the coldness making her chest tighten. Gregori didn’t answer but gripped her hard while spraying her down like a dirty dog. Rinsing the puke and piss away. Spraying her face and body then pushing her down to spray her backside and shorts. Humiliating her with his raw strength and power. She thrashed. Oh she thrashed, and in any other time she would have got free and called the police to have him arrested for domestic violence. Then she’d tell the world and victimise it for all she was worth. But those times are gone, and so all she could do was suffer it to be hosed down. To be cleansed like an animal and made to shiver in the garden. And it went on too. For long minutes and the boy watched. The thing inside seeming to have no mercy for her plight.

‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered the words out. Shivering and cold, shaking not just from this but from the hive mind connection. ‘Said I’m sorry!’ she flashed anger. Expecting him to back down. Expecting to see remorse or anything. Something. But nothing and he simply twisted the end to make the spray harder. ‘CUNT!’ she screamed out. ‘ABUSER…YOU’RE AN ABUSER…’ she shouted and screamed then choked off when the spray was directed at her mouth and gagged instead, spitting the water out and shaking from head to toe. She screamed every foul word she could think and vented every ounce of humiliated pride until her voice became rough and broken, but it didn’t stop him and then eventually, she lay down exhausted and freezing and curled up on her side. Her whole body shivering violently.

Only then did the water turn off, and she felt herself being carried inside. Her teeth chattering. Her whole body trembling. He carried her up the stairs and into the bathroom where he set about drying her from head to toe. His actions rough at first. Hard and shunting her body. Not hitting or hurting her, just angry. But he softened as he worked until he became gentle. She watched him closely. Still shivering despite being dry. Standing naked in the bathroom. Her arms pressed to her body. Her breathing coming in little gasps.

He took her hand and led her into their bedroom. The boy fast asleep in his own room. Gregori guided her to the bed and down onto the sheets then stripped his jeans off and climbed in behind her. He pulled the covers over her, wrapping her tight then cradled her in his arms. His body feeling so hot after the cold water. Her own form still shaking from head to toe.

The irony was not lost, and she thought of all the times she’d manipulated men to create situations where she could accuse them of being abused. And now it just happened. She was pinned down and hosed like a dog before being taken to bed by a fucking Neanderthal caveman. But he was warm, and she was cold and exhausted, and so she soon slept and woke to a new day where none of it was mentioned. And throughout the day, Gregori has stayed close. Never leaving her alone with the boy for more than a minute or two.

Now she lies on the blanket under the sun, thinking that her societal values are telling her that what he did was wrong, while also admitting to herself that she manipulated him first and stepped over a boundary. She broke a rule and got punished, be that right or wrong.

The biggest lesson she takes from it, however, is not the humiliation or degradation. And in truth, she doesn’t feel even a hint of spite or anger towards Gregori because he displayed neither to her.

No, the biggest lesson, and the thing she turns her mind to now, isn’t that she did something wrong, but only that she got caught doing it. Which just means she’ll have to be careful from now and so she smiles sweetly and rises to her feet. The dutiful woman crossing over to her lover. A hand on his chest as she leans down to kiss his cheek.

‘I’ll make some tea,’ she says and walks off with a lingering glance at the boy staring at her. At the thing inside his eyes watching her go, but it’s okay. Cassie can play the long game. She can be sweet and loving, and she’ll enjoy doing those things too, and pretty soon, Gregori will relax and she can start again because power like the kind the infection is offering is just too good to pass up on.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Away to the west within the great beauty of the New Forest National Park the back door of a stone-built cottage opens. A woman steps out with a small bucket in one hand and heads down the path to her chicken coop.

She looks tired. The stress of it all shows in the lines about her eyes, but she also knows she is lucky. She has chickens that produce eggs to give protein for her and her two young sons.

She ducks into the low sheds and starts plucking the fresh eggs out and such is the noise of the chickens and her own grunts at having to duck and stretch, that she does not hear the squeak of her back gate open.

She backs out, groaning at the ache in her back and heads out while taking care not to trip over and only as she secures the gate does she look up with a gasp into the face of man staring at her. A man with red eyes who hasn’t washed in weeks. A man with lank greasy hair and filth now coating his features. With every pore on his big nose seemingly black from dirt. A man with clothes hanging in scraps and tatters from his frame made lean and hard from days of solid walking. From lack of food and from an infection inside stripping the fat and making him stronger than he ever was before. And the gasp she gives is not only for him, but also for the many people standing silently behind him. Men, women and children all with red eyes.

‘Please,’ she whispers, her chest feeling like it’s being crushed. ‘Not my children…’

The man didn’t know she had children and he slowly looks from her to the open back door of the house as the tears fall from her eyes. She runs. He runs faster and she’s taken down before she reaches the house. A simple bite given to her leg and within seconds she cramps up, sucking air in as the agony grips her guts.

Less than two minutes later she stands up with red bloodshot eyes and turns her head to the open back door with the knowledge that there are two more people inside that will become hosts. She goes in and the screams sound out as the man walks on. The simple plan working. To find people. To take more hosts.

By tonight they will reach the coast, and head east and he knows, from the collective memories of the many, that the first big town they will reach tomorrow morning is Hinchley Point.

Chapter Thirty

Day Twenty-seven

A month ago, and any journey in the summer in southern England would take aeons of time. Traffic lights. Roadworks. Congestion and caravans. Horses and old people. Accidents and issues. Tailbacks stretching for miles while the masses listened to their radios and switched their minds off from the hours of their lives vanishing before them.

But this is the new world, and the traffic lights are now just inactive posts for birds to shit on and the roadworks will forever remain unfinished and the caravans will rust away until in thousands of years only the plastic will remain. Breaking down into the soil where it will mutate the lives of the creatures that come after.

This is the new world where there are no accidents and tailbacks and where each hour of life seems to count for something, and so the Saxon heads east, gobbling the road up without any stoppages at all. No flashing red crosses over lanes. No police crawling along on the inside lane. No anything.

‘Next exit off,’ Carmen calls from the back, thinking they’ve covered dozens of miles in no time at all.

It hits right then. An idea in her mind. She could find a vehicle and simply go. She could just follow the road forever more and find birds to look at. She could even go from country to country, finding the rarest of the rare and study how the cessation of humanity has impacted on birdlife. The idea is alluring indeed, but then the sense of duty rears. That she is part of a tiny team that has one scrap of knowledge about this whole thing that gives them a starting point to look for the panacea, and she has to see that through.

‘Are we following the signs for Camber?’ Tappy asks.

‘Yes,’ Carmen says. She also detects that something was said during the secret radio call that has changed the energy in here, but she doesn’t know what, and Maddox made it clear in the orchard they don’t want her asking questions. Which then means she’ll have to be sneaky and hope they slip up with comments. Or, she can offer to have sex with one of them in return for information. Oh god no. They’re all nice, but they’re so young too. She’s over thirty and the appeal just isn’t there. She knows she would do it if it was absolutely necessary, but it would have to be dire circumstances.

Mind you, that doesn’t stop her flirting though. She glances around at them, figuring who would be the best to try it with. Probably Maddox. He was invited into the secret chat which means he’s in the know with whatever’s going on. Plus, he’s made some comments that he’s not part of this. Whatever that means. He’s a bit standoffish too. Cynical and streetwise. She could use that against him. Make him feel all alpha and in charge and appear weak or vulnerable. Or, better still, make it seem that she is choosing him to be entrusted with special information because he’s obviously smarter than the others. That might work.

‘This a military place then?’ Nick asks her.

She shakes her head. ‘Just a club I know about…next left, Tappy. You’ll see a signpost for Camber airstrip.’

‘Yep, got it,’ Tappy says, slowing as they spot the big sign on the side of the road and she drives through the entrance into a wide open flat area. A grass runway off to one side. A couple of hangars on the far side and a low building with a small air-traffic control tower built on the end with windows at the top. Fields on all other sides all the way to the sea in the middle distance.

‘Do a wide loop, Tappy,’ Blowers orders. ‘Everyone switch on. This is work now.’

Bags pulled on. Straps tightened. Magazines checked and they all feel the Saxon leave the road to start bouncing over the grass. Blowers goes up through the hole to see properly, noting the hangars are open ended with a few single prop light aircraft parked up inside. A few huts here and there. A shed or two to hold tools and mowers then they start back towards the bigger long low brick-built structure with the small tower at the end and he drops back down. ‘Where’s the drone located?’

‘Main building. The tower’s on the western end. The bottom of the tower has offices. The middle section is a clubhouse and café, then the drone club rented the section on the other end. The main doors are in the middle, giving access to the clubhouse. My advice is we breach, enter and work through with systematic room clearance. Are you trained for that? I know Mo’s been working with Dave.’

‘We can,’ Blowers says, motioning Cookey and Nick. ‘Booker could but he got fat.’

‘Too much Doritos and wanking?’ Carmen asks to a few laughs and she has to mentally chastise herself for cracking banter and joining in.

‘Just like to point out I’m not actually fat,’ Booker says.

‘Said the fat bloke in the corner,’ Cookey says.

‘Tucker was the fat one. I’m the laid back chilled handsome one…’

‘Okay, moving on,’ Carmen says. ‘Not awkward at all…’ she winks to show no offence was meant then again tells herself off for pissing about.

Once more they exfil into the sunshine. A set of glass paned double doors ahead. Meredith out and sniffing. Mo craning his head to see if he feels anything as he goes forward with Carmen to the doors while everyone else fans out. Aiming at windows and staying alert.

‘We smashing in?’ Mo asks, already looking for ways to snap locks or break windows.

‘No need,’ Carmen says, taking a key from a pocket and unlocking the door as an internal alarm bleeps quietly.

‘Is there power?’ Blowers asks.

‘Yep,’ she rushes inside, weapon up and keys the code into the alarm pad. ‘It’s only emergency power fed from generators.’

‘Nice,’ Blowers says quietly, clocking the undisturbed dust on the floor. ‘I don’t think anyone’s been in.’

‘We should check it anyway,’ she says, nodding at Mo to go through the next set of doors into the clubhouse proper. Rifles up and aiming. Blowers, Nick and Cookey sweeping in after them and holding position while Mo and Carmen go forward with Meredith. Through the big main room to the kitchen and store rooms. To the toilets then out to the offices at the base of the tower and the three lads hold in a staggered line while Mo and Carmen go up to check the circular tower room.

‘Clear,’ Mo says, going by and back down the other way while Danny waits outside with the others, wishing he could do room clearance too.

Another set of the doors at the far end and another key used by Carmen to unlock and push them open before she takes a deep breath and steps through into a place she knows so well. A pang of pain inside at the familiar smells coming back. The sofas and armchairs at one end around a television and coffee table. The posters on the walls. The long workbenches on all the other walls where they stripped and built drones. The coats on hooks. Old bags and wellies. The fridge tucked under the side and the sink at the end next to the stained worktop filled with old mugs and boxes of teabags.

‘Clear,’ Mo says, relaxing as he looks about. ‘You’s okay?’ he asks, seeing Carmen’s expression.

‘I’m okay,’ she says quietly. ‘Bit of me hoped they’d be here.’

‘Who? The drone people?’ Mo asks.

‘Yeah. I er…I used to hang out here.’

‘You hung out here?’ Blowers asks as the others start filing inside.

‘What was that?’ Charlie asks.

‘Carmen was hanging out here,’ Mo says.

‘Really?’ Charlie says, not quiet believing it.

‘On the wall,’ Carmen says, nodding down at the rec area and the sofas and armchairs. A weird sensation inside. Carmen never had family. The closest she ever had was Henry and Frank and her team. She’s killed too. Many, many times over. She’s been to war. Spied and murdered. Assassinated and lied. She’s seduced men for her country and done awful things for the greater good, but that was work, and this where she came when she needed time out. This and bird-watching.

‘Oh my god,’ Charlie says, blinking at the old polaroid pictures and printed digital images pinned to the wall. ‘It’s Carmen…look…’

The others crowd in, looking at the pictures of Carmen smiling within a group of beardy guys in anoraks and cardigans. Big heavy men with bellies holding rabbit ear fingers behind her head. She looks so smiley too, and so bloody out of place. The only woman within the pictures and a very attractive one at that. ‘Henry doesn’t know,’ she says quietly, making them all look from the wall to her. ‘About the pictures. We’re not allowed to have our images on display anywhere.’

‘We won’t say nothin,’ Mo says. ‘You’s all smiley and laughing…what’s that one?’ he asks.

‘Which one?’ she goes closer to see. ‘Ah that was from our Lord of the Rings night. We watched the movies and ate pizza…not all the movies. You’d need a week for all of them…but this guy,’ she says, pointing at one heavy set man with a thick black beard. ‘Terry, the sweetest human being I have ever met in my life. So intelligent too, but not braggy. He just knew everything. He got offered a job by NASA but turned it down so he could look after his mum. We kept saying he needed to do one of the telly quizzes for big money, but he was too shy. And that one, that’s Albert. So funny. Makes me think of you a bit, Cookey. Just flows from him non-stop. Oh and that’s Lupi, he’s Polish, he was best mates with Ali, that Indian man. Such a nice guy…they all are…or were,’ she adds quietly.

‘Did they know what you did?’ Charlie asks.

‘No. I had to lie. They thought I worked an admin job in London. They were so protective too, but in a really nerdy way. We’d be in the bar having drinks and the odd pilot or wanker would come over and try and chat me up. They’d all cram in and start talking about engineering things, like full on gobbledegook and loud too. And if that didn’t work, they’d ask really hard flying questions until they buggered off.’

‘I can’t believe you’re into drones,’ Tappy says.

‘I’m not,’ she laughs. ‘I don’t know the first thing about them. Henry sent me here to scout it out. I’ll show you in a minute, but these guys were making incredible stuff and Henry thought we might be able to cultivate them and get early tech, and I just kind of stayed really. Honestly, they were all so nice and not one of them ever made a pass or even a comment. You two are pretty,’ she says, looking from Charlie to Tappy. ‘You know when you walk into a room full of men…like a bar or a club, or a gym full of twats in vests.’

‘Oh god yes,’ Charlie says with a look of distaste.

‘Chests puffing up,’ Tappy says.

‘Never happened once in here. I walked in the first time and you know, I made an effort with my appearance, but they were testing a new drone engine and didn’t even look at me. Seriously, I could have walked in naked and they’d just tell me to put the kettle on. But not in a bad way. Not sexist. Whoever walked in had to put the kettle on. It was like that. So I just kind of started hanging out and they never once questioned it. Plus, we are right on the route for migratory swallows. Look, see that picture,’ she says proudly, pointing at a page from a glossy magazine pinned up showing an orange faced bird with blue and white plumage sitting on a fence post. ‘I took that just outside. I got Terry to send it in for me.’

Another sigh with another pang of pain inside that everyone else now recognises from feeling the same thing. That remembering of what was before. Of what has been lost and will never come back. The connections in life taken for granted now gone forever. Carmen figured she’d have time to tell them to get supplies and hunker down. She was going to break the rules and tell them. But it came too soon, and now it’s too late.

‘It’s lovely, Carmen,’ Charlie says. ‘Really lovely and it feels very homely here.’

‘Really nice,’ Cookey says earnestly, looking about. ‘Like a den.’

‘That’s what they called it,’ Carmen says with a smile. ‘The drone den. Anyway, we’re not here for sad stories...’

She heads down the end of the room past the workbenches piled with tools and drawings. Schematic plans and calculations pinned to the wall that Nick notices, pausing to lean in with his lips moving as though he’s reading without sound coming out. His fingers twitching a little. ‘Jesus,’ he whispers.

‘What are you looking at?’ Tappy asks.

‘This,’ he says, running his eyes over the plans. ‘It’s amazing…they’ve combined a combustion engine with battery power. No way…and that’s cellular tech they’ve put inside too. Holy shit this is good…’

Silence from everyone else staring at a blob of lines and numbers with weird markings. ‘Can you actually read that?’ Tappy asks, staring at him and not the plans.

He nods while his mouth does that thing again, moving without sound. His eyes more alive than she’s ever seen before.

‘I’ve got to see it,’ he says, pulling back to look at Carmen. ‘Is it here?’

She nods and heads down to another door with a numbered keypad and presses the buttons while feeling like she wants to cry. A lump in her throat. Tears welling in her eyes. She blinks them away, forcing that professional calmness back into her gut and opens the door wide.

‘Fuck me,’ Nick says in awe when he spots it resting on the floor inside the store room. ‘Holy fuck…fucking fuck…I mean…fuck.’ It’s big too with four sets of blades protected by mesh guards. Long and wide with a lightweight metal frame holding the plastic sections together. Everything painted white, but with sharpie markings and notes etched on here and there. A cradle underneath and a grab arm hanging down while it sits on a curved frame angled like helicopter runners.

‘I know right,’ Carmen says, her voice low and husky while feeling a surge of pride inside that makes the lump come back in her throat and the tears sting her eyes again. ‘The whole thing is custom built…and er, it can carry a payload too,’ she clears her throat to rid the emotions as the others pretend not to notice. ‘Anyway. So yes. There it is…’ she wipes a cheek and coughs again. Feeling ashamed and stupid. Feeling many things but most of all feeling wretched for not warning them when she had the chance.

‘How far will it go?’ Blowers asks.

‘I’m not sure,’ she replies.

‘It’s only limited by the fuel and power,’ Nick says.

‘What about the feedback signal?’ Blowers asks.

‘No mate, it’s not like that…what they’ve done is…it’s nuts really. Seriously. Like off the chart. They’ve put cellular tech in it…so like, Carmen’s radio isn’t using radio waves. It’s not transmitting like ours do. That’s what she was saying when you spoke to the boss. Her radio is probably encrypted and bouncing off satellites the same way mobile phones do.’

‘Phones aren’t working,’ Charlie says.

‘Phones are working, but the satellites aren’t, um, but they kind of are,’ Nick says. ‘So like, commercial low orbit satellites need people to operate them…kind of, to stop them being pulled back to earth cos of the gravitational pull right? But military satellites are higher, and they’re designed to keep going. Which means Carmen’s radio system is still using satellites that are in use…which could mean either that the satellites are on a pre-programmed pattern and don’t need intervention, or there’s people somewhere pressing buttons and shit to keep them going.’

‘Okay,’ Blowers says, looking from Nick to Carmen then down to the drone. ‘What’s that got to with the drone?’

‘And how the fuck do you know all that from looking at it?’ Cookey asks.

‘I read the plans bellend, and they’ve put that cellular tech inside. The controller isn’t working on a radio signal. No, it is, I mean they can use radio signals, or they can switch to cellular tech. So they’re not communicating directly with the drone but to a satellite that’s feeding the signal back down to a receiver. That should mean it goes a lot further.’ He pauses to look back down at it. ‘It’s definitely not a toy,’ he adds, making Carmen smile again.

‘They thought it was,’ she says with a fond memory.

‘Has it got a camera?’ Blowers asks.

She nods, thinking back to just being here and listening to the endless conversations about the lenses and what sort of kit they should pack in it. ‘Night vision and a very good zoom, that was my contribution. The lens I mean. I said I had a mate working in the military who could get decent lenses, but I just nicked one from this research place Frank and I went to.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ Nick says.

‘Well, I wouldn’t call it beautiful,’ Carmen says. ‘There is one snag, however,’ she says as they look at her. ‘I haven’t got a clue how to fly it.’

‘On you, Nicholas,’ Blowers says, clapping him on the back. ‘Just don’t crash it.’

‘Or set it on fire,’ Cookey adds. ‘Nick sets things on fire,’ he tells everyone else.

‘It was one ferry and it was one time,’ Nick says. ‘Er, Carmen. You sure you’re okay with us using it?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Cos you look really upset.’

‘I’m fine,’ she says a little too sharply.

‘I mean, like, it’s cool if you don’t want us to touch it. We can find a DJI or something.’

‘I’m fine. It’s just a tool,’ she says, wishing she didn’t sound quite so defensive. ‘Stop looking at me like that. It’s fine. Use it. They’d get a huge kick thinking it was being used to spot zombies,’ she pauses again, looking at them. ‘They were zombie addicts…Walking Dead, Evil Dead, Night of the Living Dead…anything with dead in the name.’

‘I love zombie films,’ Danny says, making everyone turn to look at him.

‘Never really did it for me,’ Charlie says.

‘I liked them when I was stoned,’ Tappy adds.

‘Everything’s nice when you’re stoned,’ Booker says.

‘What, like Doritos and wanking?’

‘Fuck’s sake, Cookey. Wearing thin now.’

‘Unlike you, fatty.’

‘Fuck off!’ Booker snaps, bursting out laughing.

‘Hey, do you know what we could do?’ Cookey asks. ‘We could tie a bag of Doritos to the drone and get Booker running after it…’

‘Mate!’ Booker says, trying to look offended while still laughing.

‘He’d be wanking as he’s running after it,’ Tappy adds.

‘Fuck off,’ Booker says, waving a hand and moving away. ‘Is that kettle working?’

‘Dunno,’ Blowers says. ‘Try it and make everyone a brew.’

‘There’s not enough mugs.’

‘There’s a clubhouse full of mugs through there,’ Blowers says, pointing back through the doors. ‘Danny and Mo, get up into that tower and keep eyes on while we sort this out. We’ll bring a drink up for you. Nick, what do you need?’

‘Fuck knows, I was going to suck it and see.’

‘We heard you like sucking,’ Cookey says. ‘Tappy told us…ow! That fucking hurt, Nicholas,’ he says, rubbing his arm from the punch as Carmen opens the fire exit door leading out into the glorious sunshine.

Nick sets to work. Everyone else waits nearby, thinking they should help, but really just getting in the way as Nick bustles back and forth.

Coffees made. Cigarettes lit. Danny and Mo upstairs in the traffic control tower, perched on desks and using binoculars to look at things. Snacks found in the store room taken up for them to eat and handed out for everyone else. Meredith lying in the shade next to a bowl of water.

Carmen notices the quiet comments passing between Maddox, Charlie and Blowers while pretending not to show interest. Watching Nick and thinking on how to start paying attention to Maddox when the three of them walk over. All giving energy off as though they have something to say. ‘You okay?’ she asks.

‘Mr Howie has told us what we can tell you,’ Charlie says.

‘Great,’ Carmen replies, sipping from her mug while enjoying the sunshine. Ten minutes later and the undrunk coffee mug remains in her hands while Charlie comes to a finish.

‘And that’s it,’ Charlie says. ‘That’s all we know. We are infected. We are most likely contagious, but what we have can only be taken in by people with the same genetic structure as us. And if what we have posed a threat then there’d be no fort and you’d already be dead.’

‘Fuck yes!’ Nick says, looking up from the drone with a big grin. ‘Who’s a fucking genius?’

‘You are,’ Charlie says before turning back to Carmen. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ she says, thinking she really isn’t fine. This is not what they planned at all. This is not what Henry said would be happening. ‘How did you get infected?’

‘We really don’t know,’ Charlie says. ‘Reginald has theories, but, they’re just theories.’

‘Starting her up,’ Nick calls.

‘Okay,’ Charlie calls back. ‘Honestly, feel free to contact Mr Howie or Henry if you want. We’re not holding anything back.’

‘Listen to that!’ Nick exclaims when the four propellers whir to life.

‘That’s great,’ Charlie says, turning back to Carmen. ‘Our primary objective has always been to find the source of the infection. We know it’s evolving, and we know we have to either stop it, or slow it down enough to buy time to find the cure. We just need to know where to look. We’re not interested in the fort.’

‘We fucking hate the fort,’ Blowers adds.

‘I’m not infected,’ Maddox says. ‘I’m on the list Neal had. I’m immune, but even I hate the fort. Trust me, they just need the starting point.’

‘I think I’ve got it,’ Nick calls.

‘Great!’ Charlie says, turning once more back to Carmen. ‘What would you like to do?’

‘Do?’ Carmen asks.

‘Um, so it’s flying,’ Nick says as they all turn to see the drone hovering off the ground then back to Carmen.

‘We can drop you back at the fort, or help you find a vehicle,’ Charlie says.

‘What for?’ Carmen asks, struggling a little with the influx of information.

‘Well your mission is now complete. You don’t need to spy on us,’ Charlie says.

‘Guys! Fuck’s sake. This is the best drone ever in the world ever and you’re all talking about that fucking fort again,’ Nick snaps, the controller hanging from a strap about his neck.

‘Sorry!’ Charlie says, turning back to Nick. ‘Shall we talk in a minute?’ she asks Carmen.

‘Er, sure. Yeah. That’s fine,’ she says.

‘Tappy?’ Nick calls.

‘Yes, my lover?’

‘Not even funny. Can you all just take this seriously. I don’t think you get how cool this thing is.’

‘Sorry,’ Tappy says. ‘What do you want?’

‘Grab that tablet and turn it on,’ he says as she picks up a large flat screen tablet and activates it to life.

‘Oh wow,’ she says as the image comes on with a crystal clear pin sharp display of the ground beneath the drone. ‘Jesus, that is good,’ she adds while the others crowd in.

‘Right. We’re going higher,’ a very excited Nick says. ‘Ready?’

The drone rises fast. The engine thrumming a little louder and the whir from the blades sounding faster as it swooshes up while the image on the screen shows them all dropping away.

‘I’m in love,’ Nick mutters.

‘Aw, honey,’ Tappy replies.

‘With the drone.’

‘I know. I’m teasing you. Sheesh, get a room with it.’

‘I actually would. If it had a vagina.’

‘Nick!’ Charlie says as the others laugh.

‘Might be a boy drone,’ Cookey says.

‘Would not stop me,’ Nick says.

‘It’s not a boy drone,’ Carmen says. ‘We had a whole evening dedicated to that discussion. Terry said she’s a girl because she’s beautiful, mysterious and very temperamental. Then he felt really bad for saying something sexist and kept saying sorry to me all night. He even wrote a letter expressing his sincere apologies.’

‘That’s so nice,’ Tappy says. ‘Nobody writes letters anymore. It’s just text messages, alright babes! Watcha doin’ hun?’

‘The drone!’ Nick says with a huff.

‘Yes! We’re watching it,’ Tappy says back. ‘It’s awesome.’

‘I thought you liked stuff like this?’ Charlie asks her.

‘Oily engines are my bag. And driving. And hot moody men sulking about drones.’

‘Tappy!’

‘Focus,’ Blowers says, ending the jokes. ‘Nick. Bring her down, we’ll go up into the tower and drive it from there.’

Drone down. Into the building and through the clubhouse, snagging more snacks and bottles of fizzy drink and juices from the bar then up the stairs to Danny and Mo using binoculars to stare out the window. ‘Carmen, we’ve got a bird,’ Mo says.

‘Really?’ she asks, rushing over.

‘Over there,’ Mo says, handing her the binoculars. ‘It’s right on the cliff edge…see it? Big wild looking white thing. S’gotta be rare.’

‘The white one with the big beak?’

‘Yeah yeah,’ he says eagerly. ‘What is it?’

‘That’s a seagull, Mo.’

‘Cool,’ he says. ‘Like a rare one?’

‘Er, maybe, along with the other twenty billion.’

‘Mo’s not infected the same as the rest of us,’ Cookey says. ‘He’s got twat disease.’

‘Shush yeah,’ Mo says quickly, nodding sideways at Carmen.

‘I know, Mo,’ she says.

‘She knows, Mo,’ Cookey says.

‘She knows what?’ Mo asks very innocently.

‘About you being infected,’ she says, giving him a look.

‘I ain’t infected,’ he says sincerely. ‘Just like…lucky innit.’

‘She knows, Mo,’ Blowers says.

Mo nods, looking at the others then back to Carmen. ‘This like a test?’

‘Yeah, well done, you passed,’ Blowers says. ‘Nick, you ready?’

‘Is Mo Mo innit,’ Mo says to Carmen. ‘I ain’t givin’ no secrets away, you get me.’

‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Do you want your binos back?’

‘Nah, it’s good. You can watch the rare seabirdgull with them.’

‘Thanks,’ she says with big smile, figuring that might be the best and only response right now as Nick gets to the window to look down at his now beloved drone.

‘Okay, silence please,’ Nick calls into the silent room. ‘I need silence.’

‘Um, I think you have it, Nick,’ Charlie says. ‘But everyone be quiet please.’

‘And we’re prepping for launch,’ Nick says, very seriously as the others share looks and shrugs. ‘Countdown in ten…nine…’

‘Are we going to the moon?’

‘Tappy! Fuck’s sake. This drone is so cool.’

‘Okay, Nick. Lighten up. Go for it.’

‘I’ve lost my count now.’

‘Yeah cos zero to ten is so hard,’ Cookey says.

‘Fuck me. Right. I’m just fucking launching it then,’ he says pushing a lever on the controller as the drone swooshes past the window. ‘See, you missed it going up now for being twats. Report on the obs please?’

‘Does he mean me?’ Tappy asks, looking about. ‘Do you mean me?’

‘I fucking hate you all. I wish Roy was here. He’d love this. We’d be like downstairs in our own room taking it seriously.’

‘You’d be in a room giving it to Roy seriously?’ Cookey asks, setting them off.

‘It’s fine, Nick,’ Tappy says, seeing him struggling with the banter. His mood still obviously somewhat delicate and she motions to the others, mouthing at them to leave him alone. Not that she needs to given the view coming over the screen. The tablet is big too. 15 inches of perfect edge to edge display that has them all falling quiet just to simply watch it.

‘How do you make the camera move?’ Blowers asks.

‘It’s touch screen,’ Carmen says, leaning in to run a fingertip over the screen, making the camera angle track her motion. ‘Zoom in, zoom out, and double tap this side to bring the tools up.’

Nick watches the small screen on his controller to aid flight and time passes as they watch the world beneath them gliding by. Open countryside and black-topped roads. Trees and hedges. Houses and villages. A red phone box stark on a country lane. Rivers and streams. Horses and cattle grazing. Sheep munching grass on a long sloping hillside.

They drink juice and sugary sodas and open snack food or munch apples from their crate of fruit as Blowers guides Nick to lower the drone over villages and hamlets, sweeping down through the streets to look for infected as the signal starts to break up. The screen crackling with lines.

‘Switching to cellular. Standby,’ Nick announces, still very seriously. A simple button on the controller and the screen goes blank for one very alarming second then comes back as clear and perfect as it was before. ‘This is something else,’ Nick murmurs.

‘Beats delivering fruit,’ Carmen says. ‘Actually, we’re not far off that village,’ she adds with a look to Blowers. ‘Shall we?’ she says with a dip of her head at the screen.

‘Fuck it,’ Blowers grins. ‘Nick, go down into the next village…we’ll see if Mr Cracknell is enjoying his fruit.’

‘Roger that,’ Nick says, gliding the drone down through the air to swoosh into the village. The nimble drone taking corners and turns as it zips along past the village hall and the fence still pushed over. Down the street and along to Mr Cracknell’s house and it flies up and over the roof and down into the rear garden, turning slowly as they look at Mr Cracknell’s shed, then his washing lines, then his ornamental gnomes by his pond as the drone heads towards the big open patio doors at the back of the house and a room filled with people as every set of eyes in the tower widen with heads cocking over.

‘He is enjoying the fruit,’ Carmen murmurs. ‘Especially that banana.’

‘It’s a fucking orgy,’ Cookey says, blinking from the screen to Blowers. ‘You were in an orgy?’

‘What? No! They weren’t orgying when we were there you knob.’

‘I really want to look away, but I can’t,’ Charlie says. ‘Is that a sailor?’

‘Looks like it,’ Cookey says, peering closer. ‘Zoom in.’

‘I’m not zooming in,’ Tappy says.

‘Zoom in,’ Cookey urges, leaning over to swipe the screen.

‘You want me to go in?’ Nick asks.

‘Eh? No!’ Tappy says as Cookey swipes the screen which makes the camera spin.

‘I can’t fucking see,’ Nick shouts.

‘Shit, get it back to normal,’ Blowers orders as Cookey and Tappy try and use the screen at the same time.

‘You need to reset it,’ Carmen says, trying to swat their hands away.

‘Can’t fucking see!’ Nick shouts as the screen fills with split seconds views of boobs and bums and sweaty faces and a whole lot of PVC.

‘Oh my god, we’re inside,’ Tappy shouts. ‘Nick, get it out!’

‘I can’t fucking see,’ he shouts again.

‘Reset it,’ Carmen says. ‘Get off and let me do it…double tap the top right…’ she clicks it twice, making the lens snap about to face forward while the drone spins and turns with Nick trying to keep control as a very big man in a gimp mask looms into view then falls back from the drone twatting him in the face.

‘Oh shit!’ Blowers says. ‘You hit the gimp.’

‘Fuck, which way’s out?’ Nick yells, turning the drone inside the room and smashing the front end into a set of hairy buttocks going up and down. ‘Argh!’ he pulls back and hits the gimp again as he tries to rise then bounces off into the sailor then around into the soldier as the room erupts with angry sweaty people in PVC trying to catch the drone.

‘Door!’ Blowers shouts as the drone spins around and flies backwards with the orgy attendees rushing out after it with lubricated fists waggling in the air and strap-on dildos bouncing about. Back down the garden as the gimp grabs an ornamental gnome and launches it at the drone.

‘GO UP!’ Carmen shouts.

‘Angry gimp!’ Cookey shouts as the cardinal falls into the fish pond.

‘GET IT UP!’ Carmen orders.

‘That’s what the gimp said,’ Cookey quips, setting them all off as the drone soars up and away.

‘Jesus,’ Blowers says. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Can’t believe our Sergeant Blowers was orgying away while we were outside,’ Cookey tells everyone.

‘I wasn’t bloody orgying.’

‘Well, the dog did lick the dildo,’ Carmen says. ‘Does that count?’

‘Urgh, she gave me a kiss when she got back in,’ Mo says, yacking and bending over to rub his lips. ‘I kissed a dildo.’

‘Why are you letting the dog kiss you?’ Charlie asks. ‘She eats dicks.’

‘She eats dicks?’ Carmen asks.

‘She’s a dick eating dildo licking dog,’ Blowers says. ‘You’ll be fine, Mo. We’re infected so we can’t catch anything.’

‘We’s not infected,’ Mo says suddenly, standing straight and looking at Carmen.

‘She knows!’ Blowers says.

‘Knows we’re not infected,’ Mo says, nodding slowly as though he scored a point.

‘Swallow!’ Danny says, pointing at the window ledge outside.

‘That’s a pigeon, Danny,’ Carmen says. ‘Oh wow,’ she says again as they all look to the screen to see the drone now very high and still rising.

‘Oh my word, that is high,’ Charlie says. ‘Can see for miles.’

‘I love this drone,’ Nick says.

‘That’s breath-taking,’ Tappy says.

It is too. The lie of the land now so clear below them. High enough to see for miles while low enough to still see detail and again they fall silent to simply watch as Nick flies on.

Carmen frowns, the jokes now stopped, and she thinks back to the first night it happened and how crazed it was. ‘Where are they?’ she asks quietly.

‘The infected?’ Charlie asks. ‘It’s hard to say.’

‘I haven’t seen any. Other than Barry, but…we thought they would be everywhere.’

‘They were,’ Blowers says without any trace of humour.

‘How many have you killed?’ she asks.

‘Again, it’s impossible to say,’ Charlie says. ‘But er, I think we could be confident in saying it’s well in excess of one hundred thousand.’

‘Are you fucking joking. Tell me you’re joking,’ Carmen says, blinking at them and thinking it cannot be possible. They just flew a drone into an orgy. There’s no way they’ve killed a hundred thousand or more.

‘We took about a thousand down in Salisbury,’ Blowers says. ‘Then it was like that every day after. Town after town. London…back to the fort. That big battle…’

‘The car park,’ Cookey says. ‘That was a big one.’

‘The ten thousand in the square,’ Charlie says. ‘That was a whole day of running battles really. The ten thousand was just at the end.’

‘Sure,’ Carmen says, shaking her head as she looks back at the screen. They’re nice people, and they seem genuine, and that whole being infected thing does make sense, but bragging about killing over one hundred thousand is a bit much.

‘Might even be closer to two hundred thousand,’ Charlie adds after a minute of thinking.

‘Why not make it three,’ Carmen murmurs.

‘Nick, go down into that big town,’ Charlie orders as Nick starts the descent. ‘This was one of ours,’ she tells Carmen.

‘One of yours?’ Carmen asks.

‘Just look,’ Charlie says, and Carmen does just that. Watching the screen as the drone drops lower and lower until it’s once more into the streets and the view is instant. The road covered in bodies. The most Carmen has ever seen in one place in her life. A sight to see that will forever be seared into her mind. Mangled corpses now days old. Festering wounds writhing with maggots. Fat rats emerging from bloated bodies. White bones showing through skin. Entrails strewn about. Detached limbs and heads and it goes on too. She spots the bullet casings littering the ground that show the running retreat as they collapsed to the town centre then the lie of the bodies all angled in. That’s where the bodies stop looking shot and start looking chopped and sliced. Stabbed and broken. Teeth marks on throats. Horse hoof marks on heads. Throats cut open. Bodies cleaved apart by axes and she can see the very epi-centre of the battle too. They must have been back to back by that point. Then the drone follows the egress route the Saxon and van must have taken out from the squished bodies marking the path until the drone lifts and rises back into the sky.

‘Believe us or don’t,’ Charlie says. ‘We just want the panacea before those hosts start working out how to pick weapons up.’

Carmen stays silent. She saw it, but her mind cannot accept what she saw, because it is just not possible. A few minutes later and the drone lowers to swoosh through another village and the same sight. The roads littered with bodies. Up and away then down again. More bodies. The same thing for miles. That’s why there’s no infected here. ‘You’ve cleared them out,’ she says.

‘We haven’t,’ Charlie says. ‘They will be massing somewhere. We need the panacea, Carmen.’

‘Don’t ask me. I don’t know,’ she says quickly.

‘You were there with Neal, in the research facility.’

‘Charlie, I don’t know,’ Carmen says.

‘You can see what we’re up against, Carmen. If we can get the panacea out, then we can get more people fighting back before it’s too late.’

‘I said I don’t know!’

‘You do know. You know where we can look first. Just tell us that. I promise you; we won’t tell Henry. We’re not interested in anything about those things. We just want the panacea.’

‘So do we! That’s our mission. That’s why we bedded down…’ she snaps off, furious with herself for even saying that. ‘We need to stop this conversation.’

‘Please, Carmen.’

‘Charlie! I can’t. You have to respect that.’

‘What, like you respected us?’ Maddox asks. ‘You were looking at us to see which one to start working on. And I know you figured it would be me yeah. You heard me saying I’m not part of this. Just tell us where the panacea is. We’re already safe. They can’t get infected again and I’m immune…’

‘Mads, come on. Leave it please,’ Carmen says.

‘Don’t Mads me. I don’t know you bruv. Fucking people are dying, you get me.’

‘Okay, ease it down,’ Blowers says. ‘Carmen’s not our enemy. The boss and Reggie will figure it out. It’s cool. Okay? That’s not our way. Mads?’

He sucks air, scowling for a second then nodding at Carmen. ‘Fair one. My apologies.’

‘Me too,’ Charlie says. ‘I didn’t mean to push you.’

‘It’s okay,’ Carmen says. ‘I’m sorry…’

‘It’s cool,’ Blowers says. ‘Don’t sweat it. Thank you for the drone.’

‘When you lot have finished arguing,’ Nick says. ‘Look at the screen…how’s that for a view?’

‘Fuck me,’ Tappy says. ‘Is that the fort?’

‘It is,’ Blowers says, seeing it in the distance from the drone rising so high. ‘That thing’s got some serious range on it… what’s up with you?’ he asks as Cookey springs up to his feet.

‘Best idea ever,’ Cookey yells running for the door. ‘Nick, bring the drone back. Seriously, best idea ever…FACT!’

* * *

‘Boss, it’s Blowers. Are you receiving?’ Blowers transmits into Carmen’s radio a short while later.

‘Yep, loud and clear mate. You all okay?’

‘All good. We’re at Camber airstrip up the coast. Everything okay there?’

‘We’re all pissing loads from drinking too much tea. But nothing other than that.’

‘Roger that. We told Carmen everything.’

‘Okay. Was she alright?’

‘Yeah, seemed fine. Bit surprised…er, are you all in the house?’

‘We are. Well, Roy’s playing doctors and nurses again on the beach. And I wish I hadn’t said that from the look Paula is now giving me. Why?’

‘No reason. Er…can you all go into the garden.’

‘You want us to go into the garden?’

‘Yes. Go into the garden.’

‘He wants us to go into the garden. Paula wants to know why we’re going into the garden. Yes, I just asked him, Paula. We’re in the garden…hang on, is that a drone? Up there…Blowers, hang on mate. Someone’s buzzing us with a drone. Probably some twat from the camp…Dave, can you shoot it down?’

‘No! Don’t let Dave shoot it.’

‘What’s that mate?’

‘DO NOT LET DAVE SHOOT THE DRONE.’

‘I think he said don’t shoot the drone…hang on, it’s coming lower…Dave, get ready. It might be a zombie drone.’

‘It’s not a zombie drone,’ Blowers transmits.

‘What’s that on the bottom? Like a poky out thing…it’s getting really close now.’

‘Mr Howie, can you ask Dave to stop aiming at the drone, please,’ Blowers says as they all stare at Dave aiming his rifle at the drone.

‘How the fuck can you see that? Oh I get it. Are you flying the drone? Mate! That’s brilliant. Great drone too. Sounds like a combustion engine…and the range must be immense.’

‘See. Mr Howie gets how cool it is,’ Nick mutters.

‘Mr Howie gets how cool it is,’ Cookey mimics.

‘Look on the bottom of the drone,’ Blowers transmits, watching the screen and seeing Marcy, Paula, Clarence and Reginald all smiling up at them. And Dave still aiming his rifle. Howie comes forward as the drone lowers and reaches up to pluck something free and frowns as he looks at it then bursts out laughing as everyone in the tower grins and chuckles.

‘What is it?’ Paula asks as Howie comes back to show them the polaroid photograph taken after Cookey had his best idea ever. Running off to grab the camera from the drone store room and coming back while Nick returned the drone to base.

‘Love it,’ Blowers said as Cookey found somewhere to perch the camera and started setting it on timer. ‘Everyone crowd in…big smiles…’ he ordered as the others rushed in.

‘I can take the picture,’ Carmen said.

‘No, be in it,’ Charlie said, waving her over.

‘I’m not being in the picture,’ Carmen said.

‘Carmen! Be in the picture,’ Tappy called.

‘I’m really not,’ she said seriously.

‘How the hell did they get Carmen into the picture?’ Paula asks, laughing at the image of them all grinning and crammed in. Carmen front centre, arms folded and clearly smiling while trying not to. Cookey doing rabbit ears over the back of her head. Mo Mo and Danny striking macho man poses. Blowers grinning. Tappy pulling a face. Charlie laughing. Nick smiling with the drone controller still strapped to his neck. Meredith sitting next to Carmen. Her big tongue hanging out and Maddox trying to look cool and suave and not part of it all. His muscular arms folded, and one eyebrow arched while Booker sucks his belly in and grins widely. ‘I love it,’ Paula says then leans over to Howie holding the radio. ‘I love it!’ she transmits.

‘She loves it,’ Tappy says.

‘Knew that would make her smile,’ Cookey says.

‘Ooh hang on,’ Marcy calls.

‘Marcy said hang on,’ Howie transmits. ‘Loving this picture. Thank you! Can’t believe you got Carmen into it.’

‘We forced her at gunpoint,’ Blowers replies.

‘Any sign of massing anywhere?’

‘No, boss. Nothing for miles.’

‘That’s worrying.’

‘That’s what Charlie said.’

‘Hang on, mate. Marcy’s coming back…’

They watch the screen and listen to the faint conversation as Marcy holds a plastic carrier bag and points at the drone.

‘How much can that thing carry?’ Howie asks.

‘Boss, it’s Nick. Try it and see. Just be ready to take it off if I can’t get it up…’

‘He got it up last night,’ Tappy calls to a chorus of laughs as Nick tuts and huffs again.

‘Trying it now,’ Howie says, reaching up to hook the bag straps onto the grab arm beneath the drone and he slowly lets go as the drone starts sinking while Nick gives more thrust, bringing it back up. ‘Perfect,’ Howie transmits. ‘Right. Bugger off and have fun. Call again in two hours, but you might as well find somewhere to bed in for the night.’

‘Will do. Thanks, boss,’ Blowers transmits back as the drone rises and the call ends.

‘I can see it,’ Danny shouts a few minutes later, scanning the sky with binoculars and they rush downstairs and out onto the grass as the afternoon grows late, giving way to evening and the drone comes in. The plastic bag swinging about underneath, lowering down with Blowers unhooking it before Nick lands the drone and switches it off.

‘What is it?’ Tappy asks as Blowers unties the top to look in. ‘Cupcakes!’

Chapter Thirty-One

‘Receiving you. Go ahead,’ Henry transmits as Carmen stands away from the tower out on the grass on her own.

‘It’s me. Checking in.’

‘Roger that. All well?’

‘Answer yes,’ she transmits back. ‘I have been fully updated as to the situation.’

‘Understood. We’re working on that subject now. Discussions are in hand.’

‘Roger. In case you saw the drone earlier, that was a test run from my location. The items brought from your location were cupcakes to test payload capacity.’

‘Understood. Standby and maintain position. Suggest remain overnight and we will reassess at dawn. Unless you have a wish to return of course. In which case act under your own volition.’

‘Understood,’ she replies, thinking Henry just gave her a get out. She can leave them if she wants and return to the fort.

‘Anything further?’ Henry asks.

‘Negative.’

‘Roger out. Over and out.

The call ends and she pushes the radio back into her tac-vest and rests her hands on the top of her rifle still strapped to the front. The air warm and sultry. The light fading as the night starts chasing the day away. What does she do?

She thinks to head back, but then realises she’ll be spending the night with just Frank to talk to. She loves Frank. She loves Frank more than anyone else in the world, but it is nice having a group about her and lively chat going on. Even if it is dick jokes and mickey taking. But they’re not spiteful though. Far from it. They’re very close. Especially Blowers, Cookey and Nick. The bond between those three radiates out.

‘Made you a brew, Carmen,’ Tappy calls, holding a mug up by the main doors.

‘Thanks,’ Carmen says, walking back. ‘I just checked in.’

‘Nice one. Everything okay?’

‘Yep. All good. Henry said I can head back if I want.’

‘Oh no, really? I thought you were with us tonight,’ Tappy says as they stroll back into the clubhouse with a racket coming from the kitchen as lots of people try and make food all at the same time. ‘Have a meal then think about it,’ Tappy adds. ‘Then tell me more cool stories.’

‘All good?’ Blowers asks, coming in from checking on Mo and Danny still happy to be on watch in the tower. Looking for birds and figuring every one they spot is definitely the rarest in the world ever. For reals.

‘Just checked in,’ Carmen says. ‘Henry said I can return when I want.’

‘We still need to access this armoury,’ Blowers says. ‘We can do it now if you want to get back, or I guess just tell us where it is.’

‘Carmen, are you eating with us?’ Charlie calls. ‘I’d advise you say no if you wish to avoid food poisoning.’

‘Carmen! We’s got a swallow,’ Mo radios down.

‘Mo, honey. It’s a pigeon,’ she says back.

‘It’s not! It’s a swallow.’

‘Is it grey with a ring of white on the back of its neck?’

‘Er yeah.’

‘It’s a pigeon.’ Did she just call Mo honey? She did. She called him honey. ‘Erm, I’ll bed in for the night if it’s okay and we can do the armoury run at first light if that works for you. Or just send me back now if you want me gone.’

‘Yeah sod off,’ he says, winking then realising he’s only got one eye which just makes it blinking.

‘Was that a wink or a blink?’ she asks.

‘Both.’

‘Cookey, seriously no more fucking beans in that pan,’ Nick shouts.

‘It needs more beans,’ Cookey shouts back.

‘Carmen! We’ve got a rare bird!’

‘Is it another pigeon?’

‘Er no.’

‘Is it grey with a white ring on the neck again or big and white with webbed feet?’

‘Um, so’s it’s got eyes and a beak…and one of them freaky heads that go all the way around.’

‘Do you mean an owl?’ she asks, motioning a thumbs up to Blowers before heading off upstairs to stare in awe at an early evening barn owl perched on a fence post in the dying light of the day. The shadows growing deeper and longer and the sun a fiery orange ball dropping fast into the sea, casting the most radiant of glows across the land.

They eat upstairs in the tower. A huge commercial size pan of mishmash food cooked in the clubhouse kitchen. Beans and fish. Tinned vegetables and pasta and a very strange mix of spices, peppers, curry powders and anything else Cookey could find.

‘That’s a very unique taste,’ Tappy says on the first mouthful. ‘Wow.’

‘I told you to stop putting so much shit in it, Cookey,’ Nick says.

‘It’s fine,’ Cookey says, waving his spoon about. ‘Carmen’s enjoying it.’

‘Eating and enjoying are two very different things,’ Carmen says, tucking in without complaint while the circular room fills with the gorgeous rays of sunlight. The slight tint on the windows to prevent sun-dazzling incoming aircraft now creating new hues of colour that stream through. Dust particles dancing about and the air heavy with the scent of food.

‘Well,’ Charlie says while eating her food. ‘We have survived our first day on our own.’

‘Day’s not over yet,’ Nick says

‘You are such a grumpy twat, Nicholas,’ Cookey says as Nick just shrugs and eats on.

‘But anyway, I think, and without becoming too self-congratulatory, that we have done okay,’ Charlie says. ‘Obviously not-withstanding any near future happenstance that may alter that summation of our current equilibrium.’

‘We need a Charlie to translate Charlie,’ Blowers says, earning a few low chuckles while trying to stomach the awful food.

‘Danny, you should eat,’ Carmen says quietly, noticing him pushing his food about. He grimaces a bit, showing without saying anything that he’s struggling with the taste. ‘Eat when you can when you’re on a mission. No matter what it is. Food is energy.’

He nods and tucks back in, taking another obviously pained mouthful.

‘You’re young too,’ she adds. ‘Your taste buds develop as you get older and you can tolerate more crap.’

‘You saying this is crap?’ Cookey asks.

‘Yes,’ she says honestly. ‘But it’s hot and nutritious.’

‘Can I just eat fruit?’ Danny asks her.

‘You need protein. You’re a big lump, Danny and big legs need fuel.’

He nods again and keeps going valiantly into the fight with a spoon to mouth war waging away as his face creases up.

‘Do you want something else?’ she asks after a minute, thinking it’s akin to watching torture.

He nods eagerly, his shy face suddenly full of hope that this misery could be averted.

‘Come on. I can’t cook for toffee, but we’ll have a look,’ she rises to her feet as he springs up after her. Mo and Maddox doing the same. Then Nick and Tappy followed by Booker and Charlie and Blowers while Cookey eats on.

‘I’ll keep watch then,’ he calls out as they disappear then waits for a second before pulling a grim face. ‘This tastes sooooo bad.’

Later, and with another pot of much simpler fayre cooked up, they once more convene in the tower room. Darkness outside but with light bathing in from a bright moon and the stars starting to twinkle.

‘Better?’ Carmen asks, seeing Danny eating away. He nods and eats. A young man of few words with a genuine smile and she can’t help but adore him from the way his huge eyes stare up at everyone and the way he’s so eager to please without being weird or needy. ‘You two are good buddies then?’ she asks, looking from Danny to Mo.

Danny nods that nod again as Mo finishes his mouthful. ‘We’s tight fam, you get me.’

‘I’s getting’ you bro,’ she replies, matching his slang. ‘Tight fam yeah?’

‘Boom, Carmen’s got the skills,’ Mo says.

‘That’s good,’ she says with a smile. ‘You two always back each other up…like you did in that scrap earlier. You need a buddy with all this going on. Look out for each other and never let anything get between you,’ she adds in a way of talking to them while perhaps sending a message to Nick. ‘A fighting unit has to be tight with no secrets.’

‘I’s take a bullet for Danny,’ Mo says seriously as Danny nods that he’d do the same for Mo.

‘That’s good, but it’s more than bullets and glory, lads. I got sick once. Me and Frank were in Iraq dug into this obs point. We couldn’t radio out or do anything. Something I ate maybe. Or a bug, but I got sick and was out of it for nearly 48 hours. You know what Frank did? He wiped my arse when I shit myself and kept me clean. That’s fam, you get me bro?’

Mo nods then looks at Danny. ‘I ain’t wiping your ass, bruv,’ he says as the laughs roll round. ‘I ain’t going near that thing you got down there. Take my eye out or something.’

‘Idiots,’ she chuckles.

‘Carmen,’ Blowers asks. ‘Without saying what it is, can you work out what Mo’s surname is?’

‘Yeah it’s obvious. Why?’ she asks, spotting the looks directed at Cookey. ‘Oh don’t tell me.’

‘I said. I don’t know any Muslim names,’ Cookey says.

‘Are you being serious?’ she asks.

‘Shameful,’ Blowers says, throwing a peach at Cookey.

‘Is Mo Mo innit,’ Mo says.

‘Yeah, I’m just not getting it,’ Cookey says.

‘Where you from?’ Tappy asks Carmen.

‘London. Inner city.’

‘How did you end up doing this?’ Charlie asks.

‘Um. I sort of fell into it really,’ she says, remembering back to the hotel and being pawed at by the criminals killed by Frank. ‘Henry and George recruited me after this…incident shall we say. Anyway, my first mission, and this was before any training. I was sent to work as a waitress in this big country house in the middle of nowhere. I was a proper city girl too. I hadn’t even seen woods and forests and cows and stuff. But that was the first time I met Dave, and I later found out it was his first proper big mission too…’

The stories start flowing as they eat then push empty bowls away to settle in and listen and chat and laugh. Hearing about Dave when he was younger and how Kyle mentored Carmen then left as Dave got more embedded with the team. About places she has seen and things she has done. Not bragging either. Not boastful and willing to fall silent when someone else speaks.

‘You ever see Dave’s heart trick?’ Carmen asks, seeing their lack of understanding as the moonlight bathes her face. ‘I say trick. That’s the worst thing to call it, but he can cut a heart from a body and put it in someone’s mouth so fast that it’s still beating…’

‘Ooh, Mr Howie had that happen to him,’ Tappy says as the others remember hearing the story.

‘Oh god, I forgot about that,’ Charlie says. ‘It was before my time…but that was an infected heart, I think. Wasn’t it?’ she asks.

‘Yeah, it was,’ Blowers says, sharing looks with Cookey and Nick.

‘You sure it wasn’t Dave?’ Carmen jokes.

‘No, course not,’ Blowers says, suddenly not so sure.

‘There was only one other guy that could do that,’ Carmen says. ‘Uglius Albanius Bastardius…’

‘Best name ever,’ Cookey says with a laugh.

‘That’s what Frank called him. An Albanian contract killer called Gregori, but everyone called him the uglyman. Seriously dangerous person. Most wanted in just about every country that ever had a most wanted list.’

‘Better than Dave?’ Mo asks.

‘No! Nobody’s better than Dave,’ Carmen says. ‘Dave isn’t human. He’s like a cyborg. There’s no off switch. But, saying that. Gregori was as fast as Dave with a knife, and his aim was said to be as good as Dave too.’

‘So by that logic then he must have posed a risk to Dave,’ Charlie says.

‘Still no,’ Carmen says. ‘Maybe you don’t know Dave as well as you think you do…you’ve heard of the expression when someone escalates and brings a gun to a knife fight, right? Dave would drop a nuke if it meant killing the person he was after.’

‘Do you know what?’ Charlie says, looking around at her team. ‘I can actually see Dave doing that.’

‘He would,’ Blowers says.

‘He totally would,’ Nick says. ‘Remember Fawley?’

‘Fawley power station?’ Carmen asks with a slow look of delight spreading on her face. ‘He didn’t?’

‘He fucking did,’ Nick says. ‘Whole thing…it was like an earthquake.’

‘We saw the smoke and figured it must have gone up,’ Carmen says. ‘Frank even joked and said I bet that’s Dave. That’s brilliant. Frank will love that.’

Another round of brews made in the clubhouse and brought up into the tower as the night grows later. A vibe in the air of them being on their own in the hours of darkness away from the elders. An unwillingness to part and end the flowing chat and jokes, but Blowers soon notices Danny’s eyes growing heavy and Mo sinking back deeper into the wall.

‘Right, come on. Let’s get sorted. I’ll stag on for the first watch. Nick, you take second and Cookey, you’re on third. Double up if you want but I want constant obs on up here and no fucking about from anyone.’

They head down and out to the Saxon to get bed rolls and packs. To smoke a last cigarette before sleep as Carmen stays on watch and finally clicks what they meant about not getting sick from smoking. She can’t believe she didn’t connect the dots earlier and she even had that same conversation with Neal in the research facility in Switzerland.

‘Imagine never getting sick. No cancers. No illnesses. No malaria…no typhoid fever. No anything. That’s what this is. That’s what they’ve found.’

‘Why don’t they just release it?’ she asked, lying across his chest after seducing him to make him trust her, to get him to open up and tell her what was going on.

‘It could end the world.’

‘You said it would save the world.’

‘I said it would save people, but without illness the populations will explode…’ he outlined exactly what impact releasing the panacea would have. The uprising from unstable countries. The desperate land grabs. The escalation to nuclear war. And even if that didn’t happen, millions would starve. Pharmaceutical industries would crash. Insurance and medical industries and whole swathes of mass employers wouldn’t have need to employ millions of people. The ideology was sound. They had something that could save everyone, but only so they all starved to death.

Carmen changed Danny’s dressing on his wounded arm earlier too and saw first-hand how his body was repairing so much faster than it should. By rights, the wound should be open and sore. But it was already meshing, and she could tell it wasn’t hurting him. She looked again at Charlie’s ear and the other marks and wondered how they got it. Why them? And who released a version of the virus that would only affect a few people? Was that deliberate? An accident? And does it change the end game? Does it change their mission?

‘Hey, thanks for that,’ Blowers says, coming into the tower. ‘They’re all sorted. You can stand down.’

‘Who’s doubling up with you?’

‘Just me. I told them to rest.’

‘I’ll stag on for a bit. It’s horrible standing watch alone, unless you’d prefer it?’ she asks.

‘Fine with me, mate,’ he says. ‘Brew?’

‘I’ll do it,’ she says, collecting a few mugs left about the place.

He takes over the watch, patrolling the inside circumference of the tower room to stare out at a landscape visible with the naked eye from the moonlight above. They could do with a tower like this in the bay. Then he thinks fuck the bay and fuck everyone in it. Then he feels bad for thinking that and figures it’s not the people’s fault the bay is a cunt filled swamp of death.

‘A cunt filled swamp of death?’ Carmen asks, walking in with two steaming mugs.

He frowns with a sudden idea that he’s doing the bosses thing and having his mind read until he realises he was actually muttering to himself. ‘I was muttering, wasn’t I?’

‘No,’ she says seriously then cracks a grin.

‘Twat,’ he says, taking a brew.

She smiles at the abuse, rolling her eyes. ‘Listen, do me a favour.’

‘What?’ he asks.

‘Can I see your eye.’

‘My eye?’

‘The bad one. Do you mind? I checked Danny’s arm and saw how fast he’s healing.’

He shrugs and goes to reach up to move the eye-patch as she moves in close. ‘I’ll do it,’ she says, easing it away to stare at the ruined socket. ‘How old is the injury?’

‘A week maybe.’

‘Jesus,’ she says, taking in the lack of bruising. Just the sunken eye-socket and the lids almost fused closed. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Nope. Just itches.’

‘Incredible,’ she says, easing the patch back then studying the rest of his face. The marks and cuts. The bruises, then down his bare arms, seeing the teeth marks and lacerations. ‘Do you feel different?’

‘Yeah, I’m blind in one eye and I’ve only got nine fingers.’

‘Dick,’ she tuts, smiling at him. ‘Can I see the finger?’

‘Is this injury porn?’

‘Oh god yeah, I’m really getting off,’’ she says as he starts unwinding the gaffer tape over his hand. ‘Very clean,’ she says, looking at the stub of his little finger. ‘It’s all sealed over. Do you have anymore?’

‘What? Missing fingers?’

‘Injuries.’

‘Um, like everywhere.’

‘Let me see.’

‘I’m not taking my top off.’

‘Why? Worried I’ll pounce, Sergeant? I told you, I like nerds not super toned buff men.’

He frowns, tuts, thinks on it then steps back and pulls his top off.

‘Hold me back,’ she says, making mock eyes at his body, which is actually ridiculously toned with just about every muscle now defined. ‘I’m joking. You’re very buff, but not my type. But that’s a lot of injuries…’ she goes in close, studying his body with a professional eye. Brushing her fingers over cuts and seeing some must have been deep enough to need stitches but have still healed. ‘Are you all like this?’

‘I think so. Cookey’s back got cut bad. And Danny was whipped by his stepdad, and the boss is cut to bits.’

‘Danny was whipped?’

‘He’s dead now. The stepdad I mean. The infection sent our friends and families at us…Danny’s mum was there and…’ he trails off for a moment. ‘Finished?’

‘Yeah sure, thanks,’ she says quietly as he pulls his top back on. ‘What a day.’

‘Funny though,’ he says, grinning at her and the strangest thing happens because neither even think of anything sexual. Not a touch of it. Not a hint. There’s aura about him that refuses to even suggest anything like that, and she, in turn, really does like nerds and not super buff men. ‘That orgy,’ he adds.

‘Oh god, don’t!’

Quiet laughs as they chat on this and that. Talking about Larry and Barry and the things they saw and Mrs Potter the medium knowing their names as the barn owl flies by the window to his high perch on a post. Watching them standing side by side drinking brews as the moon rises and tracks through the night sky.

* * *

The day draws to a close in the fort too. The hour now late and the solar lights burning low, strung up on the walls and on the lanes within tent-city to prevent feet snagging on lines and ropes. People drifting back from the evening meal, ready to bed down and sleep. The new arrivals still jittery and scared from the unfamiliar place while others feel like they’ve been here for months now.

‘And honestly, you should have seen her face,’ Anika laughs, wiping tears from her cheeks at the somewhat guilty smile on Roy’s face as they sit at a big table in the canteen with the workers all winding down. ‘This woman right, she’s got this big cut, and she’s shaken, I mean, you would be wouldn’t you,’ she says in her brummie accent. ‘Right down her arm too it is. And she’s all pale and worried and Roy’s just grinning at her. Go on he says. Let me stitch you up, and she’s looking at me and Ann and he’s like there’s a war on you know…’ she tries to mimic his deep serious voice and just sets herself off laughing even more.

‘Did you do it?’ Pardip asks, looking over the table at Roy.

‘He was trying to stick the needle in before she had pain meds,’ Anika cuts in, holding her belly. ‘Ann’s pulling him away and telling him normal people do feel pain you know. Oh it’ll be alright, he says. Bite down on a belt or something.’

‘He didn’t,’ Sunnie calls from the behind the food tables, cleaning down from the evening meal.

‘He bloody did,’ Anika says, waving a hand at Roy.

‘Well. Just get on with it,’ Roy says.

Henry and George at a nearby table with Frank. Lilly, Mary, Norman and Kyle on another. All of them talking quietly within their small circles as the other end of the room erupts in laughter from the stories of Roy tending injured people.

A long day. A hard day too, and the first for a while that has seen Lilly staying within the fort and not actively building the wall. She sits quietly at her table, only half listening to the chats and conversations rolling about. Sam, Pea, Joan and Lenski all here with Marion and bay workers. Colin and his group. All of them winding down and readying for the night.

She stares over at Henry engaged in low conversation with George and Frank laughing away at the jokes from the big table. Henry looks back, gaining her eye-contact for a few seconds before Lilly turns away and leans in close to Mary.

‘I’m going for a walk.’

‘Aye sure, we can do that,’ Mary says, starting to rise.

‘No, it’s fine. You stay here. I just need a few minutes,’ Lilly says as Mary notices the looks between Lilly and Henry.

‘Fair one, if you’re sure, Blondie.’

‘I am. I won’t be long,’ Lilly says. She heads out into the sultry night and sets off towards the vehicle ramp. Walking up to the top to stare out over the inky black sea to the lights in the camp. The moon high and bright enough for her to see the container wall and how much bigger it is already. She looks at the last house on the bay too, and the lights burning in the garden and feels that jarring sensation inside that everything is slightly skewed. The delicate equilibrium gained over the last week or so is being disturbed and she needs to think of a way to put it back.

She must have the panacea. That is the most important thing. She must get it for Billy and the other children. For Lenski and the people here. But the only person that knows where the panacea is is Henry, and he isn’t revealing anything. Not after what Reginald said and not for the rest of the day either. That said, Henry might know where it is, but the only person that can feasibly get it is Howie and his team. They are the only ones that can realistically move about the country unimpeded now. They’re infected. Fast, and also now very highly skilled at what they do. Those are the facts, but within all those thoughts, Lilly also doesn’t want Howie here.

He still left her, and that still smarts. Marcy threatened her brother too, and Lilly will never forget that. If Lilly saw a clear way forward she would have killed Marcy today, and if she had the option, she would have killed all of them and ordered Peter and his men to pour gunfire into that house until nothing was left alive.

But Howie has Dave, and the risk of that man getting out is too high. Also, Roy hasn’t been in the house so that would mean having to deal with him. And then of course there’s the risk that Marcy would somehow escape and bite someone, and even if they did kill Marcy, they’d still have a very angry Simon Blowers to deal with. And Lilly has seen enough of the lads in action to know only a fool would go against them unless they were absolutely certain of success.

Lilly also wants Henry gone from here. He hasn’t done anything yet, but men like Henry are used to being in charge, and this fort is Lilly’s now. They’ve got a good thing going. A fledgling society where the rules are fair and clear. Where there is no abuse or bullying. Where hard work gives reward and each person coming into the bay can feel they belong. And, on top of all that, Lilly is also entering into a relationship with another woman and that fact is now really quite obvious to everyone else. She thinks back to having sex with Nick and how sweet it was. He was gentle and caring, and in turn that made her feel safe and enveloped.

But Lilly no longer needs other people to make her feel safe and doing things with Mary was something else. It was hungry and raw. It was rushed and frantic and adrenalin inducing passion where they couldn’t kiss hard enough for long enough. The thrill of it too, the feel of another woman in her hands. The curves and softness. The swell of Mary’s breasts. The flare of her hips. It felt right too. It felt right in ways she never knew could be right. Like it was the most natural thing she has ever done. And, if truth be told, seeing Nick with Tappy ignited something inside. Lilly isn’t sure what that is, only that it did and so her mind fills with many thoughts as someone stops at her side to stare out at the same view

‘Beautiful evening,’ Henry murmurs.

‘We need to talk,’ she says, making him tense inwardly at her brutally direct way. She turns to check behind then looks at him, at his bald head and that impassive expression. ‘This is just you and I now.’

He doesn’t reply but waits silently in the same way he has been doing since he arrived. Henry holds the power here. He knows that. Reginald may feel he has accomplished something amazing by fighting back, and to a degree he certainly has. And Lilly has done a remarkable job with the fort. But they think Henry knows where the panacea is, and so after all is said and done, he has the power, because he has the thing they need.

‘There was a drone earlier,’ she says quietly. ‘It came from the east and went to Howie’s house then left with a plastic bag.’

‘It’s nothing to be alarmed about,’ he says with understated confidence. She can see that in him. That everything he says and does is thought about and planned. ‘Carmen reported they used it for the carriage of cupcakes, if you can believe that.’

‘One of my sources from the camp said it had a combustion engine. They said they could hear it,’ Lilly continues. ‘And from what I understand that means the range is very high.’

‘Your point is what, Lilly?’

‘My point is that my brother is in this fort, and to the best of my knowledge he doesn’t have the same thing I do. We need that panacea here.’

He stays quiet, simply becoming that inert, impassive man once more.

‘Reginald was right. You won’t last more than a few days out there.’

‘Perhaps,’ he says mildly.

‘You won’t tell Howie or me where to start looking for it, but you don’t need to,’ she says, finally making him turn to look at her cold blue eyes and the absolute conviction she has in her own words. ‘You don’t need to tell them anything. They’re infected. Use them as a shield to get you to wherever you need to go. They’re so righteous they’ll punch through anything if they think it’s the right thing to do. Use them. Join forces and get to the panacea then use that drone to send it here. It’s one drop, Henry. That’s all we need. The thing is a virus. We just need one person here to have it and we can save everyone. Give it to yourself and put your blood in a bottle. Spit it in for all I care. But use the drone and get it back here and I’ll do the rest. I’ll get everyone here vaccinated and I’ll send my men out to give to whoever they can find. Then you can go on and do whatever it is you wanted to do.’

He studies her while listening. Seeing her youthful beauty and that utterly cold look in her eyes. There’s another look within her too. One of power and control, but power corrupts. It always has and it always will, and Lilly, despite convincing herself she is doing it all in protection of her brother, has very quickly gotten used to being in control.

‘I shall give it some thought,’ he replies.

‘It’s a perfect solution,’ she asserts.

She’s pushy too and doesn’t like not getting her own way, Henry thinks. ‘As I said, I shall give it some thought.’

‘There’s something else,’ she adds. ‘Marcy is carrying a different strain of the virus. She is contagious and keeps control of the people she turns. She’s their secret weapon.’

‘That’s not a very good secret then, is it. Goodnight, Lilly.’

He walks off, leaving the sting in the tail of his words touching her cheeks and she stands alone, looking over the dark sea to the last house on the bay as that bright moon shines down and further up the coast, at Camber airstrip, the time soon comes to change over as Blowers and Carmen reach the end of the first watch.

Blowers heads down to rouse his mate, making sure he’s up and alert and getting ready before turning in. Nick dresses quickly, grabbing his rifle and making his way through the building and up into the tower to swap over with Carmen.

‘There’s a beautiful barn owl over there to look at if you get bored,’ she says quietly before heading off.

Nick watches the barn owl then walks the inside of the room. Viewing all the sides as the silence comes. The deep, deep silence of the night. The kind of silence that you long for when everything is going horribly wrong, but now it’s not a good silence as it gives time for Nick to dwell and think about Lilly again and the brutal way she spoke to him. Nick also knows he’s been snappy and short-fused again today, and Cookey’s comments have been too close to the bone. But then Carmen said a fighting unit can’t have secrets. She’s right too and Nick tells himself to suck it up and makes a vow not to be a prick again tomorrow. The whole Lilly thing does hurt, and he still doesn’t quite get it either. Lilly knew he had to go with Howie. She knew that. They spoke about it and she said she understood. What changed?

He walks the inside of the room, checking the view constantly, but the land is so flat and the moon so high that nothing can approach for a good mile without being instantly spotted. A noise at the door makes him stop and move for his rifle while figuring all the outer doors are locked.

‘Hey, ugly,’ Tappy whispers. ‘Figured you’d be getting all moody on your own.’

‘Cheers,’ he says, noticing the quick tight smile and the fleeting eye-contact. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing. I’m fine,’ she says, looking out the windows while sensing him staring at her. ‘Said I’m fine. Stop gawping at me. Honestly…I just had that dream again.’

He tuts softly, not knowing what to say and figuring there is nothing he can say really, which appears to be the right response as she offers a sad smile. ‘Pair of twats aren’t we,’ she says.

He nods, snorting air through his nose. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Nah, it’s cool. How about you? Sorry for ribbing you all day about last night. It’s kind of my way of dealing with it. You know?’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Still buddies then? Carmen said we’ve got to buddy up so you can wipe my arse when I shit myself. Don’t laugh. I’m being serious. You’ve seen it anyway so it’s fine. Deal then, we’re arse wiping buddies,’ she pauses to look at him, seeing he has something on his mind again. ‘What’s up?’

He shrugs again, uncertain and worried. ‘Can I ask a question? You know this infection we’ve got, and like, it makes us heal and fixes us.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And you saw how fast Danny was running, and how strong Clarence is, and Reggie said it’s making him smarter and it fixes all the broken things, but…I still can’t read.’

‘Oh no, no no no. Nick…’

‘I keep trying and…it’s not fixed it. I’m still thick.’

‘It’s not like that. People with dyslexia use their brains differently. You’re not broken you’re different, and the infection doesn’t cure different. Why would it? There’s nothing wrong with you, and none of us could read those plans on the wall. Not even Charlie and she’s like super intelligent so trust me, there is sooo nothing wrong with you. Come here,’ she pulls him into a hug, rubbing his back as he nestles into the side of her head and the strangest thing happens because neither of them even think of anything sexual. Not a touch of it. Not a hint.

‘Sorry for moaning again,’ he says.

‘It’s fine,’ she says with a heavy sigh, enjoying the simple contact and the feeling of being held. ‘You’re allowed to have bad days, Nick. This is nice though.’

‘It is,’ he says, feeling that same gentle comfort. ‘I’m glad we’re okay though.’

‘We’re fine,’ she murmurs, closing her eyes. ‘We’re just mates that had sex once,’ she adds with a smile at hearing him tut. ‘You’re so easy to wind up,’ she chuckles, turning in to kiss the side of his head in the way of a friend giving comfort in the dark hours of the sultry night and the strangest thing happens, because within the blink of an eye and the beat of a heart it once again becomes very, very charged, very, very quickly with both tensing at the flow of energy they were really not expecting. And once again they hold perfectly still to resist the lure but this time with clear heads that haven’t downed a bottle of rum.

‘Nick. We can’t,’ she whispers. Meaning every word of it too. ‘It was a one off. We got drunk and that’s, you know?’ she swallows again, breathing hard. ‘Listen, maybe I should go back down. Yeah?’

‘It’s okay,’ he says, gently disengaging.

‘Okay,’ she says, flushed and trying to smile and nod and gain composure. ‘Look at us being responsible adults. This is good. This is healthy. We can just focus and look for zombies.’

‘Yep,’ he says, looking about at the miles of view and not seeing any zombies. ‘No zombies.’

‘That’s good too,’ she says, also checking the view for any stray ones that Nick might have missed. ‘Definitely no zombies.’

‘Nope. None at all.’

‘Good,’ she says. ‘Everything is fine.’

‘Sure.’

‘Unless, you know.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘No, go on, what?’

‘No, it’s silly.’

‘What is?’

‘Nothing. Honestly. I just, you know, had an idea,’ she says with as much nonchalance as she can muster. Which isn’t a great deal. ‘Um, so…you know. Like we said it was a one-time thing, and that’s good. I’m happy with that. Are you happy with that? I’m fine with that. Totally fine. But, and I’m just throwing ideas out, but we could try maybe a two-time thing? You know, like only if you wanted…’

A minute later and the barn owl rotates his head to stare at the sight of Natasha Drinkwater’s bare arse pressing against the inside of the windows with her legs wrapped about Nick’s waist. Then, after searching for mice and voles, he rotates back to see a now fully naked Natasha Drinkwater straddling a naked Nick on a desk and then he studies, in the way owls do, in how they incorporate that desk into their naked contortions. Namely by using it to lean on, lie on, brace against, and at one point, to stand on.

‘I mean it though,’ she gasps in between kisses while lying flat on that same desk. ‘It’s really just a two-time thing.’

‘Okay,’ he says then stops to look about for zombies, because they must remain vigilant.

‘All clear?’ she asks.

He nods down at her as the silver light bathes her face and studies her slightly lop-sided grin and the tattoos on her arms and shoulders. The shape of her neck and the way her hair falls. The softness of her skin. The humour in her eyes that sometimes shows the crushing vulnerability they all have, and it stills his mind. Bringing him wholly and fully into the now as he studies every part of her while the breath catches in her throat, and when he starts moving again, so it feels very different and the barn owl eats a mouse while watching them and thinking maybe he should find a lady barn owl.

* * *

Down the coast, the attending members of the second watch biscuit club both vote that despite Meredith not being with them, they should still eat the same amount of biscuits.

‘Don’t tell Charlie,’ Clarence says as Jess munches away, which Clarence takes as an agreement in principle that they won’t tell Charlie.

‘Hey,’ Paula whispers, coming out of the house with two mugs as Jess eats a bit faster while thinking who the hell invited Paula again. ‘Thought you might get bored,’ Paula adds. We’re really not bored, Jess thinks, in a horsey kind of way of thinking.

‘Great,’ Clarence says, standing up to greet her while Jess concedes that having Paula here actually creates a distraction which she can use to snaffle more goodies. ‘You okay?’

‘Fine. Weird day or what. I haven’t heard a single knob joke all day.’

‘We’ll be back with them tomorrow,’ he says, knowing she’s missed them.

‘Do you think Reggie’s plan will work?’

He shrugs in a way that nudges Jess who thinks he’s trying the shoving game again, so she eats faster while pushing him back. ‘Jesus,’ he says, flying off to one side.

‘You and that bloody horse.’

‘I think it’ll work,’ Clarence says, righting himself and trying to move the open packet of biscuits out of reach, which isn’t the thing Jess wants him to do. ‘Ow! Bloody thing bit me.’

‘Don’t hide her biscuits then,’ Paula laughs as he rubs his arm. ‘Don’t give her more! She’ll just do it again. Oh my god, are you actually being bullied by a horse?’

‘Bloody am,’ he says earnestly. ‘Anyway. Yes. It makes sense. Henry wants that panacea, but he can’t get it. We can get it, but we don’t where it is thereby creating the co-dependency that will see us working together,’ he adds, quoting Reginald’s words.

‘Horrible thought really. Being used as shields.’

‘The means justifies the ends,’ he says, still rubbing his arm and giving the horse a dark look who doesn’t care one bit for dark looks and thinks she might bite him again if he doesn’t shift his arse away from the custard creams. ‘You’re not having the custard creams…’ he says bravely, trying to move them away. ‘Paula!’

‘Jesus,’ she says, rolling her eyes and moving in as the horse launches a full-on attack and contemplates biting Paula and then figures it won’t end well and that Paula just isn’t the biting type. ‘Did she get you again?’

‘Right on my bicep,’ he mutters, rubbing it with a wince.

‘You poor thing. Let me see.’ She leans in to look as the energy starts to change and shift from their closeness. From that chemistry between them. From that thing they have denied simply because they couldn’t. ‘Ooh, she’s pinched the skin,’ she adds with a soft tut, rubbing it for him while he looks up from his arm to her. The two of them alone at last. She smiles softly, nervous and hesitant as something in Clarence’s head starts to suggest that actually, this might be okay now. Is it okay? It feels okay. He frowns gently as she moves in a bit closer, but age brings caution and so they go slowly and carefully, but the end is ordained and she moves in to finally do the thing she has been dreaming of.

‘Evening all,’ Roy says, making them jump and straighten and panic as he strolls over and plonks down next to a suddenly very nervous Clarence. ‘Just got back from the fort. What a beautiful night eh. Still got the watches on then. Probably for the best. Ooh, custard creams. Lovely. Did you know the horse is eating one? Is she allowed biscuits? Can I give her one? There you go, girl. She’s gentle isn’t she.’ Clarence and Paula avoid all eye-contact while Jess pretends she is a poor starved creature that never did try a biscuit and can she please have another one? ‘So, what have I missed?’ Roy asks, spotting the two mugs. ‘Got a spare brew anywhere?’

‘Have mine,’ Paula says with a heavy sigh. ‘I’ll make another one.’

‘No, don’t be silly.’

‘Go on, have it. I need to get some sleep,’ she says, turning away with a lingering look at Clarence.

‘So, how was your day?’ Roy asks.

‘Frustrating,’ Clarence replies, watching Paula disappear into the house. ‘Slow and frustrating.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

This is so bloody frustrating, Cassie thinks as she lies in bed. The super bright moon outside bathing the room in silvery light and she shifts from the heavy weight of Gregori’s arm stretched over her chest, feeling half-cuddled and half-captive. She’s surprised he hasn’t found some handcuffs or something.

She did slide out half an hour ago and went for a wee and felt a rush of adrenalin as she piddled that he didn’t wake up and that she might be able to steal into the boy’s room and have a quick chat. Then she opened the door to see Gregori waiting on the landing for her.

‘I had a wee,’ she said as he just stared at her. ‘Back to bed then,’ she added, and they went back to bed. She even gave him sex, despite the hose soaking and all that brutal stuff he did. Not only to try and tire him out, but also because she was a bit horny. It certainly did make him tired too, just not tired enough and now his bloody arm is lolloped right over her, and one thing becomes very clear; that she needs a new plan.

She thinks hard on ways to get alone time with the boy to speak to the thing inside him, but then she also knows that she needs more than a few snatched minutes. She needs time to practise filtering all of the noise and chaos of the hosts out. There must be a way to harness the power without all that bollocks going on. But how? And when? She rolls over with a grumpy tut and comes to a wide-eyed stop at seeing the boy standing silently beside the bed and thinks he’s a creepy little shit, but also a super cute one that needs a big cuddle. Then she panics that Gregori will wake up and see him.

‘I can’t sleep,’ the boy says, instantly rousing Gregori who sits bolt upright.

‘If you hose me down you’re not getting laid for a month,’ she says quickly, while thinking she actually means a day or two.

‘I had a bad dream,’ the boy says in such a way that makes Cassie realise it’s the thing inside him talking and trying to sound like a kid, which just makes the kid an even creepier little shit.

‘You poor sausage,’ she says without much conviction then coughs to clear her throat and tries again. ‘Er…do you want me to read you a story?’

‘No,’ the boy says.

‘No,’ Gregori says.

‘Right,’ she says.

‘I want to get in,’ the boy says.

‘In here?’ she asks.

‘In here?’ Gregori asks.

‘Yes,’ the boy says, pointing at the bed while Cassie thinks the infection trying to be a boy is like the worst acting ever.

‘Okay,’ Gregori says, lying back down as Cassie blinks in surprise that he fell for it. ‘No talking,’ Gregori adds as Cassie pulls the sheet back to let the boy snuggle in. ‘And no wee wee in bed.’

‘Okay, Gregori,’ the boy says, the infection says.

‘Gregoreeee,’ she whispers into the boy’s ear.

‘Okay, Gregoreeee,’ the boy says, sounding the vowels out like the child does.

‘Go sleep. No talk.’

Cassie frowns as the heavy arm once more comes over her, pinning her in place. How the hell does this fix anything? She thinks.

Do not speak. You must stay quiet.

‘Holy fuck,’ she says at the voice in her head.

‘What?’ Gregori asks, snapping awake.

‘I farted,’ she blurts. ‘I panicked and thought you heard it.’

‘I no hear this.’

‘Great. Er…all good. Night then.’

Do not speak. You must stay quiet, the voice inside her head says again.

‘Yeah I’m trying!’

‘Trying what?’ Gregori asks.

‘Trying not to fart again,’ she says, patting his arm. ‘Now shush, you’re keeping the boy awake. I just wish I knew how to talk to him sometimes.’

‘What?’ Gregori asks.

‘You know. I worry that we’re not communicating in the right way. Maybe we should get some books on parenting so we can really work out the best way of talking to him…’

Gregori grunts, not really sure what she is talking about. ‘Go sleep,’ he says gruffly. ‘We look for book tomorrow.’

In your head, the voice in her head says. Which makes Cassie’s mind go wholly and completely blank for several very long seconds until she panics and thinks of the blow job she gave Gregori in the play zone then panics even more that the boy will see those images. ‘Fuck me,’ she mutters, shaking her head.

‘No. Boy is here,’ Gregori says.

‘I didn’t mean…’ she goes to say. ‘Never mind. Shush. Go to sleep.’

You don’t need to shout, the voice in her head says.

‘OKAY THEN,’ she shout-thinks. ‘I’M NOT SURE THIS WILL WORK BECAUSE RIGHT NOW I CAN’T STOP THINKING THAT YOU’RE A CREEPY LITTLE FUCKER ACTING LIKE A KID…AND I’M CUDDLING YOU WHICH JUST MAKES IT WORSE.’

She stares into the dark silent room, feeling that Gregori must be able to hear the thoughts as they feel so loud.

Gregori cannot hear your thoughts, the thing says, permeating her mind as she starts to sense it prowling about like it was yesterday. She gains that same essence too. The frustrations within it. The sense of being both predator and prey. Of not quite knowing what it is, only that it must live. Do you want to try again? It asks within her mind, pushing that thought through her neural pathways so it almost gains a voice that she can hear.

‘DO YOU WANT ME TO TRY AGAIN?’ she thinks back, over-focussing and shouting the words in her mind.

You do not need to shout. Your genetic structure cannot take what I am.

‘STOP TELLING ME THAT.’

You don’t need to shout. Your genetic structure cannot take what I am…

‘SERIOUSLY. STOP FUCKING TELLIN ME THAT…’

But I can try and change your genetic structure.

‘Fuck off,’ she blurts out loud. ‘Can you really do that?’

‘Do what?’ Gregori asks.

‘Eh? What? Jesus, I was dreaming,’ she says quickly. ‘Did I speak out loud? Sorry! Wow, too much cheese.’

‘We no eat cheese.’

‘I know right! Wow. We’ll add it to the shopping list. Now shush, you’re keeping us all awake.’

You did not eat cheese today, the voice in her head says.

‘YES. I KNOW. FUCK ME. CAN YOU REALLY CHANGE MY GENETIC STRUCTURE?’

I can try. I am many things. I am in many places. I am the one true race.

‘YEP. GOT ALL THAT. WELL DONE YOU. CAN YOU GIVE ME BIGGER TITS?’

What?

‘I WANT BIGGER TITS. NOT TOO BIG. JUST LIKE ANOTHER CUP SIZE UP.’

Silence.

‘ARE YOU STILL THERE?’

Yes.

‘WHAT DID YOU THINK ABOUT THE BOOBS THING? YOU DIDN’T REPLY.’

I can try and change your genetic structure so you can take what I am.

‘OKAY. AND THEN CAN WE TRY THE BOOBS?’

I am the one true race. You want the power of what I am. I can try and change that so you can take what I am.

‘GREAT. GO FOR IT.’

I will try.

‘WILL I FEEL IT?’

I do not know.

‘I’LL FEEL IT IF YOU MAKE MY BOOBS BIGGER.’

I am not going to do that.

‘JUST TRY.’

No. Rest now and let me work while your mind sleeps.

‘OKAY. AND IF I WAKE UP WITH BIGGER BOOBS THEN THAT’S GREAT. WE CAN GET NEW BRAS. AND IF YOU GET A CHANCE CAN YOU SLIM MY ARSE DOWN A BIT TOO.’

You must rest now.

‘OKAY. NIGHT. I’M REALLY EXCITED BY THE WAY. ABOUT THE WHOLE MIND THING AND THE BOOBS AND BUM TOO. AND CAN YOU MAKE FRECKLES GO? AND I’VE GOT THIS UGLY SPLIT VEIN THING ON MY ANKLE…’

The infection prowls her mind and pushes into the neural pathways of the brain to find the bit that makes people sleepy and pokes it until the thinking-shouts stop and Cassie snores.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Day Twenty-eight

The man does not wake up as the new dawn comes, because the man has not slept. Instead, he simply stares up at the sky.

The man doesn’t acknowledge that this is a new day. The man doesn’t really acknowledge anything at all. His mind has merged with the infection who does not focus on achieving sentience or besting Reginald or manifesting in certain types to gain greater intellect.

This infection doesn’t know who Cassie is, and if it did it wouldn’t care. This infection has heard about Howie through the collective hive it possesses, but again, it does not care.

This infection wants only to take more hosts, and to keep taking hosts.

It does not see an end game or bother itself with questions of existential crisis or what happens when the last host is taken. It doesn’t concern itself with any such things. Only that it will today hit the coast and keep going forward through towns and villages until it hits the bigger city of Southampton. By then it will have enough numbers to take the city with ease. After that it will go through all the satellite towns on the coast until it reaches Portsmouth and its numbers will grow ever larger.

The man sits up and the many thousands of hosts do the same as the rustling of clothes and the vibration of motion send birds into the air.

The man stands up and the many thousands of hosts do the same as that noise increases with the scuff and shuffle of feet. Flies buzz about them too. Landing on faces to crawl into nasal cavities and ears. Drinking liquid from the corners of mouths and laying eggs on injuries that hatch into fat maggots that writhe on the succulent skin.

The infection pays them no heed. They cannot harm the hosts because the hosts are in the true state of being. There are no diseases or illnesses that will ever harm the hosts.

The man sets off before the sun rises. His right foot moving out with that first step on a new day and as his right foot comes down, so the many, many thousands behind him take their first steps and the train sets out once more. Making birds cry out in alarm and sending clouds of dust up from feet that scuff old tracks. Thick dense lines that seem to stretch back forever and always. A never ending army of mute silent beasts that cannot have thoughts. That cannot think or feel or ever be anything other than a carcass for the parasite inside.

The pace they take isn’t fast, but then it doesn’t need to be. It just needs to be constant. A thing that will now never cease and will always march on. An unstoppable force gathering greater momentum with each passing hour.

On they go, forever forward until the man spots the sea ahead and he keeps going until he reaches the edge of a high cliff as the rays of the sun push up from the horizon, giving light to the new dawn that bathes the town nestled into the steep hillside off to his left. A town of such beauty that it became known as Little Italy. White walled houses and terracotta roof tiles. Winding streets that zig and zag all through it. A place unlike any other in the country, but one that will be taken just the same as the others.

The man turns left and starts walking once more. Seeing that between him and the town is a deep basin that rises onto a plateau giving way to the playing fields and grasslands bordering the town of Hinchley Point.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Day Twenty Eight

‘Hi, Danny,’ she says with that big slow smile forming.

‘Hi,’ Danny says, because you should always be polite when someone says hello. He looks about at the same deserted street then back to the zombie woman with the big boobs who walks in close, all sexy and beautiful and lifting a suggestive eyebrow while gently placing a hand on his chest.

‘Wake up,’ she whispers.

‘Oh fuck,’ Danny groans, knowing what this means. ‘Do I have to?’

‘Yes,’ Carmen says with her hand on Danny’s chest as he opens his eyes in the clubhouse at Camber airstrip. ‘Come on, get up.’

Danny blinks at her then lifts a sleepy head to look about at everyone else still sleeping.

‘Get dressed outside so you don’t wake everyone,’ she says.

He does as he’s told and rises quickly, grabbing his boots and kit then following her out into the corridor towards the main doors. ‘Are you kidnapping me?’

‘Yes, Danny. I’m kidnapping you,’ she says, giving him a look as she unlocks the doors. Danny follows her out, yawning and looking about in a sleepy endearing way. ‘Boots on then,’ she urges. ‘And drink some water. Dave’s training Mo isn’t he?’ Danny nods and drinks the water. ‘Thought so. Mo’s quite small like Dave, so he’ll respond better to that type of training. But you,’ she says, coming in close to stand over him while he stares up. ‘Are a big lump, so we’re going for the Frank McGill school of fight club.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Violence,’ she says with raw honestly. ‘Serious levels of psychotic violence. Now get up because I’m going to attack you…’

Danny blinks in panic at the prospect then flinches back when she sprays water in his face and he starts scrabbling away, coughing and spluttering then yelping from a boot to his arse and hands clipping the back of his head. She swarms him fast, pressing in with fast but gentle strikes. ‘Fend off, Danny…fend off…’

Danny doesn’t want to push her away. He likes Carmen. She’s really cool and the anger isn’t there, but it is really irritating to be poked and prodded and kicked and especially the wet willy and nose tweaking. ‘Ow,’ he says when she rubs her hard knuckles on his skull.

‘Okay okay,’ she says, seeing he’s refusing to fight. ‘Hang on,’ she runs off and away into the building as he shakes the water from his face then looks up to Charlie and Cookey waving from the tower. He waves back as Carmen runs out clutching two big heavy sofa cushions taken from the drone club room. ‘Aim for these, okay? Don’t pull a face, Danny. They’re like boxing pads. Go on, hit one,’ she says, holding it in front of him. ‘Hit it, Danny!’

He hits it, feeling the density of the material.

‘See. You won’t hurt me. I’m coming in again, now aim for the cushions. Got it?’

Danny nods then reels back from being twatted in the face by a cushion and thinks to tell her to sod off but gets hit again and again as Carmen drives him back until finally, in a fit of frustrated annoyance, he lashes out and punches a cushion. ‘That’s it! Again…’ he punches the other one as she goes in, ducking and weaving and giving him time to react and hit the cushions as his mind starts enjoying the game.

‘He’s going for it,’ Charlie remarks in the tower.

‘He is,’ Cookey says as Danny starts throwing haymakers at the cushions.

‘ELBOWS,’ she shouts, pushing in hard as he starts throwing elbows. Then she bends lower, holding the cushions in front of her face. ‘KNEES,’ he brings them up, driving his ridiculously strong legs into the cushions. She takes the impacts one after the other because isn’t about finesse or martial arts, this is about staggering violence. This is about conditioning Danny’s mind, so he’ll fight like a dirty bastard when he’s cornered and pressed. Fists. Elbows. Feet. Knees. Headbutts.

‘Come on, rise and shine,’ Charlie calls, doing a Paula and clapping her hands in the clubhouse. A few groans sound out as Booker comes awake, squinting about and rubbing his face before looking over to Tappy stretching out in her bedroll with a smile as the memories of last night come back. And she didn’t have the nightmare either. She looks over to see Nick coming awake. His eyes fluttering open and she tenses inwardly with sudden worry that he will regret it, but he smiles over with a glint in his eyes. A secret shared between them and suddenly this day looks very bloody good.

‘Morning,’ she calls brightly, sitting up to look about.

‘Morning,’ Nick says, doing the same as everyone else looks at them. ‘I’m going for a smoke,’ Nick announces.

‘Okay then!’ Tappy says, giving him a thumbs up. ‘Would anyone like a coffee? I can make the coffee.’

‘I’d love a coffee please, Tappy.’

‘Okay, Nick. One coffee coming up…mate…’

‘Thanks, mate.’

‘Welcome, mate,’ she calls out, grinning about the room.

‘You two had sex again, didn’t you,’ Maddox says as Booker’s gaze hardens, watching on silently.

‘What? No! Can’t even offer a mate a coffee now without obviously having a mammoth three hours sex session with them…what?’ she says when they look at her. ‘Who wants a coffee?’

‘Love one,’ Maddox says. ‘Where’s Danny?’

‘Outside fighting with Carmen,’ Charlie says, thereby prompting a rush of bodies clambering from bedrolls to rush out of the clubhouse to see Danny going hell for leather with Carmen.

‘COME ON, DANNY!’ she yells out, forced backwards as Danny presses his attack. His face dripping with sweat. His arms flashing out with punches then switching to elbows and knees as she moves and rotates. ‘Good lad, that’s it…’ she can see he’s in the zone now, she’s triggered the rage inside and is letting it come out. ‘Remember this,’ she grunts, taking the battering. ‘When you get cornered, do this…’ she twists to block his blows while Danny thinks about his step-dad beating and whipping him. The abuse he suffered. The humiliation and the loss of his father. He finds that rage deep inside and vents it now as Carmen spots everyone else coming out. ‘Okay, break. Good work, Danny.’

He pulls back, his chest rising and falling. The sweat pouring off his face. His fists still clenched and ready. His eyes still ready to fight.

‘Morning, sergeant,’ Carmen calls. ‘Not treading on your toes, am I?’

‘You crack on,’ Blowers says, lighting a cigarette. ‘Do Booker if you want.’

‘Eh?’ Booker says. ‘Haven’t had coffee yet.’

‘Go and get cleaned up,’ Carmen tells Danny. ‘And remember that aggression. Booker, come on then,’ she adds with a grin, motioning him over with a cushion. ‘Burn some of that lard off.’

‘I’m not fat!’ he snaps, trying to show humour within his harsh tone.

‘Stop shouting, fatty,’ Cookey says, strolling out. ‘I think Carmen’s got some Doritos.’

‘Yeah this is getting old now, Cookey.’

‘MORNING!’ Nick says, announcing his arrival after having had a wee and rinsing his face.

‘Fuck me, alright shouty,’ Cookey says.

‘Beautiful day,’ Nick says, hands on his hips and he inflates his chest, breathing in the gorgeous air. ‘Been working out, Danny?’

‘What the fuck?’ Cookey asks, staring at Nick.

‘Booker, you should do some exercise too,’ Nick says. ‘Burn some fat off.’

‘Fuck you,’ he says, marching out towards Carmen. ‘What do I do?’

‘Yeah it’s really complicated,’ Cookey calls. ‘Something to do with those cushions she’s holding…hey, maybe you eat them.’

‘Haha!’ Nick says, clapping Cookey on the back. ‘Good one, mate.’

‘What the actual fuck,’ Cookey says with a suspicious look at Nick. ‘What happened to Nick? They’ve swapped him for a bloke that smiles.’

‘Coffees!’ Tappy announces, carrying a tray of brews out.

‘Thanks, mate,’ Nick says, taking a mug.

‘Anytime, mate,’ Tappy says, giving him a smile.

‘Fucking weirdos,’ Cookey says, taking a mug. ‘Anyway, let’s watch a sexy woman beating up a fat bloke.’

‘Oi!’ Carmen, Charlie and Booker all say at the same time.

‘We should get the drone up,’ Blowers says. ‘Make sure there’s no change overnight.’

‘I’m on it,’ Nick says happily, setting off into the building.

‘What the fuck’s got into him?’ Cookey asks.

‘I think Tappy might have cheered him up again,’ Maddox says.

‘Oh,’ Cookey says. ‘Yeah, what’s that mean?’

‘You know. Him and Tappy.’

‘What about them?’

‘Fuck me,’ Blowers says.

‘They had sex again,’ Maddox says as Booker shoots another hard glance over at Nick thinking he wouldn’t mind getting cheered up by Tappy.

‘Oh! I got it. Tappy cheered him up. Haha! Nice one, Mads. Yeah I got it now…’ Cookey says as the others groan. ‘That makes sense. Charlie said it smelled all sweaty when we took over on watch…and Tappy was carrying her bra out and was all red-faced with wild hair…like that,’ he says, pointing at a red-faced, wild-haired Tappy taking a turn to beat Carmen up.

‘Right,’ Blowers says. ‘And you didn’t connect it?’

‘Connect what?’ Cookey asks.

‘Drink your coffee,’ Blowers says, shaking his head as Nick comes out and sets up to launch. Whistling and humming away.

‘It’s so obvious when you know,’ Cookey says.

‘What’s obvious?’ Nick asks.

‘That you and Tappy had sex again last night.’

‘Cookey!’ Blowers says. ‘Don’t set him off again. I’m not having another fucking day of angry Nick.’

‘It’s fine,’ Nick says. ‘And yeah, we did,’ he adds with a smile at them all. Not a boastful lad smile either but a simple one that reaches his eyes as he looks to his two best mates who didn’t realise their friend hasn’t smiled like that in days.

‘Own that shit, Nicholas!’ Tappy laughs.

‘I’m owning that shit,’ he says. ‘And launching in five, four, three, two…and up she goes. Mads, fancy doing the camera, mate?’

‘Looks clear,’ Blowers says a few minutes later. Everyone crowding in to see the screen, except there isn’t anything to see. No infected. No massing. No swarms of infected anywhere. Nothing for miles in any direction.

‘Maybe Cassie is keeping her word,’ Charlie says.

‘Okay,’ Blowers says. ‘Bring the drone back. We’ll move out now while it’s early. Get ready. We’re going places…what? That’s a good one. Get ready, we’re going places…’

‘Stick to the original one,’ Charlie says. ‘Load up, we’re moving out.’

Another quick coffee and they scoff fruit and tinned food while packing up. The mood high. The chat flowing. Danny telling Mo about his training while Nick jokes about, finally back in the now. Connecting to this. To his mates. To his unit.

Then it’s done and Carmen locks the door before hiding the key nearby and once more they load into the Saxon. Tappy driving with Carmen up front.

‘Settle down a minute,’ Blowers calls, shushing them as he takes Carmen’s radio to check in.

‘Hi mate,’ Howie’s voice transmits, trying to sound awake while clearly still very much asleep. ‘You all good?’

‘Just checking in, boss. We’re moving out for the weapons place with Carmen. Anything for us to know?’

‘Nope. Get the weapons then give me a shout and we’ll meet up. This place is driving us all mad.’

‘Yep, will do. We’ve put the drone up again. Not seeing them anywhere.’

‘Shifty fuckers’ll be about somewhere. Eyes up.’

‘Roger that.’

‘Okay, shout if you need us. Carmen okay is she?’

‘Yeah, she’s alright for a spy,’ Blowers transmits as Howie hears the laughs coming through.

‘I take it she’s in earshot then…Carmen, keep my team safe.’

‘I WILL!’

‘Laters, stay safe and give Mo a big kiss from Paula.’

‘You’s ain’t kissin’ me bro,’ Mo says as Blowers ends the call.

‘Orders are orders, Mo Mo,’ Blowers says, moving down the Saxon to grab Mo as the lad squirms and yells out while getting a big kiss on the head.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Mo says, rubbing it away.

‘What’s that?’ Nick asks. ‘You want us all to kiss you?’

‘Mads! Get ‘em off,’ Mo shouts as he’s bundled against the back doors and again, Carmen can’t help but laugh at the sight before taking the radio from Blowers.

‘I need to check in too.’

‘Alright, ease it down,’ he orders. ‘No fucking about for a minute.’

‘Thank you, sergeant,’ she says, activating the call that is answered very promptly. ‘It’s me,’ she transmits, her tone instantly different. ‘I’m not free to speak. You are in earshot.’

‘Understood,’ Henry’s voice, as clipped as hers. ‘No change. Repeat. No change.’

‘Roger. Same here. We’re moving to the divisional depot now. Will complete weapons transfer then if agreed will make contact with the other site as discussed.’

‘That’s all received. Report in after weapons transfer.’

‘Roger. Understood. Out.’

‘Wow,’ Cookey says. ‘You’re like way more professional than us.’

‘Fact,’ Nick says. ‘We’re like…hey boss, we fucked about, flew a drone, had some fruit now we’re pissing about again…’

They hit the motorway with an endless sky above and an endless road ahead. Chat and jokes flying as Carmen mooches about in the front, finding electrical leads and looking at the ends for a few seconds. She opens her bag and takes a small device out. A digital MP3 player she pre-loaded with music before it all happened and she feels another stab of guilt that she had time to do that, but not to warn the lads in the drone club.

She gives a sad tut and finds a wire that fits the MP3 player output socket before turning in her seat to get Sergeant Blowers’ attention, showing him the device. He nods back, smiling at the idea and the banter instantly cuts off from the rising drum opening to Can’t Stop by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers booming out from the internal speakers.

Grins all around and Tappy whoops out loud as Carmen turns it up, shaking her head at the idea of ever doing this with Henry and George.

The song ends and she listens to the calls for more, chuckling as she finds the next track to play, pushing the screen to let the beat blast out from 212 by Azealia Banks as Mo and Maddox instantly cheer at hearing one of their favourite tracks. Both singing the profanity littered lyrics and that hooking chorus. Waving arms and looking infinitely cool while the others join in. Carmen in the front, grooving in her seat. Tappy bouncing her hands on the wheel and Charlie’s eyes going wide at the ever so rude words.

They go around Portsmouth and stay on the big country roads. Passing signs for Shedfield, Whitely and Hedge End. Names of towns now devoid of people. Bursledon and West End, and routes leading into the city. They pass between Eastleigh and Winchester, aiming for the northern fringes of Romsey to get around the inlet of Southampton Waters where the docks are filled with containers that make good walls, and where one side is now a ruined, blackened land from the detonation of Fawley power station. Thick smoke still billowing up even now after many days.

They reach the western fringes of the New Forest National Park and start south again. Passing between vast woods broken by open fields of bracken and bush. The famous ponies moving as free as ever. Grazing happy and content.

They skirt Lyndhurst and Brockenhurst and go wide about Lymington until they hit the coast and look over the waters to the Isle of Wight, then west again until Carmen spots the signs for Hinchley Point. ‘We’re not far off,’ she calls to Blowers.

‘Are we going to Hinchley Point?’ Charlie asks. ‘We played hockey there a few times. It’s beautiful,’ she tells the others. ‘Really gorgeous old town filled with these little houses and winding streets.’

‘We’re not going into the town,’ Carmen says. ‘Go up the hill to an industrial estate…’ she adds, pointing to a junction ahead with the left road heading to Hinchley Point and the right side rising sharply away up the hillside.

‘Oh wow,’ Tappy says, looking across Carmen to the view on the other side down at the sprawling town below them. ‘That’s incredible.’

The others cram forward to see what she means, gawping at the sight of the town beneath them. A hodgepodge mass of terracotta tiled roofs on houses painted white with tiny winding streets running all manner of ways through it all. Café awnings and high-end tinted shop fronts glimpsed within the cobblestone roads. It rises too with the hillside that just seems to climb forever.

‘It’s like something from Italy or Greece,’ Tappy says.

‘That’s what they called it,’ Maddox says. ‘Little Italy…I read about it in prison,’ he adds when a few give him surprised looks. ‘An Italian trading ship sank just off the coast and the sailors built a few houses here while waiting to go back…’

‘Get you, Mr Nerdy.’ Carmen says, giving him an impressed look. ‘But you can’t be a nerd with arms like that,’ she adds with a wink.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Tappy says. ‘Hey, when Mr Howie has fixed it all and saved everyone we should come back and live here.’

‘Beats the fort,’ Nick mutters.

‘And your stuck-up bitch ex-girlfriend can’t visit,’ Tappy adds to a few agreeable murmurs.

They gain more height and spot playing fields and wide-open grass areas on the far side before the view drops sharply away making it seem as though Hinchley Point exists within its own universe, detached from anything else.

‘The entrance is just ahead,’ Carmen says, motioning the entry point into the industrial estate. Tappy slows the vehicle and eases into the wide road to see rows of units running between access roads. ‘Go left,’ Carmen says, guiding her over towards a long row of units all fronted by big metal doors. A high metal fence on their right side and the straight access road behind them leading to the cliff edge overlooking the town below. ‘That’s our unit,’ she says, pointing to a bog-standard unit in the middle of the row.

‘You’ve got an armoury in that?’ Blowers asks in disbelief.

‘Yeah on full display. No! It’s underneath. There’s actually two entrances. One in this unit and the other in the unit on the other side, but we only use this one. Ready?’

Another bum shuffle down the bench seats and out into the sunshine as the air fills with the sounds of boots crunching on broken tarmac and throats clearing softly while the Saxon doors creak and bang against the sides. The engine switching off and making clunks as it cools. Weapons jostling and the noises that come from people in motion as they start moving out and looking at the old workshops and tumble-down sheds and the thick green weeds growing between old brick walls. Oil stains on the ground and old engines dumped outside units. The sea air making them rust. Delivery trucks left in situ and the whole vibe of the place comes off as rundown but functioning and Blowers nods in admiration, thinking nobody would ever think somewhere like this would be used as a stash point.

Carmen moves out, scenting diesel fumes coming from the Saxon and the heavy stench of old oil and lubricants from the workshops. Another smell too. She lifts her chin, sniffing the air and detecting cigarette smoke and turns back to the others, thinking Sergeant Blowers will rip the head off whoever is lighting up then frowns on realising the smell isn’t coming from them.

Then she hears it; the deep low rumble of another diesel engine ticking over coming from somewhere unseen and she stops dead, facing into the estate and quickly lifts her left hand up next to her head with a clenched fist, giving the signal to hold.

Blowers spots the signal, his senses ramping as he motions around at the others, pointing at his own eyes then over at Carmen as Meredith starts to growl low and deep.

Carmen sniffs again, scenting that tang of cigarette smoke and turns to Blowers, motioning her nose then the mime of smoking and indicating away. Someone is smoking nearby. Blowers nods. She touches her ear and points to the Saxon. I can hear an engine.

Blowers starts moving slowly towards Carmen. Placing his feet silently and hearing the sound of an engine ticking over and voices talking nearby while Nick soothes the dog, urging her to be quiet as the first huge bang sounds out. The dull whump of a grenade detonating within the industrial estate. Debris seen flying into the air. Gunshots ringing out from assault rifles amidst breaking glass and loud male voices. From calm to chaos in a second.

‘Down!’ Carmen snaps the order, dropping to her belly as Blowers hits the ground, waving with his hand for his team to get low.

‘CONTACT…’ a voice shouting from within the estate. More gunshots. Sustained firing. ‘FIRE IN THE HOLE!’ Another dull whump from a grenade detonating within the mass of units and more debris and flame scorch up with the sounds of metal screeching and glass breaking.

‘HE’S A FUCKING LIABILITY,’ another male voice shouts nearby.

‘GRENADE IN,’ the voices within the estate yell out, giving seconds of warning before the next explosion.

‘Ten o’clock,’ Carmen says, spotting the first man running from a junction.

‘Got him,’ Blowers says, watching the man running backwards while firing into the side road he came from.

‘Another one,’ Carmen says as a second man runs into view, slinging his rifle and pulling the pin from a grenade that he lobs overhead back into the junction they legged it from.

‘FIRE IN THE HOLE,’ the guy bellows, dropping to take cover just before the explosion comes. Flames shooting out. Debris and dust flying into the road and the first infected charge from the junction as Carmen takes in the change to the infected. She saw them on the first night when they were stiff-legged and uncoordinated. Jerky and weird. Now they run fast with heads up and looking more like animals than people.

‘WE’RE COMING IN HOT,’ the man throwing the grenades yells out.

‘YOU DUMB CUNT,’ the other voice yells back, clearly furious as the two men in the road fire into the attacking horde still running from the junction.

‘Get some fire into them,’ Blowers shouts. ‘Give them a hand…’

‘Roger that,’ Carmen says, flicking her safety on and taking aim as the next grenade detonates within the ranks of charging infected, sending a spray of blood high into the air.

Blowers fires first, plucking the trigger at the same time as a black SUV with darkened windows roars out from a side road. Carmen joins in. Sending rounds into the infected.

The two men in the road instantly react, both yelling out as they turn and spot the figures lying on their bellies giving fire into the infected. A shout from the one that threw the grenades and he fires down the road at Carmen and Blowers. Taking chunks out of the tarmac.

‘WE’RE HELPING YOU,’ Blowers shouts as the black SUV screeches to a halt with doors opening and two more men coming out.

‘FRIENDLIES!’ Carmen shouts, seeing the armed men aiming down the road then switching as they take stock of the infected coming at them.

‘DON’T SHOOT,’ Blowers yells, but the man that threw the grenades lets rip with another burst aimed at Carmen.

Carmen aims fast, putting a round into his centre of mass and slamming him back. His mates shouting out. Firing at the infected and sending more rounds down the road to give cover as they grab the injured man now screaming and clutching his guts, dragging him into the car as they fire fast and hard.

Too much noise. Too many guns firing. Meredith barking loudly and the infected screeching out as Blowers unloads his magazine into the back of the SUV. Furious at being fired on and thinking of the torture they suffered the last time they saw men with guns, but his rounds ping off the back of the vehicle and window. Making him realise the SUV must be armoured as it speeds away towards the exit road on the other side of the estate.

‘CUT THEM DOWN,’ Blowers shouts back as the rest of his team get out into the road and let rip at the horde. A few dozen and no more.

A minute or so later and Blowers calls for the ceasefire. Ears ringing and the tang of gunfire now rich in their noses. Hearts racing at being shot at and a few crawlers here and there. A few groaning and moaning. Blood everywhere. Awful injuries on clear show. Bones poking through flesh and innards spilling out.

‘What the fuck just happened?’ Nick shouts over.

‘No idea,’ Blowers replies, spitting the words out while slamming a fresh magazine in.

‘Why the fuck were they shooting at us?’ Cookey asks, his face flushed with anger. ‘It was fucking obvious we were helping them.’

‘The guy throwing grenades panicked,’ Carmen says, thinking fast as to why an armoured SUV with mercs would be down here in this estate.

‘Did you know them?’ Blowers asks her.

She shakes her head. ‘No, but I’ve got a horrible feeling why they’re here,’ she starts moving out with her rifle up and aimed as she sweeps past their row of units to the access road behind it. ‘FUCK IT!’ she shouts out in frustration at seeing the sliding metal doors pulled back on the unit down the way where the second entrance is. ‘They’ve got in.’

The lads reach her position, aiming down the road as Meredith sets to work, growling viciously as she moves from crawler to crawler, ragging them side to side to finish them off.

‘Okay, get in and check it with Mo. Mo! Up here with Carmen. Danny and Booker, get down onto the main road and keep watch in case they circle back around. Tappy, watch this section here in case they come back the way they went out…quickly now!’

Orders given and Mo and Carmen rush off towards the unit while Danny and Booker run back down the road to the entrance gates. Everyone with a heightened sense of awareness as the fires start taking hold within the estate from the super-charged fragments of grenades hitting wood and dry material.

Carmen stays calm. Running ahead with Mo while the lads follow behind. The two of them sweeping into the now opened commercial unit and a classic car left under a sheet to give reason for the unit to be rented long-term. Tarpaulin and old wheels cast aside at the back to expose a set of trap doors standing open and light showing out from within the basement.

‘Going forward,’ Carmen whispers, sweeping through to the trap doors and aiming down the concrete stairs. ‘ANYONE INSIDE SHOW YOURSELF NOW…’ she pauses for response, hearing none then starts down with Mo close behind to a long room lined with guns racks and cases of ammunition. Heavy machine guns under wraps and resting on pallets in the middle. Mortar tubes, rocket launchers and more big black cases.

‘We’re clear,’ Carmen says, holstering her pistol.

‘S’clear,’ Mo calls up the stairs as Blowers, Nick and Cookey rush down.

‘Fuck me,’ Nick says, viewing the hardware on show. ‘Were we expecting an invasion or something?’

‘What did they take?’ Blowers asks.

‘Er, I guess some assault rifles,’ she replies, spotting a few empty racks and pointing to dust marks on the ground where cases were sat just a short while ago. ‘I don’t know what was in here before…’

‘Okay, we’ll grab what we can and get out quick…Mads, bring the Saxon around to this entrance. Tappy, stay where you are. Danny and Booker, stay sharp. We’re going to load quickly and get out…’

‘Mo, swap for one of these,’ Carmen says, pulling the wrap from an M4 US spec-ops assault rifle. ‘Get a tac-vest on too,’ she adds, throwing one at him. ‘We’ll grab some kit for Dave…’

‘This better than my rifle then?’ he asks, unstrapping his SA80.

‘For what we do it is,’ she replies quickly, shoving his pockets with magazines. ‘Are any of you sniper trained?’

‘Nah, only Dave,’ he says as he pulls the tac-vest on and works with Carmen to get his pockets filled with magazines before checking the new rifle. Smaller and lighter, shorter too. A variant used for speed with a stripped-down stock and he can spot the sections made ready to attach accessories. Sights, suppressors and lasers.

‘Where do you want us?’ Charlie asks, rushing in with Maddox. ‘Jesus,’ she comes to a stop at the sight of the weapons, shaking her head.

‘I know right,’ Nick says.

‘Are we swapping rifles too?’ Cookey asks.

‘Maybe later,’ Blowers says. ‘We’ll need familiarisation drills. Mo, you’ll need to fire a few rounds before we go so you know how it works. Everyone else grab what you can. We’ll have those fifty cals, and the mortars would be fucking handy. Grenades over there…what’s that?’ he asks, spotting Carmen grabbing a big bag from a shelf and opening a black case.

‘C4,’ she replies, taking blocks of what look like plastic bricks out to shove in the bag. ‘Someone grab the det cords and timers from that case…’

‘That was fucking nuts,’ Booker says quietly as he moves out into the road by the main gates. Looking down the hillside they drove up then turning to look past the estate. Straining to listen and he turns to look down at the terracotta roofs and the little winding streets. Scenting smoke rising from fires lit within houses that give tell of people living there. He spots a door opening within the town and two people moving out as though they didn’t hear the huge gunfight that just took place, but then acoustics can be weird in hollows and depressions. He remembers reading about it in books about warfare before he joined up and met the lads.

The town does look pretty though with the early morning sun shining on the white walls. Quiet and peaceful and he imagines it must have been packed with tourists during the summer holidays. He spots three figures walking out on the playing fields towards the grasslands. An adult and two children venturing away from the town.

Something else further along the cliff edge bordering the town below catches his eye. A smudge of weird air rising up within the vast depression that sinks down along the cliff. Like a dust cloud or something but the distance is too far.

What he doesn’t see is a single, solitary man walking up from that depression and coming to a stop to stare at the town of Hinchley Point ahead of him. Taking in the long approach over the playing fields and grasslands that lead to the town proper. He takes in the cliff edge to one side dropping away to the sea, and the hillside on the other seeming so high and steep with the houses rising up the side of it. He also spots three figures walking across the playing fields. An adult and two children. A woman and her daughters all laden down with rucksacks as they set out to head towards Bournemouth.

The woman is nervous too. Scared even. She was visiting friends at Hinchley Point when the outbreak started and couldn’t get back to Bournemouth, so she stayed, and the long days passed while she fretted about her husband back home. About her own mum and dad and her brother. An urge to get back and find them and now, after twenty-eight days, she finally plucked the courage up to set out and rose early to get her daughters ready. Giving them strict instructions to stay close and to stay quiet.

But then Hinchley Point, being in the position it is, has been largely unaffected and life has carried on without great impact, save for the power cutting off and the food supplies starting to get low, so telling two children to be scared of something they have not seen is hard and her daughters chat away, excited to be out and moving for the first time in weeks.

The man watching them doesn’t know any of that, and nor would he care if he did. They are people that must become hosts. He thinks to go now and run out, or to send his horde at the town, but experience has taught that the lesser expenditure of energy will come from letting the woman and two children get closer. And so he waits that bit longer while Booker also watches the adult and two kids and wonders who they are and where they are going.

He looks back to Danny then beyond him to Tappy and thinks about her fucking Nick on the beach then again last night in the tower. It was weird when Booker found them all wiped out at the back of the cocaine warehouse. They were all exhausted and ready to pass out, which meant no real chat, but it did give him a chance to get a good look at the women. Marcy is hot as hell with huge tits. Booker could hardly take his eyes off her. But then Charlie is hot too. All lean and athletic and that shaved head makes her sexy as anything. But Tappy is the one that caught his eye. The tattoos and the slightly wonky smile. He likes her sense of humour and the way she flirted with him. Saying he had nice arms, and she said he was cute in the Saxon too. Then she fucked Nick on the beach and Booker felt weird. Like he thought was in, but then clearly he wasn’t. And she fucked him again last night and now she can’t take her eyes off him. And all those jokes about being fat are getting on his nerves. Booker isn’t fat. He’s trim and muscular.

That smudge of air catches his eyes again. Like a weird heat haze or something coming from that big depression in the cliff line where the land falls away down to the shore. Motion too. Something moving and his brain struggles to make sense of the distance and scale of it. He flicks his eyes back to the adult and two children now reaching the edge of the playing fields and going into the wild growing grasslands and then back to the edge of that section. Something moving. Like rippling or something.

‘Danny?’ he calls softly, motioning the lad over. ‘Get a look at this.’

‘What’s up?’ Danny asks, jogging across the road.

‘Over there, see the three people.’

‘Er…yeah, yeah I got them.’

‘Beyond them…right to the edge where the ground drops away. What is that? See it? Like a heat haze or something moving…’

‘It’s too far,’ Danny says, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘Hang on, I’ve got binoculars from that drone place…’ he adds quickly, dropping his bag. ‘Carmen said I could take a pair.’ He stands back up, fiddling with the strap and the focus for a few seconds then looking through the lenses to find the woman and her two kids, seeing they’ve got backpacks and the two little girls and skipping and playing as they walk. He moves the view over across the grasslands to the edge to the man standing there watching them.

‘Oh fuck,’ he whispers. ‘Infected…’ he lowers the glasses, passing them to Booker and scrabbles for his radio. ‘Sergeant Blowers, it’s Danny…’

‘Danny, go ahead, what’s up?’

‘Sergeant. There’s infected…in that town below us. They’re coming up from the beach or something…’

‘Stay there. Coming to you,’ Blowers transmits back, bursting to a run as they pile up and out of the bunker and go fast through the estate to the gates. Tappy joining them. All of them running hard to reach Danny and Booker. ‘What you got?’

‘Look down to the playing fields,’ Booker says, passing him the glasses as Carmen grabs another set from her bag. ‘Woman with two kids…’

‘Where?’ Blowers asks. ‘Yep, got them.’

‘Go up over the long grass right to the edge…see it?’

‘Hang on,’ Blowers murmurs, adjusting the focus to get his bearings and understand what he’s looking at it. ‘There’s a bloke.’

‘Behind the bloke,’ Booker says.

Blowers frowns, not getting it for a second until his brain interprets the images and makes sense of the people crawling out of a huge hole and staying low like animals.

‘Shit,’ Carmen says, seeing the same thing through her glasses. She switches her gaze back to the woman and two kids then back to the infected man, realising the woman hasn’t seen him. The grass is too long and they’re looking down whereas she is looking ahead.

‘What are we looking at?’ Tappy asks.

‘See that brown smudge in the air,’ Booker says, pointing down and away over the town. ‘There’s like a huge drop in the cliff. There’s fuck loads of infected things crawling out of it…’

‘Fuck,’ Nick says.

‘That woman’s walking right towards them,’ Blowers says, looking about. ‘We’ll have to load up and drive down…’

‘It’s too far,’ Carmen says.

‘We can’t leave them,’ Blowers says.

‘Fire shots into the air,’ Tappy says. ‘That’ll scare them back.’

‘And make the infected attack now,’ Carmen says.

‘Shoot them then,’ Tappy urges. ‘Shoot the infected…’

‘It’s too far,’ Carmen says again. ‘All we can do is try and warn anyone else in that town.’

‘We can’t leave those people,’ Tappy says.

‘I don’t know what you want me to say,’ Carmen says. ‘We can’t get to them…we can’t go in from that side as the cliff’s fallen away so that means going in from the lower road and we’ll never reach them in time…’

‘Fuck, no, no no no,’ Tappy says, pushing the binoculars to her eyes to see the woman and the two little girls skipping along then over to the man hidden in the long grass and the infected hunkering down behind him. ‘Oh god no, please…we have to do something.’

‘There isn’t anything,’ Carmen says. ‘We load up and get into the town and help everyone else get out…’

Danny goes to speak, his mouth moving but he holds still and silent. Looking at the hillside and the houses below them. At the distance from them to the woman and her kids.

‘Get loaded,’ Blowers orders as they start to turn, all of them feeling that bitterness and pain inside as they set off to run back.

‘I can,’ Danny blurts, making them all stop. ‘I can, sergeant.’

‘Can what?’

‘Get to them. I can do it.’

‘Danny…’

‘I can, sergeant. I can run…I’ll get to them.’

‘Danny,’ Blowers says, lifting a hand.

‘I can run, sergeant. You told me. You said not to hold back, and I was holding back. Even at the end I didn’t go full speed. I can run faster than that…’

‘It’s down a fucking hillside,’ Blowers says.

‘We’s parkour that shit, yeah?’ Mo says eagerly. ‘You gettin’ me. You done parkour, Danny?’

‘Yes! I can do it. Me and Mo. We’re fast, sergeant. We can do it…’ Danny urges, his young face flitting between worry and confidence.

‘Mads. Tell ‘em. We’s running from the feds over houses all day long.’

‘You did, Mo. Danny didn’t,’ Maddox says.

‘I can do it!’ Danny says, strength in his voice now. Depth and meaning too. ‘We can try…we can’t leave them. Carmen, you saw me run. I can go faster,’ he looks from Carmen to his sergeant as Blowers bites his lip, cursing the choice and knowing the only option is to let that woman and her kids die. He rushes back to the cliff and looks over to the houses below. ‘How the fuck are you getting over that?’

‘Up there,’ Mo says, pointing up the road to where the closest rooftop is. ‘We’s slide down, hit that roof then we’s runnin’ like we’s got pockets full of weed.’

A look from Blowers to Carmen. She nods once. ‘They’re both quick, sergeant.’

‘Fuck it, but DO NOT get killed. Do you understand me? Paula will chew my bollocks off if either of you get a scratch.’

‘We’s parkourin’ Danny,’ Mo says, as two lads strips their bags and rifles off.

‘Lads, rifles,’ Blowers says.

‘Too heavy, sergeant,’ Danny says. ‘We’ve got pistols and knives.’

‘FUCK ME!’ Blowers shouts. ‘Tappy, get the Saxon here now. You two, just fucking run then. Everyone else get ready…and I mean it. DON’T FUCKING DIE.’

Chapter Thirty-Five

Another morning comes to the fort as Lilly steps out of the suicide room and heads back towards the offices, giving thanks that at least there wasn’t another dead body to find. She thinks about last night and the suggestion she made to Henry that he uses Howie’s team as a shield to get to the panacea, and she knows that if he doesn’t go for it and if there’s no progress today then she will have to take action. And if Henry won’t volunteer the information as to where it is, then she’ll take it from him because there are no limits to what Lilly will do for this fort.

Henry gets ready in his rooms. The rustle of clothes and kit filling the air as he, George and Frank get kitted up and ready. Marion already out and working in the kitchens with Sunnie and Aggie. An air of resolute determination between them. Henry can feel it. George too. Frank just feels that he wants to fart and wishes Carmen was here so he could blame her.

‘Ready?’ Henry asks, the clean shaven, tidy man impeccably presented as ever.

‘I should say so,’ George says, his moustache trimmed and smart. ‘Frank?’

Frank shrugs. His hair a mess and with one shirt tail poking out beneath his tac-vest. ‘Need a shit,’ he says.

‘Well, you go ahead and do your ablutions and George and I will head up to the offices.’

‘Can’t wait,’ Frank mutters. ‘We’re not spending all day yacking again are we?’

‘We are not,’ Henry says, walking out with George to the promise of another beautiful day. They walk the short distance to the offices and in through the door to a hubbub of noise and chat. To a rich smell of coffee and people coming and going with a great sense of urgency.

‘Henry, George. Are ye well?’ Kyle calls.

‘Well enough, Kyle,’ George replies smartly.

‘Where’s Lilly?’ Henry asks, looking about.

‘Here,’ she says, walking in behind them. ‘Have you decided?’ she asks bluntly.

‘Ach, will ye let them get a coffee first, Lilly.’

‘It’s fine, Kyle, and yes, Lilly. I have reached my decision,’ Henry says as the room falls quiet. ‘Which is best discussed with Howie. Might I suggest we head over?’

‘What’s your decision?’ Lilly asks.

‘As I said. I feel it is best if we talk together, seeing as this involves all of us,’ Henry says. ‘We’ll meet you on the shore.’ He goes swiftly out, leaving a second or two of silence.

‘We’ll head over,’ Lilly says, motioning for Norman and Kyle to follow then holding back to speak quietly to Mary. ‘Get a message to Peter. Tell him to be ready.’

‘Aye, I’m on it, Blondie.’

* * *

Howie dresses in the room upstairs he shares with Marcy. Lacing his boots up and feeling more like a caged animal with every passing minute. It’s like the walls are closing in and the ceilings are too low, and that pressure inside. It’s driving him mad. He keeps thinking about his dad and mum and his sister and about Dave. But more than that is that ever pressing urge to be out there and doing something before it’s too late. This, whatever this is, is taking too long. Henry can go fuck himself. George and all of them. Lilly too. They can fucking keep the fort and do what the fuck they want. Howie’s out of here today. He misses the lads too. Misses being with them. The banter and the jokes and the sense of progress, and he knows all the others feel exactly the same. Well, maybe apart from Roy, who now appears to be seeing a nurse called Anika.

Mind you, making cupcakes with Marcy was good. Howie senses she needed that, and that in some way, it gave closure to her. She cried heavily later in the evening. Full on weeping that he hadn’t seen in her before with an outpouring of emotion that made him feel inadequate. Like he didn’t know what to say to give comfort. In the end he just held her. Whether that was right or wrong he doesn’t know. The sex has also been strange. Very, very passionate but driven by emotion instead of lust, or maybe some weird mix of the two. And it’s been odd getting to know Marcy as a person without the ever-present sense of peril they always have. She’s deeper than he thought. He always saw through the act she puts on, that bravado and playing on her looks and pretending to be vain because that’s what people expect. But the layers within her have surprised them all. The way she listens. Like really listens and asks questions about their lives to learn about them. And she’s become fiercely protective over Dave.

Anyway. Whatever. He’ll still be glad to get the fuck out of here and he slings his rifle, hefts his axe and goes downstairs and out into the back garden to the others already drinking coffee.

‘Boss,’ Clarence says, lifting his mug in greeting as Roy slides a full brew across the table towards Howie.

‘Ta. Any word from Henry?’

‘Nope,’ Paula says, sitting glumly between Roy and Clarence.

‘Awesome,’ Howie says drily. ‘That’s that plan fucked then. We might as well sod off and meet up with the lads before they get too bored.’

‘Bored? I bet they’re having the time of their bloody lives,’ Marcy says. ‘It’ll be a never-ending supply of dick jokes and Danny getting ribbed for his big willy while they’re all flexing their pecs at Carmen…and I bloody hope Tappy has bonked all thoughts of Lilly out of Nick’s head.’

Silence as they all drink coffee.

‘Sorry,’ Paula says. ‘Did you just say bonked?’

‘Well, I was going to say shagged but it sounded rude? Then I thought fucked and that was even worse so in the end I went with bonked.’

‘Oh,’ Paula says.

‘Makes sense now you’ve explained it,’ Roy says.

‘Does,’ Clarence says. ‘Still, I hope they’re having fun,’ he adds as they drink coffee in the quietness of the garden in the last house on the bay as Danny and Mo sprint hard up the road until they reach the point above the highest roof top and both leap the barrier, hitting the screed on the hillside and sliding down fast through the bushes and weeds, sending rocks and stones tumbling away.

‘You’s ready, Danny?’ Mo shouts over, seeing the rooftop rapidly approaching them.

‘Yeah,’ Danny yells, thinking he’s not ready at all. Like he’s really not ready and perhaps this was a monumentally stupid idea and what the actual fuck was he thinking by jumping down the side of a fucking cliff? Then he clocks the grin on Mo’s face and the fear vanishes as the natural derring-do that fills the young and hardy comes bubbling to the surface, and he grins widely as they get ready to jump the distance to the roof before they splat against a very solid looking brick wall at the base of this section of hillside. And then, just before they leap, he changes his mind and once more thinks was a bloody stupid idea.

‘NOW!’ Mo yells out and the two lads push off hard, sailing out into the air with arms spinning and hearts galloping while their stomachs flip and twist and threaten to drop their contents out of their arses, and that first leap takes forever too. It lasts an eternity with both figuring this was way too high and the drop will be way too hard. They’ll break legs or ankles. They’ll go through the roof and die. That will happen. It has to happen.

It doesn’t happen and they land on their feet with their strong legs absorbing the impact as they sink down into crouches while behind them the boulders and rocks tumble down to smash into the brick wall. A second for them to realise they’re not dead as they look at each other with faces of profound shock.

‘DON’T JUST FUCKING SIT THERE YOU PAIR OF BELLENDS…’ Sergeant Blowers shouts through the radio, making them both twist to see him leaning over the cliff way, way up high. ‘GO ON…RUN!’

Another grin and they burst away now fuelled with the confidence that first leap gave them. Scrabbling over tiles that start shooting off underneath them and smashing down onto the roads below. A gap ahead. Another roof beyond. They run fast and once more leap high with arms and legs cycling as they sail over the gap and land on the next roof with more tiles smashing off.

‘Fuck yeah!’ Mo shouts out, setting off with Danny at his side. The two of them going faster now. Aiming for the town proper. Running fast. ‘We’s freerunnin’, Danny!’ Mo cries out, making Danny laugh as they speed up. Both egging the other one. Another leap. Another roof and they hit the deck running. Slipping and sliding with tiles flying off all over the place. The wind rushing past them. The adrenalin dumping massive loads in their bodies as they scale down the hillside. Leaping from house to house. From garage to garage. From shed to shed. Running and never stopping. Another big drop down ahead of them and they run harder to gain momentum then drop to their backs to slide over the edge. Both whooping as they plummet and land on the roof below then vault over the apex and down onto a road and across, leaping railings and going under barriers. Going over parked cars and running ever faster.

A low roof ahead at the end of a twisting rat run and again they speed up, both powering on and leaping high as Meredith sails past them, landing first and landing better because there was no way in hell she was letting the pups go alone. Another second. Another glorious energy filled second as three pairs of brown eyes lock before they go again and the energy ramps and the speed increases.

Roof to roof. Down onto roads to leap gaps and vault walls. There is no thought given. Only the now and from the dog they learn to reflex with instinct. Not to think about it, but just to do it. See it. Take it. Know your own strength and push harder. An energy flowing. A rare and wonderful sense of freedom gained as they leap impossible distances and land from impossible heights. Sometimes laughing. Sometimes whooping and sometimes crying out in fear, only to find they didn’t die and they are not dead.

This is life. This is living. This is being with your mate and doing something crazy and wild and the boys can’t help but grin at each other. Their bond deepening with every leap and jump. The wild street kid that grew up in abject poverty and the quiet young man abused for years by a beast of a step-dad, but none of that matters now. Only this. Be here. Do this. An urge within them coming from Meredith. Don’t think. Just be.

On and on they go. Down and down and the people within the houses cry out in alarm and rush out of doors to see two young men and a huge dog flying over the narrow streets from roof top to roof top.

But still, in the distance, they see the woman and her two children still walking across those fields towards an evil thing lying in wait and so they run. They run fast. They feel the thrill of it, but they do it because if they fail then those people will die.

‘Crazy wankers,’ Blowers snaps, throwing himself into the back of the Saxon as Tappy pulls up outside the gates to the industrial estate. ‘GO!’ he cries out as Maddox slams the back doors closed and Tappy powers on. Speeding down the hill as she catches sight of the two boys and the dog running like the clappers. They’re fast too. Stupidly fast, but the distance they have to cover is vast. ‘It’ll take too long,’ she calls out.

‘We don’t have much choice,’ Carmen says, gripping the grab handle above the passenger door.

Tappy grits her teeth. It will take minutes to get down and turn, then more minutes to get through the town. That’s too much. She glimpses the boys and the dog leaping high and landing out of sight and feels a thrill at their bravery and having the bollocks to take a chance. At having the confidence to use a skill they know they have and she swallows. Thinking back to her dad and the times they went rally driving. The encouragement he gave her. Tappy Drinkwater. The greatest man she ever knew. He was fearless and brave. He was kind and loving and she killed him.

There. She spots it on the hillside ahead. A change in the shape of the land as it slopes down. A lessening of the steepness that sweeps on and forms a natural bowl that feeds down into a car park that leads to a road. Now or never. Be brave. Be bold. Be Tappy Drinkwater.

‘HOLD ON,’ she roars out, giving a second’s worth of warning before twisting the wheel of the Saxon to drive off the edge of the cliff as Carmen cries out. Everyone else the same. Shooting legs out to brace and gripping each other as gravity seems to end. As the laws of physics seem to alter and the Saxon drops hard, falling through the air as Tappy’s face comes alive. Her eyes glowing with the confidence Danny and Mo had to jump off the edge of a cliff. Trust your car, Tash. That’s what her dad always said. You know what it can do. Use it. Use the car.

‘COME ON BABY,’ she screams out as the Saxon lands and she stamps her foot down on the power. The Saxon’s engine roars out, biting deep. The filters and pipes now clean and she grips the dirt beneath her tyres and growls out to gain traction. Sliding on the spot. Earth spewing out. The Saxon careering as Tappy screams ‘MOVE YOUR FAT ASS…’

Boom and she’s off. Surging forward as gravity returns and Carmen’s eyes go wide as Tappy clings that heavy vehicle to the side of a fucking cliff. Driving hard and fast over rocks and through bushes. Following the contour of that bowl. Reading the ground ahead. Trusting her car. Knowing what she will take and sensing she has more to give. Like Clarence knew that boat wanted the water, so Tappy knows the Saxon wants this power now. She’s big and heavy. She’s got a fat heavy engine and a fat heavy rump and only power will fix that. Only power will give the equilibrium she needs and Tappy gives her what she wants. Pushes her foot down. Sliding the back end out and letting it drop lower as they take the hillside with shit and debris pinging the sides and windows. With the world spinning past them and she sees the car park off to the right. A hard angle to take. An impossible angle to take, and as Danny, Mo and Meredith make their biggest jump over a huge chasm, so Tappy once more powers on and screams out as she twists the wheel for the Saxon to take that leap of faith. To go forth and do what must be done.

‘FUCK ME,’ Blowers shouts out, sprawled over Cookey as everyone slides down the seats into Maddox at the back and even Carmen squeezes her eyes closed, knowing in her heart that the Saxon will tip and roll because there is no way in hell they can drive from a hill this steep onto a flat car park.

But they do because Tappy Drinkwater said to trust your car, and at the last minute, just as she’s about to roll, so she once more gains traction and spins about for her heavy front end to land on the car park for the big wheels to drag her fat ass kicking and screaming onto the tarmac.

‘FUCK YES!’ Tappy cries out, pumping the air as she powers on and Carmen opens her eyes, feeling an instant worth of relief then another instant worth of panic at the very narrow road approaching them.

‘TOO NARROW,’ she shouts. ‘TAPPY…THAT’S TOO NARROW.’

‘I KNOW,’ Tappy yells back but she powers on anyway and figures they’ll just have to make it wider and she slams through an overwide brick wall, sending chunks of masonry pinging off the metal sides and out through windows of houses. The Saxon going hell for leather through tight winding roads while the two boys and the dog thrum and run, leap and land. All of them giving everything they have got as the man at the edge of the grasslands watches the woman and her two girls coming ever closer.

The boys run faster, knowing every second now counts. A few rooftops left all going lower and lower towards the edge of the town and they leap and run, leap and run while behind them the Saxon roars out and batters along the narrow roads, slamming into walls and parked cars. Smashing things down and aside. People crying out at the sudden noise within their peaceful enclave.

The last roof and the boys leap high, sailing across the gap to land on the tiles and they slide down and off the side of the white walled house and land at the side of the town with chests heaving and Meredith landing deftly beside them.

‘Go,’ Mo urges, seeing the distance from them to the three figures now looks so much greater from being on the same level and they set off once more. The three of them breaking out into a run and the man at the edge of the grasslands watches the woman and her two daughters coming ever closer. His gaze fixed upon them and them alone.

‘Mummy, can we go swimming?’ one of the little girls asks for the hundredth time since they set out.

‘Maybe later,’ the woman says, her heart filled with worry that she’ll never find her husband.

‘Urgh, what’s that smell?’ the other girl asks, pinching the end of her nose.

‘What smell?’ the mother asks, looking about for dog poo, then it hits. A filthy stench coming from the long grass ahead. Maybe a dead badger or probably something bigger. Like a cow, or a sheep, or one of the New Forest ponies. That’s probably what it is. A stray pony must have fallen off the cliff and got stuck. ‘We’ll go around,’ she says, veering off to the right and the man hidden within that long grass readies his hosts, priming them to run out and take the people.

Danny, Mo and Meredith run fast, but that distance just isn’t been covered enough. They give more power with arms and legs pumping like crazy and faces grimacing. They have to get there. They have to give warning to the woman.

‘Really smells, mummy,’ one of the daughters says.

‘I know, sweetie,’ the mother says, and just that awful smell makes her think maybe this was a bad idea and she hesitates, thinking they should go back to the town and finally turns to see two men and a dog running towards them with a bite of panic inside.

The man spots her turning away and sends the first signal as the leading line of infected start pushing through the long grass.

‘Mummy,’ one of the girls says, grabbing her mummy’s hand at glimpsing a twisted blood-soaked face through the stems and ferns.

‘Hang on,’ the woman says while Danny and Mo run even faster. They can’t cry out for fear of losing air and it’s all they can do to run.

‘Mummy,’ the girl says again, an urgent fear loaded tone in voice that makes her mother turn to look down at her daughters and then over to the long grass as the infected prowl forward. A few dozen snaking onwards through the high reeds and bushes. The woman frowns, thinking she saw something, then something else moving over to the left. Something over to the right. Something coming at them, and she glimpses the first twisted, ruined face of an infected and feels her stomach twist and her heart boom as she grabs her daughters and starts moving backwards.

‘Go, Danny,’ Mo rushes the words out in a blast of air as Danny leaves Mo standing. Powering on with every sinew and muscle giving him strength and grace to fly over the ground. Meredith at his side. Mo behind them still running but slowing to draw air, to get composed, to get ready.

The woman heaves her rucksack off as she runs, dumping it behind and tugging the straps off her daughter’s bags, flinging them away while she keeps looking behind. Fear and terror in her heart.

The three points start to converge. Three points seemingly drawn to one spot where they will all meet. Danny can see that. He can see that they’ll connect at the same time and he goes even faster. His eyes wide. His heart racing so hard. The thing within him giving him this strength and speed to do this.

Three points converging. The woman grabbing her daughters up into her arms and trying to run faster. The infected moving with greater purpose, gathering speed and Danny and Meredith coming in from ahead of them. The woman looks back and wishes she hadn’t at the sight of the mangled, awful, filthy faces and greasy hair. At the torn clothes and twisted features. Visible and horrid. Their stench now a wall of smell that makes her cry out.

She can hear them. Their snarls and growls. The motion of them running through the grass. She senses them reaching out and her daughters scream in fear as something black leaps past the woman and Meredith takes the closest infected out. Tearing flesh open then already moving to leap to take the next as the first shots ring out.

‘I GOT YOU DANNY,’ Mo yells, not running now. His pistols in his hands sending shots past the woman. Her mind on overload. A young man in front of her trying to pull her children away.

‘Give them to me,’ Danny urges, his face bathed in sweat. Something about his manner and tone and she simply releases her hold and lets a stranger take her children while bullets whip past them, then he’s gone with such a speed it makes her blink stupidly before setting off after him.

‘We’s on, bitches,’ Mo says, moving into position behind the woman as Danny streaks out ahead with the two screaming kids in his arms. His big legs powering and leaving everyone else behind. Meredith running behind the woman, keeping the infected clear of her back. Protecting the little ones. Mo runs in and fires fast. Right hand. Left hand. Pick your target. Know where they will be, and the mass starts back across the playing fields. Danny in the lead. Everyone else behind him. He aims for the closest building. Viewing a ground floor door and thinking only to get the kids inside that house.

Mo re-loads. Dozens of infected now swarming out from the high grass onto the playing fields as the man stands where he was. Watching it all without expression. A nod and he sends the next line out who set off running after their brethren.

Mo fires again while running, cursing himself that he doesn’t have Dave’s skill to get headshots while moving so fast. Meredith working like a demon to stay behind the woman. The infected going faster now. Danny still ahead but everything going faster. The danger mounting. Mo can’t aim and shoot fast enough so he holsters the guns and draws a blade before moving to get a hand on the woman’s back, powering her on that bit faster. A swoosh from the left and he stabs out, slicing into a neck as the woman screams out, watching her daughters being carried away.

Mo risks a look back, wincing at the sight of even more infected coming.

‘You’s go yeah,’ Mo says, breathing hard. ‘Stay with Danny, he’s good, he’ll keep you safe…’

Then he’s gone and Mo stops dead and turns back to face the coming horde. He draws quickly, firing his pistols to get as many shots as he can before holstering and staring at his foe and he draws his knives. Waiting and poised as the horde snarl and aim in to take him as a huge smash sounds out from the Saxon busting through a wall and bouncing from the town onto the playing fields.

‘Fuck,’ Carmen gasps. Instantly seeing the view ahead. Danny with two kids in his arms running ahead of a woman and Mo standing on his own poised like Dave as he stares down a horde of infected charging at him. Meredith at his side. Hunkering low. Teeth showing. Hackles up. ‘Crazy little shit…’ she snaps, reaching for the radio. ‘Mo! You crazy little shit…run!’

‘Is Mo Mo innit. I got this,’ Mo transmits back then grins at the infected as they cross the last few feet. ‘As salam alaykom motherfuckers…’

He moves at the same time as the dog. Both going low and deep into the ranks then setting to work as those first few lines try and turn back into each other. Slicing tendons on the backs of ankles. Nicking arteries. Slicing throats and dancing through them, spinning and moving. Being where he needs to be and seeing his targets while Meredith destroys them with ease.

‘They’re going after Danny,’ Carmen says. ‘Danny. It’s Carmen. Get into that house. Get upstairs and barricade…’

Danny hears the words and runs hard, seeing the house getting closer. His eyes fixed on the wooden door. The little girls heavy in his arms as they cling to his neck and scream for their mother. Making it hard for Danny to get air. Blocking his vision a little, and the pace he ran at starts sapping his energy. He needs to get oxygen into his system because even he cannot maintain this pace for any length of time.

‘Carmen,’ Blowers shouts from the back of the Saxon. ‘Stay in the Saxon if we go hands on.’

‘Roger,’ she shouts back, making her rifle ready as Nick gets up top and brings the GPMG into play, letting rip at the infected coming from the grasslands as the Saxon bounces and slews about.

Danny hits the door hard, smashing it in as he surges into the hallway of a house. A stone floor and a wooden frame staircase leading up to a galleried landing overlooking the front door and he aims for the stairs, taking them two at a time and runs to the farthest room and gets the girls inside at the farthest corner, dumping them down and pushing them together. ‘Stay here,’ he says as they scream for their mummy. Sweat pouring from Danny as he pulls back and whips his pistol free at hearing feet coming up the stairs behind him and the woman comes to a stop. Her chest heaving as she looks past Danny to her daughters.

Danny holsters and grabs the double bed in the room, heaving it up onto its side as the woman gets to her daughters. He presses the bed into the corner, forming a small space behind in which they hide while he grabs cabinets and wardrobes, pulling them down to create that barricade.

‘You have to stay here,’ he calls and goes out, pulling the door shut behind him and thinking he should have made the woman barricade the door from the inside. He thinks to go back as the first infected smashes through the front door into the hallway below. Snarling and snapping its head side to side until it looks up to Danny on the gallery above and lurches for the stairs as Danny draws and starts firing his pistol. Getting small rounds into the centre of mass that do nothing other than shunt the body they hit. He adjusts and fires at the head. Missing a few then finally getting one through the skull as the GPMG outside opens up. The attacker slumps down and over the bannister. Falling away and Danny reloads, hoping that was the only one that got through.

It wasn’t.

More come. Many, many more come. Pouring around Mo and running fast at the house as the Saxon focusses fire on those coming from the grasslands.

‘Shit,’ Danny says, seeing the infected surge into the hallway beneath him. ‘Sergeant…there’s a lot coming in.’

‘Well fucking kill them then,’ Blowers shouts back as Danny thinks that’s probably good advice, which is why Blowers is a sergeant and so he starts firing. Aiming at heads as the infected all snap up to see him and start snarling as they go for the stairs.

‘Tappy,’ Blowers shouts from the back of the Saxon. ‘Get us back towards the house then you and Carmen stay in here. Use the gimpy and the vehicle…’

‘Understood,’ Carmen shouts back as Tappy turns the vehicle to start back towards the house at the edge of the town.

Danny empties his magazine, getting a couple of kills and quickly reloads and fires again, wishing he had his rifle. Really wishing he had his rifle. He slows them down and the ones he kills drop to create obstacles for those behind, but it only buys him seconds at the most, enough time to get a fresh mag in and send more tiny 9mm bullets into bodies that do not feel pain, and they keep coming too. Pouring into through the front door while the man at the edge of the grasslands nods to send another wave. Committing three hundred of his hosts to this fight.

‘We’ll get in front of the house,’ Blowers orders as the Saxon drives across the playing fields. ‘Our objective is to defend the house behind us. Got it? Mo, get back to the house…I repeat. Get back to the house. We need to fire into your position.’

‘Yep. Will do, Sergeant,’ Mo’s voice comes back, his tone as easy and calm as ever and still carrying that cheeky hint that makes Carmen smile.

Danny fires his next magazine and takes a big step forward to kick out into the chest of the leading attacker coming up the stairs. Booting him back down into the others as Danny reloads. Realising this is his last magazine and not hearing the Saxon slow nearby outside and the back doors open for the lads inside to spill out with rifles up and firing.

Danny fires again. Shooting into heads and blowing skulls out but still they keep coming and the bullets run low until the gun clicks empty and he looks at it then down at the infected still coming in through the door. ‘Sergeant. I’ve out of ammo and they’re coming up the stairs…’

‘Best get stabbing them then.'

‘Yes, sergeant,’ Danny says, pushing his pistol away and pulling his knife.

‘Danny, it’s Cookey. Beat ‘em down with your dick…’

Danny looks at his groin then figures Cookey was joking and that swinging his willy about is not a real tactic to use.

‘That was a joke, Danny. Don’t actually do that,’ Cookey adds quickly, before firing his rifle at the hordes. The action frantic and hard. Tappy drives on as Carmen gets up and takes over on the gimpy. Firing down into the infected as they drive back up towards the grasslands. Mo and Meredith working a retreat back to the firing line setting up a distance in front of the house. Creating a sterile corridor behind that no more infected can get through. Good tactics used and she sets to work. A highly trained soldier and operative firing into human forms and quickly understands that even body shots from these bigger machine guns rounds don’t kill. They knock the infected over and blow holes in them, but they don’t kill. She’s not Dave either and able to headshots while moving like this, so it comes down to sheer weight of firepower and the law of physics that if you pour enough rounds into anything it will eventually give up and die.

‘Oh shit…oh shit,’ Danny says, holding his knife ready as they breach the stairs and start up once more. ‘Oh shit…shit…’ they reach halfway with their terrible red eyes fixed on him. ‘Oh shit…SHIT SHIT SHIT…’ he shouts out as they reach the top and charge in. Then it becomes just a bloody mess as he goes into them and sets about stabbing things. Chests. Heads. Necks. Legs. Anything really. He even chops someone’s toe off and wonders, in that abstract second, if he should pick it up for Meredith to have later. Then it’s back to work and a frenzied attack as he starts getting beaten back towards the bedroom. Stabbing them hard and lashing out. Digging the blade into necks and feeling teeth on his arms and legs. Feeling nails slicing his flesh open. It gets worse too. They go harder until he really fears he will be taken down.

‘Sergeant! There’s a lot of them,’ he transmits quickly, his voice edging with panic.

Blowers casts a look back, knowing then must cut these down to alleviate the pressure before they can help Danny. ‘Hold that fucking line, Danny. You hear me? You hold that line.’

‘There’s too many!’

‘KILL ‘EM DANNY. I do not give you permission to die…now fucking fight and hold the line.’

Danny blinks because if there’s one thing that young soldiers fear more than the enemy, it’s an angry sergeant and so the thing kicks in. The trigger Carmen planted within him, and Danny explodes with that fury and goes back into the fight with an absolute savagery of violence. Battering them back. Stabbing harder and wrenching the blade sideways to open the wounds. Driving the point into eyes and up through the soft underbelly of jaws. His knife drops. Fuck the knife. Elbows and knees now. Fists and feet and the blood spatters the walls and ceiling as they infected sail back over the galleried landing to land on those still coming in.

Rounds fired outside. A few seconds of intense battle. Of noise and heat. Of blood and snarling beasts that charge only to get cut down.

‘We got this,’ Maddox shouts, motioning at the house behind. ‘GO…GET TO DANNY…’

‘Okay,’ Blowers shouts back, turning away with Nick and Cookey as Booker, Charlie, Mads and Mo fling bullets from their line.

‘FUCK YOU!’ Danny roars out, smashing fists into bodies. Grabbing ankles to rip them from their feet then stamping down. Fighting wild and crazed. Thinking the battle will never end. That there are thousands coming and he’ll be here forever. Holding his line. Fighting with everything he has until his back presses into the door. Until he has no place else to go. Until the realisation comes that this might really be it. He really might die here, and Sergeant Blowers really will be very angry. Fuck that. He roars out and fights on, battering them back and thrashing wildly, sliding down onto the floor. Sinking down with bodies piling on top of him. Heat and pressure. It’s too much. Too many. There’s no way out and just as the fear spikes so he spots Sergeant Blowers, Cookey and Nick steaming in through the front door. Three lads that have been doing this now for many days and the infected don’t stand a chance. Not a fucking chance as they carve a path up the stairs, flinging the bodies over the bannister until they reach the top. Danny feels the pressure grow for a few seconds more until suddenly, the bodies are being removed and battered aside and hands are reaching down to grip his arms and shoulders. Heaving him up to his feet.

‘Good fucking lad, Danny! GOOD LAD!’ Blowers says, holding him up.

‘You’re a fucking star, mate,’ Nick says, grinning as Danny’s pulled up and patted hard. Cookey grabbing his head and pouring water over his face as Nick pushes his hands into Danny’s eyes, sluicing the sweat and blood away.

‘Fucking legend,’ Cookey says, pushing the bottle to Danny’s lips to let him drink deep as Blowers cracks the door open.

‘Stay inside. We’ll come back and get you in a minute,’ he calls and pulls the door closed before patting Danny on the back and pushing the lad down the stairs, treading over bodies and mangled corpses and out into the sunshine to a ground littered with more dead. The firing now over. Everyone changing magazines and Tappy driving the Saxon back over the crawlers, popping skulls until she pulls up and opens the door with a huge grin.

‘FUCK YES! Did you see that,’ she calls out. ‘Danny! You bloody legend…’

Everyone else turns to see Danny coming from the house as they all collapse into one group. Hugging the lad and high-fiving. Buoyed up and pumped from the fight. From the battle. From the first serious action on their own without Mr Howie and Dave and Clarence.

‘We just freerunnin’ all down that hill,’ Mo says. ‘Like leaping and falling…’

‘And then Mo’s like Danny, I got you,’ Danny says, babbling the words out in excitement. ‘And he’s firing and I’ve got the two kids and the dog’s pulling them down…’

‘How’d you get in so fast?’ Mo asks the others.

‘This crazy fucking bitch,’ Nick says, throwing an arm about Tappy’s shoulders and planting a huge kiss on her cheek that makes her grin and flush even redder. ‘Straight down the hillside and into this car park…just nuts.’

‘Fucking driving skills,’ Cookey shouts, high-fiving Tappy.

‘It was amazing,’ Charlie says. ‘You went so fast, Tappy.’

‘It’s gotta to be a three-time thing,’ Nick says, laughing as Tappy gives him a sudden surprised look.

‘What’s a three time thing?’ Cookey asks.

‘Never you mind,’ Tappy says without taking her eyes off Nick. ‘Yeah, okay. Only three though.’

‘Just three,’ Nick says with forced casual nonchalance.

‘Carmen! I did the thing,’ Danny says as Carmen walks over.

‘Good lad,’ she says. ‘I would hug you but I’m not immune so piss off.’

‘Good point. Nobody touch Carmen,’ Blowers calls.

‘That was good skills though,’ Carmen says to them all. ‘Well done. Very impressive. Mr Howie should be proud of his team.’

‘Fuck yeah!’ Cookey laughs.

‘Okay okay,’ Blowers says, still grinning from the fight. ‘Nick, get the drone up and make sure there’s no more coming. Everyone else get cleaned up. Anti-bac everything and DO NOT touch Carmen.’

High energy. High spirits. Wipes and sprays brought out as they chat and laugh and pour water into a bowl for Meredith and glug Lucozade down while people from the town edge out cautiously. Peering at the soldiers and the playing fields now strewn with bodies.

‘And we’re prepping for launch,’ Nick calls out, getting more grins as Maddox switches the view screen tablet on. ‘In five, four, three, two…launching!’

The drone flies up and away as the man at the edge of the grasslands watches on. Seeing a single army truck and a few people with guns that just killed three hundred hosts. He can’t hear them because of the distance, but he watches and waits, and the drone goes higher.

‘You got the screen up yet, Mads?’ Nick asks.

‘Yup,’ Maddox replies, swiping the touch screen to bring the camera facing down as he looks first to his own group then at the town behind them. He shakes his head and grins at the route Mo and Danny took, wishing he could have done it too. Then over the playing fields as the drone goes a bit higher. He spots the fires burning in the estate from the grenades that went up and flicks his eyes back to the grasslands and leans in closer. ‘Nick, go that way,’ he says, motioning west. ‘Where the land drops away.’

‘Okay,’ Nick says, as Maddox watches the grasslands and frowns at the sight of a man standing there.

‘Nick, there’s a guy watching us, go a bit lower.’

‘What guy?’ Blowers asks, looking over while spraying his rifle down with anti-bac spray.

‘Just a guy,’ Maddox says, while the drone lowers and sweeps over that section of ground until Maddox gets a view of the man’s filthy appearance. His skin now deeply tanned from exposure to the sun and ingrained with dirt. Short brown hair in matted clumps and Maddox doesn’t need to see his eyes to see the man is infected. ‘What’s he doing?’ he murmurs to himself then watches as the drone flies over the big depression on the cliff line with slopes leading down to the shore forming a huge bowl within the earth with slopes going back up the other side and his heart misses a beat, lurching weirdly within his chest.

Every inch of ground covered by human forms packed side to side, front to back. Dozens of them. Hundreds of them. Thousands and more. Men. Women. Children. The elderly and the young. The large and the small. Some fresh, taken within the last few hours. Some old. Taken weeks ago, and all remain still and silent. All with filthy skin. Bloodstains and festering wounds filled with writhing maggots. A sight to see. An awful, staggering sight of just sheer numbers stacked and waiting in one place and Maddox blinks, casting his eyes about the ground at the three hundred they cut down.

‘It’s just the vanguard,’ he says, his voice croaking with tension. ‘It’s just the vanguard,’ he says again, louder and firmer as the others look over.

‘Show me,’ Blowers orders, striding over with Carmen as the rest rush to get closer.

‘Fuck me,’ Nick mutters, glancing to the screen. ‘Are they infected?’

‘Yeah,’ Maddox says.

Charlie reels at the sight as she starts calculating numbers. Guessing how many are in each line then how many lines and how big that space is.

‘He’s moving!’ Maddox calls, pointing to the man out front who sets off at an almost casual pace. At the pace he has used since he was bitten. At the pace that he will always use as he continues his forever journey through every town and village and as one, the twenty thousand behind him set off and the air once again disturbs with that brown smudge Booker saw from the upper road and Maddox looks up with a rare look of worry. ‘We’ve got incoming…’

Chapter Thirty-Six

Tension in the bay as the word spreads through the camp that Lilly wants everyone on standby for something and Peter waits by the edge holding a pump-action shotgun. Grim-faced and ready. Willie, Elvis, Tyson and Patrick at this sides and the rest of his men standing silently.

‘Is Blondie kicking them out?’ Elvis whispers to Peter.

The older man shakes his head. ‘Might be worse than that.’

‘Ah right,’ Elvis says, showing surprise as he shares looks with the others. ‘Fair play though. Blondie know’s what she’s doing.’

As Peter understands it, the bald man called Henry knows where the cure is, but he isn’t saying, and there is a risk Howie will leave and Henry will disappear and neither Lilly, nor the people within the camp, will get the cure. Peter also understands that although his people are naturally immune to the zombie virus, they can still get sick from other things, and the cure they’re all talking about will stop anyone getting sick from anything, and therein lies his own investment because Peter and his people are onto a good thing here and he wants that cure. They’ve got land and space. They’ve got freedom and they’re not shunned by anyone now. This is a new world and Peter wants to be at the top table with Lilly. That’s his equilibrium. That’s his line, and so if Lilly draws and decides to use force to find out where the panacea is, then he will back her entirely.

* * *

The quandary they face is instant and obvious as Blowers takes in the view about him. His mind processing the options available and assessing each with the mindset of a soldier.

‘Fight or retreat,’ he says out loud, looking from the grasslands to the town.

‘We can retreat but they can’t,’ Charlie says, nodding to the people watching them from the edge of the building line. ‘There’s too many to get in the Saxon and I didn’t see enough vehicles here to load them into.’

‘There’s not,’ Blowers says. ‘Their best option is to run, and we try and slow the attacking force down.’

‘They’ll swarm around us,’ Maddox says.

‘Carmen?’ Blowers asks.

‘My suggestion is you clear the fuck out right now. You stay here and you die. It’s that simple because there is no way in hell you have time to clear those people out. The best we can do is get to higher ground and fire down,’ she finishes speaking, seeing the hesitation in them all. ‘Guys, there’s no other choice, and if you die here then you’re no good to anyone…what the fuck is wrong with you?’ she asks, still seeing them hesitate. ‘There’s no glory in dying. I’ve seen it. You’re just fucking dead and that’s it…I’m sorry, but the people here cannot be saved…’

* * *

Henry, George and Frank reach the bay on their boat and jump the prow to get onto the beach. Settling themselves as Lilly’s vessel reaches the shore a little way up.

They set off over the sand. Two groups heading in the same direction and aiming for the last house on the bay. Mary looks over to the camp and spots Eggy casually smoking a cigarette. A nod from him to Mary and Mary passes that silent signal to Lilly, telling her they are ready.

Lilly faces ahead. Knowing she will do whatever it takes. It’s not just her brother that must have that cure, but everyone else too. She steels herself. Her blue eyes growing colder and harder as they reach the road and head towards the house.

* * *

Still they hesitate and not a word is spoken as Carmen blanches, thinking to yell at them. Thinking to scream at their idiocy and the fact they are even having this conversation.

‘Guys, this is a war right? You keep saying that, but you can’t win every battle in a war. Sometimes you have to take a defeat to stay strong and fight back later. There’s no dishonour in that. Call Howie. Regroup…FUCK ME! Somebody say something. There are over twenty thousand infected about to come at you, and if you lose, which you will, they will hit Southampton and go through every town until Portsmouth and that twenty thousand will be five times that when they reach the fort and that’s the whole coast gone. See sense!’

* * *

‘I’ve no idea,’ Clarence says, standing outside the house with the horse box trailer thing now attached once more to the van. Reginald, Dave, Marcy, Paula, Roy and Howie all with him as they look from Jess to the back of the trailer and ponder the very great problem of how to get said horse into said trailer.

‘Just tell her to get in,’ Paula says.

‘You tell her to get in,’ Howie says.

‘Get in,’ Paula tells the horse.

‘That didn’t work,’ Howie says was Jess switches her gaze to Clarence.

‘Do not bite me,’ the big man orders, pointing at the horse while tactically retreating.

‘Look lively,’ Howie says, spotting the two groups walking towards them on the road. ‘We’ve got death by committee coming our way.’

* * *

Valuable seconds tick by as Carmen bites the rage down then thinks fuck it and yells anyway. ‘Why are you even thinking about this?’ she demands, clocking the way Blowers turns to look at the people gathering nearby. At their scared faces. At the elderly and infirm. At the innocent that didn’t choose for this to happen. At the people unable to fight back and Carmen tracks as he looks the other way to the dust cloud now thicker and denser that speak of an unstoppable force coming their way. She glances to the screen, seeing the casual pace of them that just makes the whole thing more sinister. ‘You’re going to die,’ she whispers.

‘There’s worse things than death,’ Blowers says, turning to face her. His one good eye now brooding and dark and filled with something she doesn’t quite understand.

‘It’s not a cause to die for. Not here, Simon. Not now. Don’t lead your team into suicide…’

‘They can go,’ Blowers says. ‘None of you are pressed or forced. Mr Howie always said that. Any one of you can go now and there’s no shame or judgement. Go with Carmen and regroup with the boss.’

‘Nah, I’m good,’ Cookey says.

‘Fuck ‘em, we’ll win,’ Nick says.

‘We’s cut the mofos down, you get me…’

‘Danny?’ Blowers asks.

‘I’m in, sergeant.’

‘Tappy?’

‘I want my third time. I’m staying.’

‘I don’t know what that means, but cool,’ Blowers says.

‘Okay, pack it in,’ Carmen snaps. ‘I get the bravado. I do. I get it. I’ve done it. Soldiers fight back…’ she trails off, realising right then there is nothing she can say. ‘You fucking idiots…’ she whispers, looking over the flat land to the darkness in the air above the coming army.

* * *

Morning! Out for a stroll, are you?’ Howie calls to the two groups awkwardly converging on the road with yet another messed up dynamic at play as they act as though they only just saw each other.

‘Are ye trying to get the horse in the box?’ Kyle asks.

‘We are,’ Howie says. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Have ye tried food?’

‘Ooh good idea. Get in and give it a try,’ Paula says.

‘You think I’m getting in with her?’ Kyle replies. ‘I’m not getting in with her.’

‘Are you leaving?’ Lilly asks.

‘Morning, Lilly,’ Marcy calls back with her huge grin. ‘How are you this morning?’

‘Yes, we’re leaving,’ Paula says.

‘Sugar cubes,’ Kyle says. ‘Horses like sugar cubes. Do ye have any sugar cubes? Or carrots. They like carrots.’

‘That’s rabbits you twat,’ Frank says.

‘Ach, no. Rabbits like them as well as horses, Frank.’

‘Mogadishu. Fuck off.’

‘We need to talk,’ Henry says.

‘We need to get that big horse into that little box is what we need to do,’ Howie says.

‘Howie,’ Henry starts to say.

‘Henry, save your breath unless you want to tell me where the panacea is. Clarence, seriously, just chuck a packet of custard creams in the back for her.’

‘A whole packet?’ Clarence asks.

‘Er, Lilly?’ Reginald asks politely. ‘Can you tell me why you have lots of armed men standing over there?’

Everyone turns to see Peter and his men emerging from the camp. All of them armed and looking over with serious expressions as that palpable tension already hanging over them charges even more with an overt threat now made clear. With an intent expressed and now willed by a young woman with a very singular determination.

‘Lilly, what are you doing?’ Kyle asks, glancing from Peter to her. ‘Peter, stand your men down.’

‘Ye best taking a step away now, father,’ Peter calls back.

‘What’s going on?’ Norman asks. ‘Lilly? We didn’t discuss this.’

‘Howie’s about to leave and I should imagine Henry will go shortly after him,’ Lilly says. ‘But we need that panacea.’

‘Ach, Lilly. Not like this,’ Kyle says.

‘I gave you a solution,’ Lilly says, ignoring the muttered protests and looks of alarm as Peter’s men range out.

* * *

‘Sorry but I’m out,’ Carmen says. ‘I’m not dying here for this. Give me your radio…I’ll call back and get Howie to you.’

‘Okay,’ Blowers says, passing it over. ‘Listen, thanks for being cool with us. I really appreciate that. That last couple of days have been good.’

‘Yeah, cheers, Carmen,’ Nick says.

‘It’s really nice meeting you,’ Tappy says.

She mutters under her breath from the sheer stupidity of young soldiers that die for causes that never cared for them in the first place. She’s seen it too many times. In too many war zones. In Afghan. In Iraq. In more places than she can remember.

‘Thanks for helping me, Carmen…’

She stops dead at the quiet sound of Danny’s voice as she walks off and turns back to see his huge innocent eyes.

‘I really enjoyed it,’ he adds. ‘It worked too, in the house I mean…’

‘Danny, don’t stay here. You’ll die.’

‘It’s cool,’ he says in that earnest, sincere way that makes her heart feel like it’s breaking into a million pieces. ‘I’ll buddy up with Mo…he’s my mate and like…I never really had mates before. It was nice meeting you though…’

‘Fuck,’ she gasps, looking up at the sky. She told them to buddy up. Carmen told them to buddy up and stay close and the connections you make as you journey through life sometimes reach out to remind you of a thing you said, of an idea you planted that changed the way people think and act.

* * *

‘Tell you what,’ Howie says into the sudden threat hanging over them all in the bay. ‘You all crack on and have a big row and we’ll sod off and leave you to it…’

‘I think we’ll stay until this is resolved,’ Lilly says.

‘Lilly, we didn’t talk about this,’ Kyle says.

‘Innocent people are dying right now because that man will not reveal his secrets,’ Lilly says, pointing at Henry. ‘And I have seen too many deaths to allow that to continue. Henry, you will tell me where that panacea is, or I promise I will take that information from you…’

‘Oh wow, she’s really doing this,’ Howie says.

‘She is,’ Marcy says.

‘Lilly,’ Clarence says, his deep voice rumbling out. ‘This isn’t the way, love. Not like this.’

‘We need that panacea, Clarence.’

Silence. Deep and harsh. In the bay and at Hinchley Point as Carmen glares at them all while feeling torn inside. Torn at what to do. Knowing that to stay is to die but knowing that to leave is to forever regret leaving.

Dave’s hands start to move. A man with autism. A man that cannot read social situations and who struggles with the nuances that people display, but this here, this now, this is a clear threat and one he can read very well. Frank starts to do the same. His hands edging towards his pistols as Kyle’s start to lift towards his own belt. His own mind in turmoil. His loyalty to Lilly now deep and real, but this is his old team and that’s Howie. Lilly’s hand in her side pocket, gripping the grenade she always carries. Everyone poised and an equal silence at Hinchley Point as Carmen looks to the dust cloud and the town behind.

‘We just throw everything at them,’ Blowers says. ‘We hold the line until the boss gets here. That’s all we can do.’

‘No,’ Carmen whispers, hating him. Hating them. Hating herself. ‘No!’ she says again.

‘I dislike being threatened,’ Henry says, looking at Lilly.

‘We can find a way through this,’ Norman says quickly. ‘Force is not the solution here.’

‘Sometimes it is,’ Lilly says.

‘And everyone will die,’ Marcy says. ‘Know your consequences, little girl, because they are yours…’

‘Er, not sure calling her a little girl is all that helpful,’ Howie says as Dave’s hands grip the butts of his pistols and the second comes. The second that has been marked on the cards since they all met.

The upset to the equilibrium they all felt needs to right itself and in that charged moment in time, so the radio clipped to Howie’s belt chimes out at the same time as the radios held by Frank, George and Henry do the same, and they all chime together because Carmen uses the emergency preset on her set to transmit to them all.

‘Howie, Henry. It’s Carmen. We’re at Hinchley Point. I repeat. We’re at Hinchley Point. The facility was compromised but still intact. Contact within the town. Three hundred infected killed that were the vanguard for a force in excess of twenty thousand now approaching from the western edges of the plateau. The town has civilians. I repeat. The town has civilians. There is not enough time to evac, Sergeant Blowers is going to try and hold them…’

Henry transmits urgently, cutting over her. ‘Exfil now. Repeat. Exfil now. That is an order, Carmen.’

‘Henry. If they get past here, they’ll take the whole coast’ she says, taking in the young battered faces of the tiny group about her that would choose to die rather than flee and regret it. ‘Henry, you always told me there’s a line in the sand for everyone. This is mine. I’m staying with Sergeant Blowers. Get to the weapons depot and fire down from higher ground.’

‘Knew you loved us,’ Blowers says, doing his wink or blink thing again that makes her frown as he shrugs.

‘Carmen. It’s Frank. Can you hear me?’

‘I’m here, Frank,’ she says. Wishing more than anything that he was here. That Dave and Kyle were here. But they aren’t and she is so she forces calm where there’s none to be found.

‘There’s a mosque at the back of the town. Get everyone into that. Did you get to the stash point?’

‘It was compromised. An armed group. Mercs by the looks of it. There’s plenty left. Mortars. Fifty cal…’

‘Did you get the C4?’

‘Answer yes.’

‘Prep the buildings for a blow out on fall back…’ Dave calls out, his voice carrying clear. ‘Tripwire grenades next to vehicle fuel tanks. Rupture gas pipes and place the charges so the walls blow out into the road. Stagger the retreat, use the Saxon as a weapon and pinchpoint them as you fall back and use higher firing points.’

‘Copied that, Dave.’

‘How far is it to this place?’ Howie asks.

‘Seventy, maybe eighty miles,’ George says.

‘I know it,’ Roy says.

‘I’ll go with you,’ Frank says to Howie.

‘Frank?’ Henry warns.

‘It’s Carmen, Henry,’ Frank snaps. ‘Since when did we ever leave anyone behind?’

A pause. The blink of a heart. The beat of an eye as the harsh rebuke readjusts the moral alignment within Henry. ‘Understood. We’ll go with Howie and take the van up to higher ground. Norman, Kyle. I need every sharpshooter and soldier you’ve got in that fort…’

He cuts off from the sound of a shotgun crunching a round into the chamber as Peter takes a step forward, levelling his shotgun at Henry.

‘I need that panacea,’ Lilly says firmly.

Henry doesn’t falter or show reaction as the tension ramps. ‘Twenty thousand infected are heading towards your fort...’

‘Ach, ye not killing them for us now,’ Peter calls over. ‘By the time they reach this fort we can be gone and finding somewhere else. This is about helping Howie’s boys and ye wee lass Carmen.’

‘You fucking cunt,’ Howie growls.

‘Aye, cunt as I may be, but we’ll be wanting that cure you’ve got, and nobody is leaving until we know where it is…’

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The man walks at the head of his hosts. His pace the same as it has been since he was turned so many days ago. Since he was bitten and changed into the true state of being. He has no knowledge of the conversations taking place ahead of him, nor does he pay attention to the thing buzzing overhead. He sees only the town and the terracotta rooftops on the white walled houses that glint in the sunshine and instead of sending a few, he now readies many and the infection within him ripples the signal out through thousands of minds that send signals into thousands of brains that start dumping chemicals into thousands of bodies.

The first ranks start changing with physical reactions altering the way they walk and look. Making them meaner with aggression pulsing through them. Snarls start showing from lips curling back to reveal yellow dirty teeth. Hands claw and eyes change, becoming narrower like the eyes of predators. Hearts pumping harder and lungs filling to enrich muscles with oxygenated blood and the noise about them changes from the rustle of motion to the growls and utterances forming.

The man walks on. His own manner unchanged, but then he is the control point. He is the manifestation for this group, and he gives a single nod for those first few thick, dense ranks to speed up and stream past him through the long grass.

‘We’ve got incoming,’ Nick calls out, watching the screen wedged on the back step of the Saxon. ‘They’re speeding up…’

No time for thinking. No time for thought. Tappy runs to the front and dives in to grab the handset and she flicks the loudspeaker on as everyone else winces from the screeching feedback. ‘EVACUATE THE TOWN,’ her magnified voice booms out. ‘GET TO THE MOSQUE…GO NOW,’ she leans out to see the bystanders still gawping at what’s going on. Fear and confusion showing within them but still that sense of detachment born from a society of observers that don’t believe the thing happening nearby will touch them. A few even hold phones up, recording and taking pictures and showing just how little this town has been touched by the last few weeks of utter devastation. ‘GO NOW,’ Tappy shouts louder. Infuriated that none of them are moving.

‘They’re speeding up again,’ Nick yells.

‘Fuck,’ Carmen mutters, grabbing the big black bag from the Saxon. ‘Mads, I need your strength. Grab the grenade crates and come with me, Charlie, you too…I’ll prep with these two, Blowers. You hold.’

‘Roger,’ Blowers shouts back, still unable to see the infected but clocking the dust cloud above them growing thicker while his senses prickle and a shiver runs down at his spine at the thought of so many coming towards them. He remembers the square and the battle of the ten thousand and he knows how brutal that was. Now there are twice more, and they don’t have Howie, Dave or Clarence and no Roy on overwatch either. Not for another thirty minutes at least.

Maddox and Charlie run behind Carmen. Heavy crates of grenades in each hand and Carmen carrying the big black bag. A front door booted open by Maddox and a terrified woman standing inside with a small boy at her legs.

‘OUT NOW, GET TO THE MOSQUE,’ Carmen orders, making the woman scream as she grabs her kid and runs out the door. ‘This wall,’ she runs over and drops the bag, yanking the zip back and pulling a block of C4 out and a strip of wire with two metal ends. ‘This is very high grade C4 explosive. You can shoot it, set it on fire and throw it about and it won’t detonate. It needs a charge. This is det-cord with a blasting cap. This end goes into the C4, and on the other end of the wire is a receiver. This is the transmitter,’ she shows them a black hand-held wireless controller fitted with buttons. ‘We sync the receiver to the transmitter, stick the blasting cap into the C4 and when we hit the fire-switch it goes bang. So far?’

‘Got it,’ Maddox says as Charlie nods while both watch Carmen work.

‘This stuff doesn’t blow as much as people think it will, but it’s the force of the shockwave that does the damage. We need it wedged in somewhere, so the force blows the wall out into the street. A lump this size and a couple of grenades with it should blow a few joists out and get walls falling down…do you need to see that again? Good. Grab an armful of blocks, det-cord and a transmitter each and go find houses to blow up. Come back to me if you run out. We need inner walls that will create obstacles…HANG ON! Before you go,’ she runs off into the kitchen and heaves the oven out with a strength that belies her size. ‘Gas pipes,’ she gasps, wrenching one to snap free then sticking her blade into the end to cut the safety valve off. ‘Either cut this off so the gas pumps out, or, if the oven is fitted and you can’t do that then just turn all the burners on. Got it? Now go. GO! Every house you can find. Work back towards the centre and for fuck’s sake don’t make any sparks…Blowers, it’s Carmen. We’re getting the gas flowing. No smoking.’

‘Really?’ Cookey asks. ‘I was just lighting my pipe…’

‘Funny cunt,’ Blowers shouts, running back to the firing line with another two cases of grenades while the lads stack magazines on the ground in front of them, and while Tappy yells through the loudspeaker. ‘Nick, update…’ Blowers shouts.

‘Getting a bit faster…they’ll hit the edge of that long grass in a minute…ah forget that. They’re fucking running…’

‘Shit. Get that drone back…Tappy, shout out we’ve got incoming…’

‘INCOMING NOW. THEY’RE RUNNING…’

‘Fuck,’ Maddox mutters, sprinting hard to get into the next street along and ramming through a front door. ‘GET OUT,’ he bellows at an old man. ‘MOSQUE NOW…’ to the wall and he drops the blocks, grabs one, shoves the blasting cap and syncs the end to the controller before shoving it into place with grenades then into the kitchen and the oven ripped free and the gas pipe snapped.

‘THEY’RE RUNNING!’ Tappy’s voice booming through the streets. Charlie runs hard too. Reaching a house with an open front door and steaming in to set the charge.

‘Nick,’ Blowers shouts. ‘Get on the gimpy once the drone is back. Tappy, get out here firing then get ready to drive back through the town and get the dog in the Saxon…’

‘There they are,’ Cookey calls, lifting his rifle as the edge of the grasslands seems to morph into a darker shade with motion seen coming through the last few metres. Danny and Mo lifting rifles. Booker with them. Nick zooming the drone back as fast as it will go, flying it into the back of the Saxon then shutting it down and ditching the controller before getting up through the hole and twisting the gimpy around. Tappy drops out and gets into line. Rifle up and they hold. Those few hold for the long seconds as across the playing field the dense line within the grasslands grows darker, coming closer. Hearts booming. Eyes fixed. Nerves showing. Knuckles turning white as they grip rifles and Nick yanks the bolt back, making ready while Meredith barks in the Saxon, giving voice. Telling them not to come here. Telling them to go back. Giving fair warning and telling them she will kill them all.

‘Here they come,’ Blowers says, and a strange silence comes. The silence before the battle where the air becomes heavy and thick. Where eyes strain and senses prime. Where they swallow and become suddenly very thirsty. Where bladders swell and the urge to piss comes strongest.

And they breach. The whole seething line of fetid infected speeding from a lolloping jog to a full-on run and the roar goes up as they burst from the long grass and those few on that line suddenly feel really very small.

‘ON MY COMMAND…’ Blowers shouts, marking the distance and knowing every bullet now counts. Danny stares at the attackers with his heart lurching weirdly in his chest. So many of them. Too many of them.

‘We’s got this, Danny,’ Mo says at his side. His grin as wide and as cheeky as ever and that fear within Danny vanishes once more.

‘Fuck yeah we do,’ Danny says.

‘HE’S MY BOY,’ Mo shouts. ‘YOU’S FUCKED…YOU HEAR ME? YOU’S FUCKED…IS MO MO AND DANNY INNIT…HAHA! WANKERS…’

‘Nick?’ Tappy calls.

‘Yeah?’ he asks, twisting back to look at her.

‘I want that third time.’

‘We will,’ he grins widely and if there is fear here, he doesn’t show it and from him, and from Mo, she draws the bravery needed to steady her hands holding the rifle. ‘FUCK YES WE WILL,’ Nick yells out. ‘BLOWERS?’

‘Fuck ‘em,’ Blowers growls. ‘KILL ‘EM ALL…’

Nick fires first and the rest a second after. Just a few assault rifles and a single gimpy and those bullets spin from barrels and cross the playing fields at over nine hundred metres a second, zipping into the lines as the first blood of this second stage attack is drawn and the first bodies drop.

Maddox pauses for a split-second. Hearing the rifles open up and he rushes on. Stuffing blasting caps into C4 and syncing to the transmitter before twisting knobs on gas cookers. Charlie the same. Sweat already showing on her face as she runs out of a house and through people screaming out as they pour past. Into a door. To a wall. C4 out. Blasting cap in.

Carmen runs too. Spotting a row of cars parked up in a wider section of road. All of them with wing mirrors now gone and sides scraped by the Saxon going through earlier. Bag down and a block of C4 placed at the end car under the fuel tank. Grenades placed with it then more under the others cars and on she goes. Drawing her pistol to shoot a plate glass window of a shop out and going in to place more C4 on the wall facing the tiny street on the other side.

Nick gives burst fire. Strafing left to right then back again. Casings flying out. Blowers and the others shunting from the recoil of assault rifles in shoulders. All of them now kneeling so they can snatch fresh mags up faster and the bullets whip across the playing fields. Hitting chests and stomachs. Making the attackers drop and spin away. Shattering thigh bones and knees. Striking skulls and sending shards of bones out that lacerate the ones closest. Many drop. Killed outright. More fall and start crawling. Some just take the impacts of the rounds and keep going, but there are thousands and so the effect is minimal.

The man senses the kills, but he shows no outward reaction. He has suffered losses before and he knows the defenders cannot withstand the numbers he has, and so he comes to a stop and watches his first few thousand as they stream past him through the long grass and out onto the playing fields. A bullet whizzes past his head. Hitting a host behind. The man does not flinch. He has no fear or even any concept of fear. This town will be taken. The end is already ordained.

‘LEGS,’ Blowers shouts and as one they fire into legs, making the first leading lines fall to make the ones after snag and trip. Buying seconds as the infected concertina and bunch up, staggering and going over each other. Nick doing the same. Aiming low and hitting knees and shins. Thighs and feet and those front lines fall down with bones shattered only to be replaced with more. And even when they fall and trip so more come. More and more for ever after and forever more.

For a few minutes that’s all they do. They fire bullets in the vain hope they can slow the horde down to buy time for Howie to get to them. For someone to get up on high ground. For something. For anything. Whatever the reasons, whatever the hope.

‘MOVE,’ Charlie snarls at a family in her way, slamming into another house to get a block of C4 prepped and stacked.

‘Excuse me,’ a middle-aged woman demands, striding in through the door. ‘Just what the hell is going on? Are you the army? We haven’t heard anything for weeks and I’ve got this bloody awful toothache I have…’

‘Get to the fort,’ Charlie shouts.

‘The fort?’

‘Did I say the fort? I meant the mosque. Get to the mosque.’

‘What about my toothache?’ the woman asks, going after Charlie as she runs out and up to the next house. ‘You can’t just charge in there. That’s someone’s home!’

‘Carmen, I’m out,’ Maddox calls into his radio. ‘Where are you?’

‘UP HERE,’ she yells out, stopping in a junction further up as he spins about and sets off after her. Grabbing more C4 from the bag and carrying on. Stuffing bombs where they can. Doing what they can.

‘MAGAZINE,’ Cookey yells out, changing over and making ready to carry on firing. Spent casings littering the ground and the gimpy cuts off as Nick curses while loading a fresh belt.

‘Tappy, get ready to drive back…Nick, we’ll need you down here. Get the gimpy down…when I say, everyone start throwing grenades…’

The firing goes on. Shots ringing out but that wall of hate keeps coming. That solid line of death advancing without cessation and without pause. Nick wrenches the gun from the vehicle and drops out through the back doors, forcing Meredith to stay inside before he gets to the line and drops low. Taking over the fire.

‘Now, Tappy!’ Blowers shouts as Nick fires and she runs off. ‘Grenades,’ he orders, slinging his rifle as the others in that tiny line let Nick strafe from side to side as they pull pins and get ready to throw at that awful line coming ever closer. Close enough to see details. Close enough to see faces and teeth bared, and hands clawed. Close enough to feel the projected hunger. ‘NOW…FIRE IN THE HOLE…’

Overarm throws and the grenades go into the line as they grab more and pull pins to throw the next as the first ones detonate with dull whumps that send fragments into bodies. A good effect and a few more withered as that front line reels from the explosives. Nick shoots. Tappy gets the Saxon fired up and the grenades go in again. More after that. As many as they can throw. As fast as they can throw them.

‘Jesus,’ Charlie mutters, hearing the explosions.

‘I mean it!’ the woman says, standing over Charlie with her arms folded. ‘I’ve had toothache now for a week and can I find a dentist? No, I bloody can’t.’

‘That’s awful,’ Charlie says. ‘Hold these for me,’ she adds, thrusting a few blocks into the woman’s arms while she runs into the kitchen to get the gas going. ‘Thanks!’ she says, taking them back and running on while the woman frowns at the smell coming from the kitchen then runs off after Charlie. ‘And when’s the power going back on?’ she yells.

‘Tappy, when I say, you drive along that front line and mow them down then get into the town.’ Blowers transmits with a snatched second as the grenades are lobbed and Nick fires.

‘I’m almost out,’ Nick shouts up.

‘Okay,’ Blowers calls, throwing another grenade. ‘Danny, Mo and Booker, fall back into the town now. Cookey, you cover Nick while he reloads. Nick, you’ll have to do it while you run…Tappy! CLEAR THAT FRONT LINE WHILE WE FALL BACK.’

A change in motion as the line grabs the grenade cases and bags and magazines and start falling back. Nick reloading the gimpy as the Saxon engine roars out, biting deep as Tappy surges on. Meredith up front with her. Giving voice at the windscreen as the mighty vehicle slams into the line. Hitting human form with her solid plates and driving on with the big wheels crushing them down. The engine alive within the Saxon. She turns hard, powering on to make that beautiful fat ass slide out and take a few more down then she’s on again, powering back down the line to buy time for the lads to get back to the edge of town.

‘We’re clear and in,’ Blowers transmits. ‘Carmen. The fields are gone. We’re into the town…’

‘Blowers, it’s Carmen. There’s a café with a red awning on a junction where the roads meet. Use that as the second stage fall back point. DO NOT FIRE INTO THE BUILDINGS. THE GAS IS PUMPING…’

‘Roger. My team. Café with the red awning. Second stage fall back point. TAPPY. GET BACK INTO THE TOWN NOW!’

‘On my way,’ Tappy transmits back, twisting the wheel to aim for a side street and pushing the power on. Breaking free of the fields now thick with charging infected that are still pouring from the grasslands. She gets into the narrow road, wincing at bouncing off walls and just waiting for a spark to make it all blow up. ‘You having fun?’ she asks Meredith, who doesn’t really reply but barks a lot in the manner of a dog that thinks they’re heading the wrong way from the bad guys.

Blowers and his team get running. Carrying cases and bags. Axes wedged down backs. Rifles gripped. Nick with the GPMG. All of them sprinting hard along the streets.

‘I think someone’s left the gas on,’ Cookey quips, making them snigger as they run from the pungent smell.

‘Where the fuck’s this café?’ Booker yells.

‘Why? You getting tired, fatty?’ Nick asks.

‘They’ve probably got Doritos,’ Blowers gasps.

‘Fucking bastards,’ Booker says, grinning all the same.

‘You’ve missed this, Booker,’ Cookey yells. ‘Admit it. You’ve missed this…’

‘Oh fuck,’ Nick shouts, glancing back to see the infected now breaching the building line behind them. ‘FUCK FUCK FUCK…RUN!’

A burst of power as they grimace and give it billy big legs up the road. Carmen and Maddox running from side streets towards the café. Charlie placing her last charge.

‘I think it might be an abyss,’ the woman says, still rushing after Charlie as they get out into the street.

‘I think you mean abscess,’ Charlie shouts, running off down the street towards the red awning.

‘Is that what it’s called?’ the woman asks, running after her. ‘Right at the back. I took painkillers but it’s so sore…mind you, it’s stopping me eating which isn’t a bad thing. I haven’t half put some weight on since my divorce…’

‘There!’ Blowers shouts, seeing the red awning ahead as the world behind them fills with snarls and growls. Tappy driving deeper, lost within the maze of streets. Carmen and Maddox sprinting hard along a side road. All of them aiming for that one place. For that second stage fall back point. Hearts racing. Faces grimacing. Sprinting as fast as they can to get clear as the wide junction comes into view. All of them converging within seconds of each other and all of them turning to get over to the café with the red awning.

‘Who are you?’ Cookey gasps at the woman running with Charlie.

‘She’s got toothache,’ Charlie replies.

‘DOWN DOWN DOWN,’ Carmen yells out. ‘TAPPY. YOU’D BETTER BE CLEAR…’

‘I’M CLEAR,’ Tappy yells into her radio without actually knowing if she is clear. ‘Fuck it, soon find out,’ she tells Meredith.

They all converge and drop with chests heaving. With blood pounding through skulls. With Carmen, Maddox and Charlie holding their small black controllers as the infected fill the streets behind them. Roaring out and snarling. Pumped and aggressive.

‘Now,’ Blowers shouts.

‘Fire in the hole!’ Carmen yells and the three press their buttons with a split-second of absolute worry that it won’t work.

It does work and those controllers send signals to receivers that ignite the det-cord that in turns ignites the blasting caps which send shockwaves into the blocks of C4 that blow as one huge, ragged cacophony of enormous blasts. A solid charge of air and noise and heat. The ground shaking beneath them. The vibrations going deep and long as the Saxon rocks on its chassis from the shockwave sent out. Tappy’s ears popping. Everyone’s ears popping. Everyone covering heads with arms.

Walls blows out. Slamming masonry and brick into streets. Grenades detonate with scorching hot fragments tearing bodies apart. Fuel tanks on cars rupture as petrol ignites and sends fire balls up high and down roads. Gas pipes go next with sheets of flame broiling through those tiny narrow roads and the shockwaves keep going. The supercharged air adding to the deadly mix as human forms are eviscerated on the spot. The whole first section of Little Italy now a seething mass of flame and bricks slamming back down. Skulls crushed. Bodies on fire. Others torn apart and it goes on too with more explosions hitting as pressurised cans of deodorant in bathrooms go bang. As windows blow out and add air to flames. As things go pop and whiz through the air. On and on. Noise and waves of heat rolling over them and the people scream out. Now running for their lives for the mosque at the back and the Imam waving his arms and calling out for them to hurry and get to the back.

‘UP NOW…’ Blowers screams the words. Unable to hear his own voice and he grabs the nearest body, heaving it up as Cookey shakes his head and gets Nick up. Carmen on her feet. Knowing every second counts as they bring rifles up. Nick gets the gimpy braced on a wall and the firing starts again. Their heads swimming from the sensations. Their eyes hurting from the heat and flames. Charlie up and firing as they spot infected still coming into the streets aiming at them. Bullets sent back. Grenades thrown and the woman with the toothache is pulled up and a pistol shoved her into hands and told to aim that way and fire.

She stares at the gun in her hand. A middle-aged divorcee that worked part-time in retail. That had no self-esteem. That felt fat and lumpy and left behind by a world moving too fast, then she looks up at the infected still coming through the heat and flames and she lifts that pistol and fires once. Feeling the thing buck in her hand. Feeling the force of it and she grips it with both hands and does it again, then again. Bracing her feet and squaring her shoulders.

‘KEEP FIRING,’ Blowers shouts, pouring fire into the junction as the smoke starts to clear.

‘My gun’s broken,’ the woman shouts when the gun stops going bang, then she turns to see a young Arabic lad grinning at her as he swaps her one gun for two, placing them in her hands and pushing her arms out.

‘Fire one at a time, you get me? Pick the targets. Don’t pluck the trigger, you’s squeeze it.’

The woman blinks at him, then he’s gone, and she stares at the two guns now in her hands and that look steals into her eyes once more and she tracks her target and fires the gun in her right hand. ‘I GOT ONE!’

‘You’s go for it, lady,’ Mo shouts, his rifle back in his shoulder as they send bullets out to try and stem the flow while the thick smoke rolls low and far, making them cough as they work. Eyes stinging and throats getting sore.

‘Carmen,’ Blowers shouts out. ‘Go for the next stage…’

‘Tappy, it’s Carmen. I need the Saxon here…’

‘ON MY WAY,’ Tappy shouts into the radio, turning a corner and slamming the side of the Saxon into a brick wall then powering on, seeing the smoke and flames on one side. A long road then she spots the red awning of the café ahead and the group in the circular seating area outside behind a low wall. Muzzle flashes from rifles and the gimpy and another woman firing two pistols. She goes fast, bouncing over debris and chunks of masonry and screeching to a sliding halt, turning the wheel at the last second to present the back doors to Carmen. Tappy gets out, taking a knee to fire into the attackers still trying to swarm over the devastated ruins. The smoke so thick and dense. She spots figures and fires at them while Carmen grabs more C4 from the Saxon and the lads heave another couple of cases of the grenades while seeing their supplies are already rapidly diminishing.

‘I’M READY,’ Carmen yells. ‘MADS, CHARLIE…SAME AGAIN…WE NEED A THIRD STAGE FALL BACK POINT…’

‘THERE’S A SQUARE,’ Tappy shouts. ‘MID WAY FROM HERE TO THE MOSQUE…’

‘THE SQUARE,’ Blowers shouts. ‘THIRD STAGE FALL BACK…YOU THREE GO…MY TEAM…FIGHT OUT…TAPPY, DRIVE THIS LINE AND KEEP THEM CLEAR…’

Boom and they go again. Carmen, Maddox and Charlie grabbing C4 and grenades. The middle-aged woman snatching a view at Charlie running off and sprinting after her. Tappy back into the Saxon with Meredith. A task in hand. A duty to fulfil. An order given. Keep this line clear. She nods once and gets the big engine going, racing out to charge down that street to smash into any human form daring to cross it.

‘WITH ME WITH ME…’ Blowers screams and leaps the wall to stride out into the ruins. Clambering over smoking mounds of debris and collapsed houses with Nick, Cookey, Booker, Mo and Danny fanning out at his side. Shooting rifles and the gimpy into the first section of Hinchley Point now a mess of flame and dense smoke.

They take ground back and fight out. Killing swiftly. Shooting fast. Reloading over and over and doing everything they can to buy time for C4 to be planted, for Howie to get here, for a miracle to come.

The man reaches the playing fields and gains clear line of sight to the first section of the town now in ruins. Fires breaking out and smoke billowing across the open ground. Losses have been taken, but still he shows no reaction. The end is still ordained, and even with his mind controlled by a parasitic infection he still knows that to expect to take the whole coastal area without losses is impossible, and he still has many, many thousands.

Another nod. Another signal sent and the next wave pump and charge and set to running. Streaming past him across the playing fields.

‘COME ON WANKERS,’ Nick screams out, clambering up the side of a house blown apart. Finding a flat section at the top to go prone with a higher ground firing position and he sets back to work. Strafing into the infected. The lads doing the same either side of him. Eyes red and hurting as they climb ruins and feel the heat wafting over them. Faces blackened and covered in grime with sweat and tears tracking clean lines. Firing assault rifles as that roar sounds out from across the playing fields.

‘THEY’RE COMING,’ Cookey yells.

‘THE NEXT LOT ARE INCOMING,’ Blowers transmits.

‘Fuck me,’ Carmen snaps, slamming through yet another front door and giving thanks that the planners of this town did not allow home owners to fit modern UPVC doors. These are all old and wood and easy to batter in. She gets to another wall. Another block of C4. Gas on. Grenades set. No time for thinking. No time for thought.

Charlie in the next street over, coughing from the acrid smoke as she boots a door in and runs to the wall. Gasping for air and getting to work stuffing a blasting cap in.

‘How do you reload?’ the woman asks, still running behind her.

‘Switch on the side, press it and the magazine comes out…what’s your name?’ Charlie asks, pulling several pistol magazines out of her belt to slide over.

‘Claire…it’s Claire…’ Claire says.

‘I’m Charlie.’

‘Do you want the gas on?’

‘Yes please, Claire. Tell me, how’s that toothache now?’

‘CAN’T FEEL IT,’ Claire yells from the kitchen.

‘Thought not,’ Charlie mutters. ‘Ready? Next house…let’s go…’

Maddox works his street, going as fast as he can and stopping to get a block of primed C4 under the fuel tank of a big white delivery van while Carmen reaches the first row of stores on the main shopping street. Big plate glass windows. Old style too with nasty old glass that breaks into razor sharp chunks. She busts doors open, planting charges. Ripping gas pipes out. Sweat pouring.

‘They’re about to hit the town again,’ Blowers transmits, seeing the next solid wall of infected emerging through the smoke billowing across the playing fields.

‘Need more time,’ Carmen’s transmits. Out of breath and rushed.

‘We’re doing what we can,’ Blowers shouts back through the radio, his own voice ragged and hoarse and Tappy winces, feeling suddenly useless at her road being clear and having nothing to do while everyone else works so frantically. She reaches the end of the street and sets to turn deeper into the town then spots an exit road leading out onto the playing fields. Narrow and unseen and right on the edge and used by vehicles to maintain the sports fields. An idea in mind. No time for thinking. No time for thought.

‘FUCK!’ Blowers shouts, seeing the next wave coming too quickly. He fires into them. Getting kills while the flames spread all about him. Bodies everywhere and more infected coming. They’re coming too fast again too. Carmen won’t have time to prep, but he only has a few rifles and a gimpy. That’s not enough. ‘GET READY TO FALL BACK…’

‘THEY NEED MORE TIME TO PREP,’ Nick shouts.

‘WE’LL BE OVERRUN,’ Blowers yells back. ‘GET READY…ON MY COMMAND WE START THE RETREAT…’

‘Cunt it,’ Cookey spits, furious that the other side have rallied so fast and sent so many. Like they’ve broken a rule within a game that has no rules. But Blowers is right. There’s no choice. The first detonation of this part of town was good and got some kills, but to even hope to do the same thing again was an over-reach and a hope too many.

‘FALL BACK FALL BACK,’ Blowers yells as those attackers now swarm clear and charging. Ramped up with snarls and howls. With voices screeching. Solid noise filling the air. Everything so frantic as they drop back. Staggering and tripping. Coughing and hurting. Then they hear it. An impossible sound. A sound that doesn’t belong and coming in fast.

‘DON’T SHOOT OUT,’ Tappy yells into the radio then ditches the handset and reaches over to press the screen on the player while ramming her foot hard to the floor, feeling the engine bite. Feeling the Saxon vibrate and go faster as the music hits, blasting from Carmen’s MP3 player and out through the loudspeaker output. Distorted and awful, but loud. Very fucking loud, and the Saxon steams across the front of the town. Mowing them down. Hitting them hard. Slamming them aside with bodies flinging off as the lads within the ruins give cheer at the sight of Tappy going by with 212 by Azealia Banks playing loud and proud. She grins at the lads. Bobbing her head. Meredith next to her. Barking at the infected that get killed with ease by a weaponised vehicle.

‘I FUCKING LOVE HER,’ Cookey yells.

‘You ain’t the only one,’ Nick mutters, grinning at Tappy Drinkwater showing the infected that her side have no fear. That this is play. That this is sport for them, and she goes deep across the front of the town as the rifles get back to work. Taking aim to fire away from the Saxon.

‘COME ON BABY,’ Tappy shouts out, turning the wheel to make the vehicle slide into the earth, taking more down. She yanks the wheel hard over and gives as much power as she can. Making the Saxon turn a tight circle round and round. Spewing mud into the infected. Taunting them. Goading them. Flicking a middle finger as she goes round and round, grinning while the music blasts as an infected leaps the bonnet and slams up onto the roof then falls down through the hole as Meredith leaps into the back to rag it side to side. On they go. Back down the line. Tappy dancing. Swaying side to side as the heavy solid plates burst skulls and break limbs as Meredith gets back into the front with blood dripping from her teeth.

‘Crazy bastards,’ Carmen gasps, hearing the music through the radio and the guns firing, but that energy they have is infectious and she can’t help the grin showing at the utter temerity of it. At the bollocks it takes to take less than a dozen against an enemy so huge in number and play music while they are doing it. ‘GO ON, TAPPY…BUY US ANOTHER MINUTE…’

‘YOU GOT IT,’ Tappy yells back into her radio, turning the wheel of a vehicle that is starting to feel like an extension of her own body. Sliding her out, feeling when to give power, when to ease off, sensing the nuances, but then she’s seen the insides of this vehicle now. She’s held her beating heart in her hands and found a dick on a stick blocking a pipe. Back along for another run as the infected charge faster, some breaching and getting past as the furious firefight plays out in the smoking ruins of the first section of Little Italy. Muzzles flashing and the lads giving it everything they’ve got.

Then Blowers spots it. The tactic they tried days ago as the infected start flinging themselves at the front wheels, trying to bring the big beast down. ‘TAPPY…GET BACK INTO THE TOWN…CARMEN, THAT’S IT…WE’RE FALLING BACK…’

‘FUCK IT,’ Carmen shouts out, bursting into another store.

‘Fuck it,’ Maddox gasps, pushing his next block of C4 into place.

‘Oh dear,’ Charlie says, running with Claire into the next house bordering the square in the middle of town.

Tappy complies with the order, feeling the shunting from the bodies diving into the front wheels, making the Saxon bounce hard and high. She clears the line and aims back into the town, powering on through the smoke and flame while wishing she could have done more.

‘FALL BACK FALL BACK…’ Blowers shouts, knowing they have further to run now. To the third stage fall back point. To the square in the middle and they set off, running hard with a staggered retreat. Cookey and Booker firing while the others fall back. Nick taking his turn while the rest go on. Then Danny, Mo and Blowers firing while Cookey and Nick get past. That tactic works for a few seconds, but the charge is too great. The attack too fierce. ‘JUST RUN,’ Blowers yells and once more they give it billy big legs, leaping clumps of broken walls. Slipping on blood and mangled bodies. Coughing from the stench and fumes. Eyes streaming with tears. ‘WE’RE COMING IN HOT,’ he calls into the radio.

Carmen, Maddox and Charlie once more work like demons, planting the charges and setting grenades. Ripping pipes out. Turning burners on. Sweating hard. Gasping for air. The roar of the infected now heard and coming closer.

Tappy drives fast through the streets, careering and hitting walls and anything in her way to get clear and reach the square. The lads sprinting for everything they are worth. Legs pumping. Lungs bursting. Hearts galloping. The infected so close behind. Swarming over the ruins of the first big blow out. Some catching on fire as they run through flames but still they keep going, still they keep attacking.

On and on. The streets seeming to be so long now. From one tight winding lane to another. Boots thumping the ground. The lads crying out from the exertion and the second comes that makes them think they won’t reach it. It’s too far. It’s too much.

‘THERE!’ Danny yells out, the fastest of them all and he spots the square ahead and runs back to take the GPMG from Nick who finds a burst of energy with the end in sight. Carmen, Maddox, Charlie and Claire all running from junctions once more. All racing to reach the third stage fall back point. The stench of gas now rich and strong and then it happens with a chain reaction that makes Carmen curse herself for not thinking about it.

The gas turned on within the houses closest to the first stage of devastation and that gas leaks out into the streets and down towards the ruins where the flames and heat lick and grow. And that one stream of gas ignites and sends a fireball back into the house it came from, blowing it high with flame that hits the grenades that makes them detonate with enough shockwave to explode the C4 and the first one blows high.

‘NOW,’ Carmen yells, pressing her button, knowing they have to detonate now because the C4 may not all blow, and while running, and while still not fully clear, they blow the second stage of the town and once more the heat and shockwave and flames make the earth shake.

As one they’re flung forward. Taken off their feet as the C4 blows and the grenades with them. The gas igniting. The vehicles going up and those huge plate glass windows exploding out with shards that decimate the infected, tearing them apart, taking limbs from bodies, and those explosions keep going. Higher and hotter. Deeper and more terrible than the first.

Blowers twists over, glancing back to a world of hell, of human forms on fire and others blowing apart. Of a whole section of a town once more erupting with walls blowing out and chunks of buildings collapsing. He scrabbles up to his feet and gets one hand on Claire and another on Carmen and starts dragging them away. Pulling them clear as they rouse and come to. As their minds find traction to work again. He ditches them at the edge of the square and rushes back to grab Charlie and Cookey while Danny and Mo start crawling. Maddox the same. All of them with senses now spinning. With flames licking their backs. With hearing fucked and eyesight fucked. With their whole world about them fucked and awful.

‘Up,’ Blowers croaks. ‘Up and make ready…not over…it’s not over…’ he shakes his head and slaps himself to wake the fuck up. To be here. To be in the now. ‘GET UP,’ he roars, wrenching Charlie to her feet. ‘UP UP UP…’ Maddox yanked up and he boots Danny in the leg and screams at them. ‘GET UP AND FIGHT…’

Carmen on her feet feeling drunk. A whole half a town now in ruins. Some houses remaining wholly intact. Others with just blown out walls. Some crumbled. Flames searing the air. The Saxon comes in and Tappy jumps out. Taking her rifle to fire at the shadows and forms within that broiling devastation.

Carmen goes to speak but no words come. Her throat too dry. Her senses too dulled as she feels hands on her front, pulling her about and the awful face of Sergeant Blowers shouting at her.

‘Can you do it?’ he asks. ‘Carmen! I need you…wake up!’

She blinks with a rush of senses slamming back and turns to see the utter destruction behind them and knowing instantly that it’s not enough.

‘Can you do it again?’ Blowers asks.

She shakes her head. ‘No, not enough C4…’ she looks to the town beyond them and the stark contrast of white walls and clean rooftops. She can’t believe they did it twice. That they blew two sections of the town like that, but to try for a third is impossible. She’s got a few blocks left and some grenades. That’s it. She looks at the layout of the space about her and sees three roads leading out from the square. Two narrow and one wider. The main wider road in the middle. The two narrower ones to the left and right as Dave’s words come back to her mind, pinchpoint them.

‘We can pinchpoint them,’ she says quickly, grabbing Blowers to make him turn. ‘Look! Two smaller roads. We breach them and make them funnel into the wider road. That’s our pinchpoint. We form a line and fire as we fall back to the mosque…but that’s it. The mosque is the final fall back point…’ she looks at him again, at his hard face, seeing the dirt and grime and absolute determination in his one good eye.

‘Okay, do it,’ he says. ‘We’ll hold them here…’ he adds as she checks her watch.

‘It’s been over forty minutes, where are they?’

‘They’ll get here,’ he says with something less than confidence now in his voice.

‘Mads, Charlie, to me,’ Carmen calls. Making them run over, both of them stunned but still in the game. Still in the now. ‘We’re going to bring the buildings down to block those two narrow streets. I’ll take the left. You two take the right. Do inside the walls of the first houses on both sides of the junction so they fall in. We need them blocked. Go!’

The man comes to a stop on the playing field and the tiniest of reaction starts to show with a faint irritation flitting across his face as his head cocks over. He saw the town blow again and sensed the loss of more hosts. But the town is finite. It has an end, and the people inside cannot keep repeating the same thing. All he has to do is drive them back until they run out of land and the town is his. The people too. He nods again. Sending the signal to charge the hosts behind him, but this time he does more. Many more.

‘My team,’ Blowers call. ‘Back into it…Tappy, keep this line clear behind us…’

Once more into the breach. Once more into the fray and his small group rush out to clamber the ruins. Gaining height to fire down. Sporadic shots here and there at the few still remaining and they can’t see the playing fields now. The building line ahead of them and the smoke and flames too dense. But they know the next lot are coming.

‘It’s like a fucking video game,’ Booker calls. ‘Some wanker boss sending wave after wave…’

‘That’d be a good game,’ Nick says. ‘I’d play that…’

‘And eat Doritos and wank,’ Blowers says to the sniggers that keep coming. The energy still there. They’ve given ground but they’ve scored losses too. Loads of them and the town lies thick with the corpses of the infected. ‘Tappy,’ he yells as she gets back into the Saxon. ‘That was good, with the Saxon. Good skills.’

‘Thank you, sergeant,’ she says with a big grin. ‘And do keep Nicholas alive for me...’ she adds, closing the door then opening it again. ‘Mainly his penis,’ she shouts, closing the door again.

‘Okay. Will do,’ Blowers says, giving her a thumbs up while Nick shakes his head.

‘Mate,’ Cookey says. ‘She’s way better than the last one.’

‘Fact,’ Mo says.

‘Aye up, here they come,’ Cookey says, snapping his head to face forward.

‘THEY’RE INCOMING,’ Blowers transmits and then it’s on and happening. The lull broken and vanished as if it was never there as the first line of infected surge over the mounds and around the still intact buildings. They screech and howl. They roar and give voice and the rifles and the gimpy fire fast. Doing what they can.

Tappy gets to work. Driving up and down the road running width ways across the town and past the square, mowing infected down. Slamming them into walls, steering left and right and spinning the Saxon about on the turn.

‘FALL BACK FALL BACK,’ Blowers shouts, retreating once more. From the ruined buildings to the square and a volley of grenades sent in. The Saxon whizzing past. Carmen, Maddox and Charlie working as fast as they can. Claire still with Charlie.

But the intensity ramps. The onslaught becomes too much, and the fall back goes faster as they cross the square towards the central main road leading up towards the mosque at the back of the town.

‘WE NEED TO FALL BACK NOW,’ Blowers shouts into his radio as the gimpy strafes and lads do what they can but the press is too much and the risk of being flanked and the infected getting past them is now too high. ‘Carmen! We have to blow them…’

‘Jesus Christ,’ she mutters at the frantic pace, slamming a block of explosive into place and setting the charge. She can hear the roar coming and the pressure grows. The staggering searing heat and smoke and the never ending infected people coming at them. Charge set and she runs clear and cries out at seeing how close they are. Just metres away and she runs fast. Firing her rifle one handed. Charlie, Maddox and Claire bursting free from their junction as the whole team collapse back towards that main road. Tappy giving it one last drive behind them. Buying what time she can but the attack is too fierce, and she turns into the wide central road, getting through the lads and parking higher up before dropping out and adding her rifle to the firing line.

Carmen, Maddox and Charlie run hard across the square. The infected coming at them. Blowers trying to hold that one last bit of ground. ‘NOW…BLOW THEM NOW…’

Carmen grabs her detonator, pressing her switch to make the C4 from her end blow out with flame and noise. The explosion nowhere near the size of the others but enough to send flames out and take a few dozen down, and enough to bring her buildings down. Blocking the road.

‘CHARLIE…BLOW IT,’ she shouts out, seeing Charlie scrabble to pull the detonator free but the girl trips on debris and goes flying as the detonator skitters across the road. A roar from the team and as one they punch out and fire like mad. Nick running deep and hip-firing. Blowers seeing the detonator device on the ground. Running for it. Seeing the infected coming at them. He fires his rifle until it clicks empty then slings it and leaps over the switch to land with fists flying. Smashing his hard knuckles into faces as Mo slides long, grabbing the detonator and pressing all the buttons at once until the boom comes. The second explosion bringing the walls down as the retreat gets underway again.

Carmen with a rifle. Snapping single shots out. Hitting heads. Twitching this way and that. Staying low. Every gun firing as they go back into that road and feel the walls on either side and the pinchpoint forms. A gradual lessening of the spread of infected coming at them and it means they can focus fire into one narrower spot, but they still go back, and the infected still keep coming. Body piling over each other. Swarming like bugs. Like rats. Like filthy diseased things that will never stop.

Tappy runs to the Saxon and starts her up again before yelling a warning and driving backwards at speed. Hitting the front ranks and pushing the whole seething mass back a few metres. A few go over and another drops through the hole to be killed by Meredith and there the new dynamic tactic develops with the team firing what they can while Tappy pulls forward and slams back. Over and over. Rinse repeat. Kills given but they still give ground. They still get pushed back and the seething mass still keep coming.

‘IT’S NEARLY AN HOUR…WHERE ARE THEY?’ someone yells. A voice lost within the bedlam. Nobody answers because there isn’t an answer to give and the first bite of fear comes that Howie will not get here. Something has happened, and even if they do get here, what the hell can they do against so many?

Blowers even thinks to find the radio and tell them not to come and pulls it from his belt to see it’s fucked and as broken as everything else. Melted from the heat and now dead. He casts it aside, knowing he still has his cheap radio they use within the team, but the range is shit and won’t reach out the town, especially not with such big hills sealing it in. Then he’s back to fighting. Back to firing as Carmen slams into him, pressing her body against his and pinning him to a wall as the Saxon roars past. Once more slamming into the attackers.

‘Thanks,’ Blowers says and then once more they fight. That’s all they can do. They keep going until they run out of magazines and have to run relays to the Saxon to get more. The gimpy barrel gets too hot again and Nick tries pouring water over it while shooting a rifle and back they go. Back and Back towards the mosque.

The end of the road now only a few metres away. Another wide junction where several smaller of the twisting lanes meet. An open area with a big fountain and the mosque behind a plaza. Shop fronts and awnings and the road to the car park Tappy came in on. The final stage fall back point with no place else to go.

Back they go. Back and back. No time for thinking. No time for thought. It’s been well over an hour since they called for help, but it feels like a lifetime and the seconds tick by as the bullets fly out. The ammunition depleting rapidly. Running out. Claire firing pistols. Getting it. Getting this. Getting what this is. As invested as they. As willing to fight to die to buy time as they. Everyone in the battle now. Everything to play for. Everything to lose.

But the enemy still outnumber them by staggering amounts and the man nods once more on the playing fields to send more hosts. The end in sight. He can sense it. He can feel it. The people fighting back have nowhere to go.

‘FUCK,’ Blowers shouts out at seeing the end of the road right there. Knowing that if they lose this pinchpoint the infected will swarm past them and get to the mosque. He thinks hard. He thinks fast. ‘Carmen! Get into the houses bordering this side of the junction. Gas on. Lay grenades. It’s all we can do…’

She nods once and sets off. Tappy rams the Saxon forward and back. The lads fire. Claire fires. The heat of the day bearing down. Throats so thirsty. Eyes so sore. Legs heavy and the sheer frantic sustained action sapping their energy and the time comes to admit the obvious and accept that there is no help coming. There is no reprieve this time.

‘LISTEN IN…’ Blowers shouts as Carmen runs back. ‘When I say, we fall back to the fountain and throw every grenade we have at them...’ he pauses to suck air in, nodding at them. ‘Then we’re hands on. Carmen, you need to get inside the mosque and do what you can…listen. The boss isn’t coming. Something must have happened…this is just us now…I’m sorry it ends here…but we fucked them up…we did that…we held the fucking line. Be proud of that. Mr Howie will know what we did…but we still need to fight to the last one standing…’

That’s it. That’s all the time they have to share words before the end comes. No time for handshakes or hugs. No time for thinking. No time for thoughts and the stark brutal reality hits that this is it and Howie isn’t coming. No Dave this time. No Clarence. No miracles and all they can do now is take as many down with them as they can.

‘It’s been an honour,’ Blowers says. ‘Now fuck ‘em up…’

Tappy pulls forward and once more they unleash hell. Giving it everything they have and back they go. Back and back. Every inch fought for as the infected claim ground and the junction nears until there’s no more room for Tappy to use and she pulls up by the fountain and jumps out, sealing the dog inside for fear of her running out and she grabs her rifle to join the others. A glance to Nick. An eye-contact held for the most fleeting of seconds that there will not be a third time, but he smiles that smile. Tall and handsome. Broad and chiselled and it melts her heart as she grins back, knowing what they did and not regretting one bit of it.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he calls out, making her want to float off the ground, his soft brown eyes on her and her alone and she can see Lilly isn’t in his head now. Just her. Just here. Just this place and she wouldn’t change it for the world. Not one bit. Danny wouldn’t either. He’s with his mate. Next to Mo who lost Jagger and never thought he’d feel that closeness to a friend again, but in Danny he has and the bond shows as they grin and find courage in the other to face the end coming at them. The final showdown. The final stand.

‘Blowers,’ Cookey yells out. ‘You’re so beautiful…’

Laughs given. Chins lifted. Guns still firing and the infected charging. Screeching. Giving voice. A wall of hate coming at them. A wall of darkness. A surge that will wash over them and the guns click empty. The bullets all gone but the sun shines down and the planet spins on with another day in this brave new world, and there is no shame here. No shame at all.

A final second. A final glance. ‘NOW,’ Blowers roars and they turn and run. Sprinting for the fountain. Running like hell for the last couple of cases of grenades. Snatching them up and yanking pins free and lobbing them out as fast as they can. Snatching more and throwing them too. Sending everything they have, and the grenades sail through windows. Through open doors into houses. They land and roll in the street and bounce off infected as the seconds tick down and the first detonations come. Sounding dull and underwhelming. A few within the main press of infected and such is the density the explosions almost pass unnoticed. More explode. Another one in a house blowing the windows out, but it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.

A gas pipe blows out in a kitchen with enough force to knock a wall down that tumbles rather than explodes, but it’s all they can do. It’s all they have and then Danny pulls the pin on the last one as the rest look upon that wall of rage coming at them.

Danny pulls his arm back and throws it out. The grenade sails through the air and smashes through a window, rolling across a lounge floor to the doorway of a kitchen where it explodes with a dull whump and sets fire to a cloud of gas with the flames and heat whipping through old poorly maintained pipes to the underground gas main that feeds every house in the town. A whole network of pipes each filled with gas and the main supply still pumping strong, and that whole thing goes bang with a detonation that none of them expected. That none of them saw coming.

The ground heaves and whole structures blow apart with every brick and beam separating to component parts that fly out in all directions. Fireballs rolling up and shooting out into the streets now ripped apart. Water mains bursting, sending plumes of water jetting into the air that hit the flames and create balls of steam that add to the heat and noise and the shockwave is unlike anything they have ever felt. Lifting them like ragdolls and sending them flying across the ground. Tumbling and sprawling out. Sliding across the ground. Hitting the fountain and the back of the Saxon.

It’s a huge explosion. A monstrous explosion. Debris raining down. Scorching bricks and chunks of buildings on fire that land amongst them, changing the once gorgeous town into a post-apocalyptic hell within an instant.

Seconds come to pass and the roar of the infected is no more from the great swathe of them killed outright within the blast. The most kills given since the battle began, and the team should be up and regrouping, taking advantage of the lull to think of more plans and tactics, except the team don’t rally this time. They don’t spring back up to fight. They don’t do anything but lie prone and silent.

And those seconds come to pass where nothing happens at all save for Meredith giving voice in the Saxon, unable to angle to leap up and get out of the hole in the roof. Pawing the doors. Barking furiously. Urging them up. Telling the pups to rise and fight because the things will come again.

Blowers lies on his back amidst the carnage and debris. His clothing torn. His face bloodied. His mind swimming back to the street he was in when he died. Near death, but not dead. Not yet. Not quite. Maybe a minute. Maybe less. Smoke billows across his face and his breathing comes hard and laboured. His lungs hurt. Everything hurts. He hears Meredith barking like mad and the sound of her paws scrabbling at the doors inside the Saxon. He hears the creak of timbers falling and the sounds of things shifting as the raging fires settle. He hears the shuffling noises of the infected crawling and groaning out and closes his eye, drifting down into the blackness. Ready to die and see the woman again. Hearing her laughter in his head. Seeing her face swimming in his mind. Feeling her hand on his cheeks.

He can go now. He’s given everything he can, and in the last few seconds as his eye closes, so he pinches the thumb and forefinger together on his right hand and from sheer desperation, he deploys the invisible magic fuckstick, waving it once before the darkness takes him while his team lay silent and still. As the infected start coming again from the playing fields, advancing at a walk because they know the town is theirs. The end is here, and they have won, they have taken Little Italy. A town once famous for its beauty and peace. For the white walls and terracotta rooftops and the big hillside behind it and the cliff edge on the other side. A town now ruined with thick acrid smoke rolling across.

The people in the mosque hunker down at the back as the Imam stands between them and the door. His hands clasped in front. His heart full of fear. Over a hundred people felt the ground shake and the shockwave that made the windows rattle and break now listen to the silence. Not hearing the guns firing or the bombs exploding.

The Imam edges forward and slowly out of his mosque to gasp at the sight of the world outside. At the flames and smoke coming from the devastation of his town. He spots the big army vehicle parked by the fountain and the soldiers on the ground about it. So few of them, and so young too. All with faces blackened and bloody. All of them still and unmoving.

All of them dead.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

A terrible sight to see. A most terrible sight to behold and the old man, the leader of the church who ushered the fleeing survivors into his building prays silently for those young men and women lying about the smouldering ground.

He prays because he never met them. He prays because he never knew them, and he prays because they have no connection to this place or these people. They had no cause to fight and die here, but yet they did.

He moves out from his building. An old man in simple clothes. A man of peace that spoke against war and violence. A man who always said love is the path to take and he goes forward now while seeing the infected coming forward once again. Faces burnt and ruined. Limbs missing. Limbs crushed. Blood and injuries on each and many. Some crawl, dragging themselves over the rubble. Some catch light, but still they come, and the old man rushes out on old legs to reach the fountain.

He trips and stumbles, cutting his knees and hands but he rises and goes on while seeing the infected edging ever closer through that awful ruined mess. He has to do this. These people died to defend the innocent, and for that he will be with them at the end. He will pray over them and he moves out to stand between the fallen and the infected with his prayers rushing out in a whisper. Refusing to see the death of this place. Refusing to look at the darkness because if you only look for darkness you will only see darkness. Instead he chooses to see the light as the rays of sunshine push down through the swirling billowing smoke.

He prays for each of them. For all of them, holding that love and with every ounce of his being he refuses to let that dire terror into his heart. He refuses it. He denies it, but inside he feels a growing sense of dread in his gut from a very terrible rage coming ever closer. A feeling of immensity that becomes a palpable layer of energy dominating his senses. The air filled with growls and snarls. With the intent expressed of the evil and that feeling inside grows until he can’t stand the sight of the darkness coming and so he turns his back to them. Choosing to face away to the see the light. Banishing the fear to feel the love. Refusing to give into the evil. Seeing the light of this world and that even now in the darkest of days there are good people willing to stand. A scrabbling noise sounds out. A thump inside the army vehicle. Another and another as Meredith flings herself at the hole in the roof again and again. Launching up with nothing but instinct telling her she must get out. The old man prays. The infected come closer. The dog leaps and the hisses, snarls and growls of the beasts sound out. The old man wrings his hands and Meredith leaps again, her front paws catching the lip and her back legs cycling to gain traction, bouncing off the seats and sides. She twists and bites onto the edge. Fury in her eyes. Rage like no other and the old man lifts his face to the sky, sensing the beasts now so close behind as the dog heaves herself up onto the roof of the Saxon. Leaping out and the old man opens his eyes to see the dog landing in front of him. Head down. Hackles up. Eyes fixed. Teeth showing with that deep growl rolling out.

A snarl and the infected charge. A snarl and the dog charges and the old man cries out, thinking for one second the dog is coming at him, but she flies by in a blur as the old man spins. Seeing her impact into the first one. Tearing a man’s throat out. Shredding him to pieces within an instant then she’s off, leaping into a woman lunging towards Cookey. Dragging her away with vicious rags side to side. A man going for Tappy a few metres away and Meredith runs, leaping into him. Using her body weight to send him flying and bouncing off into another going for Charlie. She bites deep and quick and twists to kill the one she sent flying then runs for the next about to reach Danny and that dog holds the line. Faster than the beasts coming in. Meaner too and more vicious and with teeth that clamp down hard. Severing through necks. Biting through veins and arteries. Days and weeks of doing this same thing. Honing her skills.

But she alone cannot stop the flood. She alone cannot be in enough places at the same time and the beasts are just too many. The old man can see her struggling and he spots a crawler dragging mangled legs and innards going for Maddox. The old man shouts a warning, but the dog is too busy and only able to do what she can, and the old man spots the crawler reaching Maddox with finger nails ready to slice and rake. Teeth ready to bite and the old man rushes in, grabbing a length of smouldering wood in trembling hands. Knowing he has to help, and he runs over the ground, lifting the heavy club above his head, praying for God to give his old limbs the strength to protect the body of this young man that gave his life.

He cries out and readies to swing down as the beast lowers to bite Maddox’s neck. A flash of metal and the head flies away as the old man staggers back, gasping at the figure running through the swirling smoke. A man with dark curly hair swinging a double-headed axe and the old man hardly dares breathe or move from the sight of the pure unbridled rage on his face.

That feeling inside too. That rage. Such a thing to feel. Such an immensity. Such a wildness about it and in that second the old man knows the coming dread he felt was not from the beasts. It was from this man and the others behind him.

A small man running through the smoke, drawing two long bladed knives that he flicks over so the blades press against his forearms. A giant running behind him, displacing the air and roaring out as he drags a thick metal chain sparking over the ground, whipping it out as he goes into the fray.

The old man turns about, tracking them as they go past with a speed that just isn’t right, and his eyes struggle to process the image. Seeing a man cleaved in two from an axe. Seeing heads destroyed by a heavy chain. Seeing sprays of blood arcing up as the small man moves like a ballet dancer, spinning and whispering blades across throats that open one after the other.

One gets free. Charging through a gap. A huge man with wild red eyes that screeches then flies off his feet from an arrow embedding through his right eye. Another arrow hits a woman in the neck and the old man turns again, his heart hammering as he spots another figure through the swirling smoke on top of the army vehicle holding a longbow and firing arrows as a green laser dazzles his eyes, making him blink and cower back as bullets whip past him fired from an assault rifle strapped to the tac vest of a grizzled man with a thick mop of hair. Two women emerge next. Running in with rifles up and firing and the old man has never seen such a thing. Never in his life would he ever imagine such a thing could happen, and when the horse runs past he thinks he surely must have been knocked out and this is a dream, or perhaps he died and this is the afterlife where enormous horses slam into lines of infected next to a giant spinning a chain and a man chopping people in two while someone else dances a ballet. While an archer fires arrows and a grizzled veteran kneels over the body of a black woman while firing into the battle.

‘HOPE YOU LOT ARE READY DOWN THERE…’

Yes, thinks the old man. This is the afterlife where gods speak with amplified voices through speakers and the old man snaps his head up to see two streaks in the sky. Two golden orbs flying up and glinting in the sun as they move faster than the eye can track before reaching the apex of their climb and starting to plummet. Streaking down towards the town and two huge blasts sound out with plumes of smoke billowing high. Rubble, bricks and human forms spinning up into the air from the 81mm high explosive fragmentation mortars each weighing over four kilos and travelling over 225 metres a second land within the ruins.

‘TOO CLOSE, TOO CLOSE,’ Howie shouts into his radio, staggering back from the force of the blasts.

‘Sorry, old chap. Been a while since I used a mortar, adjusting now…’ George says into his radio on the upper road. ‘We were a bit close, Bashir. Adjust into the fields behind the town,’ he says in Bashir’s native tongue as the soldier works with George to set the mortars up. ‘How’s that fifty cal looking, Henry?’

‘Almost ready, George,’ Henry calls back, getting the belt fed into the heavy machine gun as a few more men from the fort run relays back and forth to the weapons stash, bringing goodies out to stack up. ‘Sniping, Joanie?’

‘I will, Henry,’ Joan says, getting prone on her belly to look down the scope of a sniper rifle. ‘And don’t call me Joanie.’

‘We’re trying again,’ George transmits and the old man in the town looks up at two more orbs shooting into the sky then loses sight of them for a few seconds until the next resounding blasts shake the ground as the mortars strike the playing fields at the same second as a heavy machine gun starts firing from the upper road. Tracer rounds zipping down into the massed lines of infected.

What a thing to see. What a sight to behold and the strange sights keep coming when the horse breaks free and runs past the old man and comes to a stop, snickering and pushing at a figure lying prone on the ground. A woman with a shaved head and the horse pushes her harder, shunting her body over while pawing the ground with a will expressed that the young woman will wake up, and the old man feels a great stab of sadness at the sight. At their friends coming too late as a man in glasses rushes through the smoke. Carrying a case of bottles that he plonks down on the lip of the fountain before pulling a fly-swatter from the pocket of his smart trousers and waving it in front of his face. Coughing lightly as he treads gingerly across the littered ground and he comes to a stop staring down at the young man with an eye patch.

‘I am truly sorry,’ the old man says with great respect. ‘They fought bravely.’

Reginald looks from Blowers to the old man and blinks behind his glasses. ‘What are you sorry for?’

‘For your losses. They are so young.’

‘Oh, good gosh, they’re not dead,’ Reginald says brightly, smacking Blowers hard on the chest with his fly-swatter. ‘Are you sergeant?’ he asks as Blowers snaps back to the now with a huge intake of air. ‘Everyone knows you’re unkillable. Now stop messing about. We’ve got work to do…come on, up you get.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Blowers grumbles, trying to open his one good eye. ‘Can’t even die in peace.’

‘Look at that,’ Frank says. ‘A marine on his back in the middle of a fight, who’d have thought it…oi woman,’ he adds, pinching Carmen’s earlobe. ‘Get up and make me a brew…’

‘Get off my bloody ear,’ Carmen groans, slapping at his hand and squinting up. ‘Hey, old man.’

‘Watcha. Having fun with the youngsters?’

‘Yeah, it’s great. We met a medium.’

‘How was she?’

‘Average.’

‘Boom,’ Cookey croaks, rolling on his side before getting whacked on the arse by Reginald’s fly swatter. ‘I’m alive…stop hitting me.’

‘Daniel, Mohammed, come on. Get up…’ Reginald calls, laying about them with hard smacks to bums, legs, bellies and chests. ‘Tappy, stop loafing about. Get some Lucozade.’

‘Are they dead?’ Clarence shouts from the ruins as the flow of infected slows.

‘No! They’re all fine,’ Reginald calls.

‘Then why the bloody hell are they laying about?’ the big man shouts.

‘What took you so long?’ Carmen asks, groaning as she starts trying to sit up.

‘I needed a poo,’ Frank says as Charlie wakes up with a yell, rubbing her arm and glaring daggers at Jess.

‘She bit me…’

‘She keeps on doing it,’ Paula says, striding over to grab bottles from the case that she starts lobbing about. The close quarters fighting now over for a few seconds from the mortars raining down and the heavy machine gun firing from the upper road. ‘It’s all those bloody biscuits you keep giving her.’

‘I don’t give her biscuits,’ Charlie says, shooting a look at Clarence turning quickly away to heroically fight zombies.

‘Jesus, did you have to destroy the whole town?’ Howie calls out.

‘Nick did it,’ Cookey says.

‘Snitches get stitches,’ Nick says, sitting up with a groan.

‘I can do stitches now,’ Roy calls out. ‘You know, in case anyone needs them…’

‘Did your new girlfriend teach you that?’ Paula mutters.

‘Dramaaa,’ Marcy singsongs.

‘I love C4,’ Maddox says, pushing himself up.

‘I love the Saxon,’ Tappy adds.

‘My tooth isn’t hurting now,’ Claire says, squinting about while sitting in the middle of a flaming war zone.

‘Everyone, this is Claire,’ Charlie says, still glaring at Jess.

‘Hello, Claire,’ come the many replies.

‘Sergeant Blowers, report,’ Dave orders.

‘Er…lots of zombies over there,’ Blowers says, pointing at the mosque.

‘Wrong way,’ Carmen says.

‘Fuck it, they’re here somewhere,’ Blowers adds as Paula passes him a bottle of Lucozade. ‘This is orange,’ he says. ‘Have you got original?’

‘Oh my god, fussy much,’ Marcy calls, throwing another bottle over that hits Blowers on the leg and the old man stands silently with no clue as to how they are alive when they were all surely so dead. But then he doesn’t know about the thing inside of them. The thing that means they can take absurd punishment and still live. The thing that quickly numbs the searing agony of the injuries they sustain, and the old man listens to a chorus of fizzy bottles opening one after the other as they tilt heads back to glug sugary liquid laden with glucose and electrolytes. All of them drinking deep until the belches sound out like frogs in a choir.

‘How many are left?’ Howie asks.

‘Fucking thousands,’ Blowers says, wiping the back of a hand across his mouth. ‘Nick, get the drone up. Show Reggie how it works. My team, hydrate and rearm, get magazines from the van, as many as you can carry…oh fuck off! You are joking…’ he says, on his feet and glaring over to the far side of the plaza now clearing of smoke.

‘We heard you soldier boys couldn’t cope,’ Willie calls. Standing next to Lilly and Mary. Peter there too with dozens of men from the camp, all of them armed and hard-faced while a worried looking Kyle stands with them. And even with a groggy, shell-shocked head Blowers can detect the tension between them and Howie. An anger pulsing. A hatred now unhidden that shows in the way Paula and Marcy glare over.

‘What’s going on?’ Carmen asks Frank, her voice low and muted as he helps load her tac-vest with magazines.

‘Tell you later,’ Frank says quietly. ‘Just stay switched on and be ready when I say.’

‘Howie. It’s Henry. We’re losing sight of the battle field due to the smoke, but we can see them coming. I repeat. They will hit the town any second. We’re doing what we can, but you will have multiple contacts very soon…’

‘Yeah, got that Henry. Reggie’s got the drone up. We’ll have eyes on very soon,’ Howie transmits back.

‘Update status on welfare of Carmen please.’

‘She’s alive and well.’

‘I’m not bloody well.’

‘She’s alive,’ Howie says, striding back into the plaza and reading the ground quickly. ‘LISTEN IN. This is where we fight from. This is the ground we hold right here. Lilly, your side will protect that flank,’ he shouts out, indicating the right side of the mosque. ‘My team will face out and cover the front and the other side. They will flank us. They will encircle us, and they will punch through. When that happens, we drop back to the mosque…’

‘They’re in the town, Howie,’ Reginald calls, the drone zooming over the town as he catches glimpses through the smoke.

‘THAT’S IT,’ Howie shouts. ‘PUNCH OUT…GO!’

‘We’ll take this side, Peter, you do that street,’ Lilly says to her team as they set off into the two narrow streets on their side feeding into the plaza. The buildings here in the upper town still intact save for a few windows blown out by shockwaves.

‘Ye stay alive, Lilly,’ Peter shouts back, leading his group left while Lilly goes right. Weapons up and ready. Safety switches clicked off and they run deep with Kyle staying close to Lilly. His mind in turmoil and the equilibrium within still very disturbed.

Kyle believes in Lilly. She’s deeply intelligent. She’s progressive and brutal. She’s cold but still very caring. In short, she’s exactly what a leader needs to be, and he can understand her actions back in the bay. Refusing to let Howie or Henry go to aid their teams until she had what she wanted. That move was wrong, but it was also right, and what choice did Lilly have? She needs that panacea to protect her people.

Kyle cannot understand why Henry wasn’t sharing what he knows either. Not even to Kyle. There was zero intel coming from Henry and so Kyle can see why Lilly got so frustrated, and why Howie was ready to leave. But then Kyle also knows Henry only ever does things when he has reason. There are no mistakes with that man and the answer he gave Lilly just makes the pressure even worse. Not only for the here and now and this fight, but for what comes after, if they live through this.

Reginald also thinks about Lilly refusing to let them leave and how close that came to everyone dying. He thinks about what Henry said to end that situation and what it all means. He thinks of all of those things at the same time while also noticing the way these infected move are not the same as the ones they have been dealing with. That makes him realise these infected are not Cassie’s. And that, in turn, means she appears to be holding to her deal of not attacking while they consider the truce. It also means the infection is localised to groups within the greater hive mind, and he considers if they are all connected while Howie runs out into the broken, smouldering remains. Clambering high onto a downed building to see ahead with a snatched view of the playing fields thick with an army stretching from far left to far right and going back further than he can see.

‘MAKE READY,’ he yells out, bringing his rifle up. Lilly snarls, seeing the infected coming. Mary at her side. Dave next to Howie. Everyone ready. Everyone in the game and ready for this. To do this. To get through today then worry about the other things after and the roar sounds out. The coming wall of hate charging through the streets and over the rubble and broken buildings towards them.

‘NOW!’ Howie shouts and every gun opens up at once as the survivors in the mosque cry out from the sheer noise of war erupting outside.

Rounds striking bodies and making them fly back and the mortars rain down with huge bangs that send clouds of smoke up that add to the fires already underway within the town. A hellhole formed. A place only of death and destruction but the stand has to be made to stop a much greater army forming.

But that army quickly becomes a force greater than the firepower returned as the thousands of infected sprint through the mortars and machine guns. Pumped to a frenzy of incandescent rage that makes them wild and crazed. Limbs taken off but they keep going. Gunshots peppering them over and over. Legs breaking but they crawl on while more charge past and hit the town like a colony of ants swarming into an enemy nest.

They go down by the dozen from the wall of bullets coming into them, but it’s not enough and each line taken out is replaced with more until the ones coming next go over the bodies in front like a never-ending carpet growing by the second.

Minutes go by that feel like seconds and the noise grows. The heat bearing down. The tang of chemicals and fire. The smoke billowing and the bombs dropping. Assault rifles and that deeper single boom of the sniper rifle sounding out from the upper road. Henry on the fifty cal able to only give strafing bursts for fear of the barrel becoming too hot. Nick the same, ditching the GPMG to use his assault rifle. Magazines changed and Claire in amongst them. Firing her pistols.

‘WILL YE BLOODY LOOK AT THEM,’ Peter yells out, the junction ahead of him already thick with attackers.

The next street over and Lilly and her team do what they can to fire and change magazines. Seeing the advance coming and gaining ground with every passing second. Bodies falling but more coming. Lilly hated what she did in the fort, but it had to be done, and she got the answer she needed. She now knows where to start looking for the panacea and has already sent Patrick and Tyson and a few lads to begin the search.

On the upper road, George grimaces at the view. The playing fields now lost from sight under a thick cloud of smoke and a great section of the town already thick with infected.

‘FALL BACK FALL BACK,’ Howie yells out, firing as they start the retreat, and the charge keeps coming at them. Men, women and children with snarling faces flinging themselves into the bullets and the man striding through the smoke on the playing fields only feels rage now. A great and awful rage and the losses become secondary to the hate he feels at losing and he keeps driving them on. Making them run through fire as they get blown apart by the fragments of the mortars.

Lilly and Peter both working back along the streets they took. Howie and his line trying not to trip and fall as they give ground.

The initial effect of the mortars was outstanding, but now it’s not and the onslaught once again becomes too much. In Lilly’s street the pile of corpses grows so thick the infected clamber over them onto the top of a van next to a low roof. Swarming up and going high over the buildings.

‘They’re on the roofs,’ Mary yells out, seeing them leap over her head to run on the other side of the street too.

‘FALL BACK,’ Kyle shouts. They turn and sprint along the street. Everything so frantic and rushed. Peter running from his street at the same time. Firing into the infected leaping from the rooftops into the plaza.

Clarence changes magazine and spots the carnage behind. Seeing the plaza is already getting overrun. ‘FALL BACK NOW,’ he roars out. His huge voice making every head snap about to see the new threat and the great scrabble starts. Everyone collapsing back to the fountain and the plaza. Firing as they go and the infected feel that pulse of fear. They sense it and charge harder.

On the upper road, Henry ditches the fifty cal to let it cool and snatches a rocket launcher up and aims down into the upper section of the town.

In the plaza, Lilly and her group pour fire at the buildings as the infected leap and fall from the roofs. More coming behind them on high and at ground level. Too many points to cover and Kyle draws air, ready to shout for help as the swoosh goes over his head from a rocket fired into the roof of the closest building line. A solid hit that blows a chunk of wall out and sends a good number of infected tumbling down onto more below.

Another comes after that. Hitting another section and doing the same as Henry snatches modern launchers and old-fashioned RPG’s and sends them in. Seeing the height of the houses bordering the plaza are aiding the enemy.

‘George, the upper town please…’

‘Right you are, Henry,’ George shouts back, adjusting his elevation as Joan shifts once more and aims her rifle into the plaza. Taking them out one by one as they charge. Lilly seeing the solid hits to heads and knowing exactly who is shooting to cover them.

Then the mortars hit, and the buildings start blowing out with huge explosions that send debris all over the place, reducing the upper town to rubble too as Howie and his team get beaten back into the plaza with the infected ready to breach.

In time they go back. In time they step and give ground. Lilly’s face a mask of aggression. Mary at her side. Blowers and his team now exhausted from fighting so hard before this and the mortars land and the rockets strike. Explosions and fire. Smoke and bodies flung out.

Back they go. Compressing more with the infected so close that Lilly pulls Kyle back, knowing he can’t risk getting blood on him. Frank and Carmen the same and all three run back to the lip of the fountain, stepping up to gain height to fire over the heads of the others. All three side by side like they once were.

Carmen Eze. Frank McGill and Kyle O’Donnell. A sight noticed by Henry who offers a quick smile. Seeing them fighting like they used to. Shoulder to shoulder. Picking shots from assault rifles strapped to chests. Dropping magazines out and ramming new ones in as the line surrounding them falls back even more.

A stunning synchronicity within the plaza as assault rifles run out of magazines and at the same second, Carmen, Frank, Kyle and Dave ditch rifles to draw sidearms. Each with a double brace of pistols whipped out from belts and holsters. Each with an ability born from long training to fire the right then the left. Howie’s rifle clicks empty. He draws his too. Mo nearby the same. Others doing it and the noise changes from the harder deeper assault rifles to the sharper cracks of pistols.

‘GO ON NOW,’ Kyle roars out. ‘BACK YE HEATHEN BASTARDS…’ he fires one after the other. His arms pushing out with each shot. ‘BACK TO THE DARKNESS WITH YE CLOVEN FEET…THIS IS NO PLACE FOR THE DAMNED…’

‘And take a pamphlet with you,’ Frank calls out, earning a round of sniggers from the lads and even a wry smile from Kyle as the pistols fire the last few bullets until there are no more bullets left to give. And the time comes. The air charging as both sides feel a greater surge of aggression rippling through them.

‘CHARLIE,’ Howie calls out. ‘ON JESS…’

She turns to run, knowing what’s coming. Sprinting across the plaza to Jess.

‘ON MY COMMAND,’ Howie shouts, firing the last few rounds from his pistol. ‘DRAW HAND WEAPONS…’

Charlie reaches the horse and vaults up and into the saddle, grabbing the reins and instantly feeling that transition as Jess rears up, giving voice, her eyes rolling as she readies for war. ‘Go on, Jess! INTO THEM…’

‘NOW!’ Howie cries out and the guns are no more as axes are pulled overhead and knives plucked from belts.

‘SEE ME…’ Lilly screams out, pulling her knife as Peter’s men grip the weapons they came with. Swords and machetes. Evil looking clubs and bats with nails through.

‘INTO THEM,’ Howie roars out and Clarence ducks to grab the end of the chain and slams it overhead like a whip. Meredith going deep. The glory of the battle now surging through them all.

Frank, Carmen and Kyle changing mags and firing still. Picking shots where they can. Doing what they can. Claire nearby, firing her pistol into the attackers as Roy breaks free, lashing out with his sword then turning to run fast. Leaping the van bonnet to gain the roof and his bow taken up. His bags of arrows waiting for him and he nocks, lifts, aims and looses within a second. Sending the barbed arrow shooting out into a male going for the back of Jess.

Tappy lashes out with her axe and through the utter chaos spots the Saxon and without thinking, without thought, she runs fast with nothing but instinct inside. Leaping through the back doors, slamming them closed then over the seat to the wheel. Her chest heaving and she starts the big engine up, pushing her foot hard down to get the power going.

‘It’s me and you baby…COME ON!’ gear in and she goes out, slewing it hard over and taking the Saxon into the lines, knowing she has the gap between the building line and the fountain and like Charlie on Jess, so that connection is there. An intrinsic extension where Tappy knows just how much power to give. Using that tight, small space to maximum effect and gaining enough speed to slide out and slam that fat ass into walls and houses. Crushing infected and churning them into spray under the wheels.

Dave spinning his dance. That turmoil in his mind from the last few days now venting and coming out as he warms up. Growing ever more graceful. Each arm extension seemingly so gentle as he whispers the blades across throats, making arcs of blood spray up one after the other. Mo spots him and shakes his head, knowing what it takes to be that good. Always knowing where the bodies will fall and where the next kill will come from. Always knowing where to be.

Lilly stabbing them one after the other. Leaping at big men and clamping her legs about their waist to stab into their eyes then stepping free as they fall. Peter crying out as he slices deep with a huge sword. Elvis battering one aside with a machete and feeling a shot go past his ear taking an attacker out and giving a quick prayer to Joanie up there on the hillside.

Nick swinging his double headed axe, smiling that wry smile as though he knows something secret. And he does too. He knows about a girl he likes that keeps driving by. Cookey and Blowers side by side. Cookey covering his mate’s blind-spot. The two of them near Nick as those three lads lay waste to anything coming at them. Clarence slamming that chain about. Maddox fighting like a dirty brawler. Mo spinning and twisting. Danny doing what Carmen taught him and going for it with Booker. Marcy and Paula back with Reggie. Rifles up and taking shots when they can see it’s clear.

Reginald still flying the drone. Still trying to read the battlefield. ‘Henry, it’s Reginald. If you can hear me get all of your fire focussed onto the fields. Aim into the open land. Cut them off before they get here…’ he can see the mortars and fire coming down are hitting buildings, but that those buildings are giving cover to the infected. The better chance will be to cut them off before they hit the town and he flies that drone on through the smoke and flames. Searching for the one in charge. Not seeing the man standing just back from the fields and now snarling with pure fury as he sends everything he has into the town.

Henry and his team do as told, knowing Reginald has eyes within from the drone and they turn the fire into the unseen playing fields still obscured from the smoke. Instantly getting more kills.

But it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough and the aggression coming at them intensifies and yet more pour into the plaza and that close quarters battle gets ugly fast with hot blood spraying into eyes and mouths. Where teeth find flesh and bite down. Where finger nails rake skin open and still more come.

Tappy drives up and down, spinning the end out until even the mighty Saxon struggles to get through the press of bodies. She floors it again, twisting the wheel to get the heavy end out and scores more kills, but they swarm in, driving bodies into the wheel arches.

‘TAPPY…GET OUT NOW,’ Reginald shouts into the radio, seeing the great danger as Roy switches his arm, taking one out as it runs over the top for the hole in the roof. Tappy knows she can’t stay and shouts out in anger and frustration, jumping the seats and clambering up through the hole as an arrow flies by. She gets onto her feet to a sea of infected screeching up at her. Using each other to body pile.

‘INTO THEM, JESS,’ Charlie sees the danger and surges Jess on, slashing the machete left and right while Roy fires the bow, taking them out as they leap up to get at Tappy. Carmen seeing the danger too and switching her aim. Adding her gun to the overwatch. ‘TAPPY…JUMP,’ Charlie calls.

It’s too much. There’s too many. The surge too great and still more pouring in from the ruins of the town and Tappy runs the length of the Saxon, leaping high as another screech comes out from the infected, pushing Jess away as Charlie cries out, seeing her friend go down.

‘TAPPY!’ Carmen yells. Roy curses and Tappy lands within the press as Nick spots her falling.

‘TAPPY,’ he roars out, veering his aim as she disappears from view, lost within the ranks of infected. ‘TAPPY’S DOWN…’

‘TAPPY’S DOWN…’ the call is thrown up and repeated. Clarence hears it and starts wading in with no room to swing the chain. The press so great.

‘TAPPY’S DOWN…’

Dave’s huge voice as he repeats the call to arms. Sending the signal to Howie who snarls and goes in harder. That aggression within him pulsing up. That thing inside surging up like a tsunami.

Pack down. Pack fight.

The essence of a meaning pushed into their minds that start connecting, that start joining as the fury erupts from Howie and it happens then. Seen by Kyle, Frank and Carmen. Seen by Claire. Seen by others within that chaos as the hive mind comes. And at that second, so Roy fires faster and faster. His aim the truest it can ever be. Paula and Marcy ditch rifles to draw knives and they run in. Sprinting fast and leaping high, diving over the heads to body surf the infected. Snarling and cutting as they stab and kick and fight.

Don’t think. Just be. Pack fight.

Meredith in their souls and they flow fast. Impossibly fast. Danny taking one down in front. Booker at his back. Blowers punching them down and turning to the right with Nick flowing past to fight left and Cookey going between them. Each an extension of the other. One entity of energy. One unit. One pack. Meredith going through Clarence’s legs as the big man strides forever forward, battering them aside as the berserker rage comes on. Joining with the hive mind. Radiating out from his core.

‘FIGHT DANNY,’ Carmen screams out. Seeing the lad struggle until he slips into the state of mind she pressed into him. He starts to fight properly. Battering hard and strong, feeling the others and within them all, within the very core of them, is Howie and a burning ball of absolute rage that rises and rises until it detonates. That’s when they go. That’s when the connection truly forms and as they did in the square that day, so they do now. Flowing over and with each other. Seeing and feeling the minds of the others and their own power magnified by their hive. Memories and minds merge. Organic and natural until there is no individual, just the collective.

This. Do this.

No thinking. No thought and they surge in with paths forced towards Tappy. Towards Natasha and they feel her memories of her father and why she said her name was Tappy. They see that. They see the nightmares she has when she sleeps and they see how her connection to Nick and everyone else has made that better, and within all of that, they do not feel Lilly. She is not one of them. She is not there. She is not within this collective.

But Claire is, and she screams out and runs in, slamming into the backs of the infected with nothing more than an empty pistol to hit them with. Cracking skulls. Booting and kicking them. A violence within she has never felt before. A middle-aged woman that went through hell. Her husband cheated and left her. Taking the house and all the money. She ate for comfort. She became lonely and angry and spent her time berating everyone else, but now she’s here. Within them. Connecting to whatever this is as they all surge to reach Tappy who sinks down onto her back, kicking up and thrashing to keep them away. Feeling teeth on her legs and arms. Screaming out wildly, but she’s been here before. With her own family. She killed them. She has a trigger within that refuses to die and so she fights and pulls her small knife from her belt and stabs up until the blood pours into her mouth and soaks her face. She stabs frenzied and wild and feels nails raking her flesh, scoring lines down her arms and she stabs as Claire reaches her first. Through accident. Through design. It’s impossible to say but the woman gets there and flings herself into the nucleus descending on Tappy. Landing over the younger woman. Covering her with her own body as the mouths and hands come down. Scoring deep and hard.

‘NO!’ Tappy screams out, feeling them laying into Claire. Feeling each bite and cut. The others feel it too. The punishment being taken by a woman they do not know who gives her own body to protect Tappy. And those teeth and hands go deep too. Tearing chunks of flesh out. Hurting Claire as her blood flows. As her body shunts and the woman grimaces, crying out with veins pushing through her neck and face. ‘No…please…’ Tappy begs and pleads, unable to get out to help. Unable to do anything.

‘It’s okay,’ Claire whispers, her voice ragged and hoarse.

‘No…’ Tappy weeps, feeling Claire’s head pushing against hers. Feeling Claire kiss her cheek so gently as her body is given over and destroyed. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Tappy sobs the words out.

‘It’s okay…you live, you’re younger,’ Claire says, the pain now deep and searing. Nerve endings being hit. The wounds down to her spine. ‘Tell Charlie thank you…’

‘NO!’ Tappy screeches out, feeling the connection severe. The way the rest felt when Blinky died. That sudden loss of a mind that was within theirs. Someone they didn’t know and never spoke to, but they had her life within their own. Her dream and memories. The essence of her now gone as her heart stops. Her body simply unable to take the punishment as the infected burrow down through her corpse to reach Tappy and Clarence swarms in. Howie and Nick and Dave. Blowers and the others. Marcy sinking down through the bodies she climbed over. Booker and Danny and Mo. All of them converging, battering the infected back as Nick and Blowers get to Tappy. Moving Claire’s ruined body to lift Tappy up.

‘CHARLIE…’ Howie yells and Jess comes in hard. Spear heading to force a path out. Howie, Clarence, Mo and others fighting out to protect Nick and Blowers carrying Tappy. Paula and Marcy stabbing as they go after them. Breaching the edge of the battle and as one, Charlie, Jess and the rest go straight back in. Blowers and Nick run fast, striding over the plaza to Roy leaping down off the van.

‘Put her down and get back in,’ he orders, the two lads lowering her gently, Nick hesitating for a second.

‘I’m okay,’ she gasps. ‘Just winded…go back…GO!’

Nick nods, planting a kiss on her blood soaked lips before charging back into the fray while Roy quickly assesses her.

‘Fuck me,’ Paula says, her chest heaving as she looks about. ‘Reggie, get inside the mosque. Carmen, you too…they’re going to breach past us. Roy, how is she?’

‘I’m okay,’ Tappy says, groggy and shaken.

‘Get her inside,’ Paula orders. ‘HOLD THAT LINE…WE HAVE TO HOLD…LILLY, YOU’RE GOING TOO DEEP. EVERYONE…DON’T FIGHT INTO THEM. WE’RE GIVING GROUND. WE NEED TO HOLD OUR LINE…’

She’s right too. The defenders have gone too deep to fight within the depths of hell and now the line is breaching. The infected getting closer to the mosque. They start fighting back out. Peter. Willie and Elvis. Blowers and Booker. Maddox and more. All of them seeing the danger and grabbing what weapons they can to form a line. Howie coming out. Clarence and the others.

‘YOU!’ Paula shouts, running to a grab one of Peter’s men. ‘PLUG THAT GAP…WE HAVE TO HOLD…FUCK! Carmen, they’re getting up the wall of the mosque. They’ll be inside any second…’

Carmen, Frank and Kyle race inside. All of them changing magazines as Reginald runs in. The drone controller and tablet screen still in his hands as he plonks it down and gets the view. ‘That side,’ he yells out, getting a bird’s eye shot of the battle outside and the infected breaching through gaps at the far end to body pile a mound up to the high mosque windows. More than a hundred people at the back crying out in fear. Hunkering down behind overturned tables and those screams come louder as the first infected smashes through a beautiful ancient stained-glass window. The chunks of coloured glass falling and catching the light as the body sails down and six pistols fire rounds into it. Killing the beast dead before it hits the ground with a heavy splat. ‘You’ve got more coming,’ Reginald calls as several windows smash at once.

Paula grimaces. Seeing just how bad it is. The energy within the pack dented and hurt from the loss of Claire. A thing that none of them would ever be able to describe to someone else. They had another human being within their minds. They could feel her. They knew her. Then she was gone. As quickly as she came in, she was taken, and that loss hurts.

‘We have to hold,’ Paula shouts out, seeing one of the men with Peter go down. Running over to fire her pistol into the attackers then cursing at the seeing the lad is dead.

‘That’s it, we’re out of mortars,’ George calls on the upper road, taking an assault rifle and lying down next to Joan with Bashir and Donald from the fort. A couple more men who said they can shoot now forming that tiny line as they fire small calibre rounds down into the town.

‘I say, one got through!’ Reginald shouts out at another infected dropping from a window. One leg broken but the beast still rises and angles towards the survivors as Carmen whips about and shoots him dead. Frank further over firing up to kill them before they fall. Kyle doing the same and Reginald views the outside. Seeing the thick lines still pouring from the ruins and more coming, but not seeing what he is searching for. ‘Where are you? Come on…where are you?’

‘WE’RE GETTING PUSHED BACK TO THE MOSQUE,’ Paula shouts from the door. ‘WE NEED A PLAN, REGGIE…’

‘I’m working on that very thing as we speak,’ Reginald murmurs.

‘Or, how about you ditch that drone and grab a gun,’ Frank yells.

‘Oh good gosh, you have no idea the damage I would do,’ Reginald says mildly. Earning a smile from Carmen. ‘The problem is, I don’t know what to look for, it could be a man or a woman you see.’

‘What is?’ Carmen asks, changing magazine.

‘Their leader. They will be out there somewhere, just not sure who to look for…’

‘Man. Definitely a man.’

‘And on what basis do you form that judgment?’ he asks her.

‘On the basis that only a dickhead would send them like that. A woman would be smarter and send them round and get into the city to turn more and leave us busy with a few…’

‘Oh,’ Reginald says. ‘You’re not called Cassie by any chance, are you?’

Paula runs into the line outside on seeing Booker trip backwards, firing her pistol into the gap then reaching down to pull the lad back up, pushing him into place then running on. Seeing how desperate this is. The mosque now too close behind and if they’re not careful, some of the defenders will get trapped outside. ‘LILLY…YOUR FAR END…THEY NEED TO FALL BACK INSIDE THE MOSQUE…’

The retreat proper starts as the last few lads on the far end peel off and leg it behind the others.

‘GET JESS INSIDE,’ Paula yells out, seeing the tight space is leaving no room for the horse to move which places her in danger of being swarmed. ‘CHARLIE…GO BACK NOW.’

‘Come on, where are you?’ Reginald says inside the mosque, flying lower to look at broken streets and the infected still coming in.

The line compresses. The attack too strong. ‘LILLY, YOUR TEAM INSIDE NOW,’ Paula shouts out. Knowing they have to get back before they get cut off and they turn and run with Paula behind them. Organising the fall back and keeping the biggest and most experienced front and centre. Dave and Clarence. Howie and the three lads. She gets Danny and Mo inside. Booker and Maddox then Tappy until it’s just those six sliding over the ground with the sudden weight of the attackers surging forward.

‘BRACE THEM,’ Paula yells out, now inside the mosque. Grabbing people to push them into the backs of the six holding the line. ‘Reggie, we need a way out of this…’

‘Righto,’ he says, waving a distracted hand. ‘We’ve got them right where we want them…’

Carmen bursts out laughing then cuts off on realising she was the only one that found it funny and focusses on shooting falling zombies instead.

‘What are you doing?’ Paula demands, striding over to Reginald.

‘Looking for their leader,’ he replies as she peers over his shoulder in a way he hates.

‘That’s him,’ she says, prodding a bloody finger at the screen.

‘How on earth do you know that?’

‘Cos he looks like a cunt,’ she says, walking off, making Carmen burst out laughing again.

‘Right. Well on that basis I say we have our chap,’ Reginald says proudly. ‘The one that looks like a cunt…oh good gosh, I just said cunt. I do apologise…’ he finally looks about at the ground littered with bodies and more now coming through the high windows and the huge press at the wide doors. Windows on the other side too and it won’t take long for the infected to reach those. ‘Oh dear, we are in a pickle…I say, Mr Howie?’ he calls out, walking over to the huge scrum at the door. ‘MR HOWIE?’

‘WHAT?’ Howie roars from somewhere within that big scrum.

‘I think we need to detonate,’ Reginald says mildly but those words send a charge through the air as Marcy shows instant shock.

‘NOT A FUCKING CHANCE,’ Howie roars, turning around with blood dripping down his face.

‘Right. Got a better plan, have you?’ Reginald asks.

‘Yeah, we fucking kill ‘em all,’ Howie yells.

‘Great. You do that then,’ Reginald says while everyone else stays quiet and even Paula knows this needs to be between them. She glances at Marcy and clocks the hurt and pain on her beautiful face as she stares at the survivors.

‘No,’ Howie grunts, digging his feet in. ‘That’s not our way.’

‘There will be no way, Howie,’ Reginald says with all trace of humour now gone. The situation now dire. Now desperate. Now at the point of losing control, and Reginald has only one trick left to play. He has one more roll of the die before they lose the whole game. ‘We take the leader out to lessen their drive and focus.’

‘Tell Henry to kill him,’ Howie shouts.

‘He’s behind a building.’

‘They’ve got fucking mortars!’

‘The mortars stopped minutes ago, Howie. Listen,’ he yells out as Howie only then becomes aware of the lack of explosions outside. No fifty cal machine gun fire either.

‘The drone,’ Nick calls. ‘It’s got a payload arm. Drop C4 on him…’

‘We have no C4, Nick. We have no grenades. We have nothing left. Even Roy can’t get a shot at him from here. I’m sorry. I truly am, but Marcy is the only way now. We have to detonate, Howie. We have to detonate now.’

‘SHE’S NOT A FUCKING BOMB.’

‘SHE IS THE ONLY THING WE HAVE LEFT,’ Reggie yells back.

‘FUCK!’ Howie roars out as his body shunts from the impacts behind. Pain and rage inside that vents in a few seconds of pure violence as he launches at the infected. Tearing one out to stab it in the neck. Killing another. Punching more. Frenzied and wild, but each killed is instantly replaced until he even he has to ease back, sucking air in and looking about at the sheer shit state they are in. Outnumbered and trapped. No ammo left. No anything and still so many left outside. The energy starts to wane. The realisation that they can’t fight their way out of this one and he looks over to Marcy. At her dark eyes as everyone waits and the air fills with the single shots taken by pistols as even Frank, Kyle and Carmen preserve their dwindling ammunition.

‘We feel it in you, Howie,’ Reginald says, rushing the words out from seeing Howie still holding back. ‘When you get angry, we get angry because of the connection between us. You are our control point, but your signals are a by-product of your emotional state whereas the other player is using control points to transmit signals and drive their hosts on. That’s what Marcy did, and that’s what this control point is doing now. He is transmitting that anger. We take him out and cut that off…’

‘It’ll find someone else,’ Maddox says.

‘Not for a few minutes,’ Howie says with a growing instinct inside at how this thing works. ‘That’s all we’ll have…minutes…’

‘Minutes is better than the nothing we’ve got now,’ Clarence says. ‘We just need enough time to get ammunition from the van…’

‘Yeah but Jesus, mate,’ Howie says, looking across the mosque to the survivors at the back. ‘We can’t…’

‘If there is a way out of this then do it,’ Lilly shouts.

‘You don’t give orders here, Lilly,’ Paula says with a brutal calmness.

‘Howie,’ Reginald urges, knowing they have to do it now before it’s too late. ‘Your morals are beyond question, but sometimes, Howie. Sometimes we need monsters to fight monsters…’

‘We’re already monsters…fuck me, Reggie,’ he cuts off, glancing at Dave and knowing even he wouldn’t be able to get through. Then he glances again at the survivors, seeing the terrified children amongst them then looks again at Dave. At the small man and that idea in his mind that all they ever really needed was to send Dave out with a knife. But Dave won’t get through this lot. ‘Can you pull back?’ he asks Marcy. ‘Like you did with Reggie, can you give them their minds back?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says honestly. ‘But I can try…I promise…’

He nods, seeing more coming through the windows. Feeling the pressure at his back. Hearing the howls and screeches. Feeling the end is nearly upon them. ‘Okay, take thirty…’

‘That’s not enough,’ Marcy says.

‘Take thirty. Ask for volunteers…’

‘Howie, it’s not enough!’

‘Thirty, Marcy…if that fails then…’ he trails off, not needing to finish as she nods, closing her eyes for the briefest of seconds then turns away. Striding to the back. ‘You need to listen,’ she shouts. ‘I cannot explain this. But there are thousands of infected out there that will get inside and kill you and your children…’ she pauses, seeing their faces. ‘I can take thirty of you and make you like them…’ a gasp, people reeling back in horror as she speaks louder. ‘If we don’t then we will all die…I’m sorry. There’s no time…I need volunteers right now.’

‘Are you fucking serious?’ a man shouts.

‘What does that mean?’ someone else asks as others cry, as others weep in utter terror while parents hold children close. Adults curling up, not wanting to hear it and clamping their eyes closed in denial of the terror.

‘What did that mean?’ Carmen asks, looking from Howie to Reginald. ‘That bit about pulling back. What is that?’

‘Marcy turned me, but I have my own mind,’ Reginald says.

‘You can do that?’ Carmen asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Marcy says quietly. ‘Reggie did it, but…it could be genetics or…’ she cuts off as another two drop from the windows and get shot down by Kyle and Frank before the old soldiers look back over. A hard energy within the mosque. Blood running over the floor. Dirty blood smeared on the tiles and splashed up the walls and so many infected still outside and Carmen looks back to the survivors. At men and women too terrified to think, but she also spots a few faces looking over and listening. A few that aren’t so terrified they can’t think.

‘We have to hurry,’ Reginald calls, seeing the line won’t hold at the doors and the numbers coming in the windows are increasing by the minute.

‘I need thirty of you,’ Marcy calls to the survivors. ‘You will all die if you don’t…’

‘It’s fucking sick,’ a man yells out, pulling his teenage son down as the lad tries to stand.

Another man starts to rise. Young and big built. His chest heaving as he plucks the courage up and prompts another two to start getting up. A woman pushing her daughter into the arms of an old lady and rising to her feet, but it’s not enough and the screeches outside grow louder. The pressure growing. Pressure unrelenting.

‘Guys,’ Carmen shouts. ‘You can’t hide from this…you have a chance to defend your families.’

‘By being one of them!’ the man yells, still holding his son down.

‘You have no choice,’ Carmen shouts.

‘YOU FUCKING DO IT THEN,’ the man screams back as Carmen flinches at the rebuke and moves in fast, pushing her rifle to the back and clamping a hand on the back of Marcy’s neck to turn her around.

‘CARMEN!’ Frank shouts as everyone looks on in absolute shock at the sight of Carmen kissing Marcy. At what it means. At the sacrifice made to show others not to be afraid. At the sheer bollocks needed to do such a thing. And in truth, Carmen didn’t even know she was going to do until it happened. Or maybe she did. Maybe she saw the bravery of young men like Danny and Mo and figured she couldn’t leave her fate just to them. Maybe it was a rash decision full of folly. Maybe it was all of those things and more, but it still happened. And she still stands with her hand on the back of Marcy’s neck. With the heat and the rage of the battle still within them.

They’re both going to die anyway. So fuck it. To hell with caution. To hell with god and the devil too. Fuck that. Fuck them. Fuck it all. And so they kiss harder. Relishing the pure glorious feel of it, with maybe a touch of tongues going unseen before they ease back as every single man, and more than a few women, stare on in mesmerised awe.

‘Do ye think they’ve got a bit of gay too, Blondie?’ Mary whispers, earning a shrug from Lilly.

‘That was for Danny’s wankbank,’ Carmen whispers, their foreheads still pressing and their lips only an inch apart. ‘I need my skills more than mind…’

Marcy nods and the seconds tick by as Carmen braces for the pain. Tensing in advance. Knowing what is about to come. That she will feel a great pain in her stomach that will radiate out until she spasms in agony for two minutes before her heart stops and re-starts. She closes her eyes, willing courage into her mind. Ready to go, but not ready to die.

And then it doesn’t happen and the seconds ticking by become a minute as they become very painfully aware at the lack of a dramatic finish.

‘It’s getting awkward,’ Carmen whispers.

‘Is a bit,’ Marcy says.

‘Turns out I’m immune then.’

‘Or infected.’

‘Right.’

‘Yep.’

‘Anyway,’ Carmen says loudly, pulling back. ‘Never send a man to do a woman’s job,’ she adds, nodding at the guy that yelled at her while the two women take in the many silent rapt faces staring at them and more than thirty men now volunteering from the survivors, and a few women too.

‘Can we choose which one we kiss?’ one of them asks.

‘Can I do both?’ another asks.

‘It’s not a porn show, mate,’ Carmen says, trying to be affronted while also trying to process the thought that she is either immune or infected.

‘Er…I’m not sure if I’m still infected, Marcy…’ Cookey calls over.

‘Yeah I could probably do with a booster,’ Nick says.

‘Best to be safe,’ Blowers adds.

‘Even I found that hot,’ Charlie says.

‘CONTACT,’ a yell from Kyle as the inside of the mosque grows suddenly darker from the light being blocked by the bodies cramming into the windows. The infected swarming the sides of the building with a staggering increase in aggression sent from the man now waiting beside the café with the red awning. A man urging them on with greater focus. Making bodies pump chemicals to get his hosts into a frenzy and the lull in the building evaporates instantly. Becoming filled with noise as Kyle, Frank and Carmen get overwhelmed. Carmen firing her pistol fast until it empties then realising she can now go hands on and she draws her knife to charge in and fight close quarters with a display of skill not that far below Dave.

‘NOW, MARCY,’ Reginald shouts. The press at the door getting worse by the second and Marcy moves fast. Grabbing the closest young man and pushing her lips to his. A peck and no more and she moves on, grabbing the next to do the same. Not thinking of intimacy. Not thinking of anything other than what must be done as the infected drop down, screeching out.

‘Mo! Help Carmen,’ Howie orders as the young lad runs out, drawing his knife and going in.

‘I’ve changed my mind…’ a man cries out as Marcy kisses him anyway. Doing what must be done. No time for thinking. No time for thought and with each kiss given, so her saliva goes onto their lips. Replicating cells with a blur of speed. Pushing into the bloodstream and gaining the highways of the body and within seconds, those cells are everywhere. Changing what they find. Making it different.

The first one kissed grabs his belly and falls down, squirming on the floor as everyone else cries out. The noise inside rising. More start falling down with agony in their guts. Writhing on the tiled floor. Bashing into each other. Spasming and growing rigid. The first one grows silent. More fall and Marcy reaches the last man, pushing her lips to his then turning to look back as the heart of the first one ceases to beat. A pause and it starts again sending a rush into her. Feeling the mind pushing into hers.

More die and come back to life. More sit up with red eyes. Things that were people now seething beasts with clawed hands that look only at her. That see only her. More die. More come back and her army grows. Her power with it. Her face hardening from the minds and wills of others now at her disposal.

‘WE’RE GETTING OVERRUN,’ Carmen yells out. The attack too ferocious, too savage. The onslaught just too much.

‘MARCY!’ Paula screams, seeing the danger and Marcy inclines her head. Sending the signal within her mind as her horde charge out with a deep guttural yell, slamming into the infected, tearing them apart. Biting deep and gouging eyes from heads, digging nails and fingers into windpipes, ripping them out. Stamping on necks. Biting into throats. A solid wall of absolute savagery that swarm from one side to the other.

Howie watches it. Hating it but learning quickly. Taking what he sees and knowing how to use it. He gets Mo’s attention and points to his own eyes then at Marcy as Mo nods then Howie turns in to whisper fast orders at his team. Clarence nodding. Blowers, Nick and Cookey looking at Dave as Booker frowns. ‘Marcy!’ Howie shouts. ‘Get them into an arrowhead facing the doors…they need to go out fast…no stopping, no fighting…just straight out and they keep going…’

‘Okay,’ she calls back with a flick of her head and her horde do as bid, moving instantly to where she wants them to be with the biggest at the front. A staggering achievement within itself. To make thirty people move and position so fast and fluidly.

‘Reggie, where’s the leader?’ Howie calls.

‘He’s outside a café with a red awning.’

‘That’s halfway down on the right side,’ Blowers says, earning a grim nod from Howie. ‘It’s a big distance, boss.’

‘Fuck it,’ Howie grunts.

‘We’ll find him,’ Marcy calls over. ‘Okay, when I say you peel back and let us out…you ready?’

‘Not really,’ Cookey mutters, making the others snort dry laughs.

‘NOW,’ Marcy roars. Her horde ramped and charged. Snarling and pumped. They rush out. A huge man at the front going like the clappers as the front centre of the line peel back, letting him slam deep with the rest of Marcy’s horde driving him on. Forging a path out into the plaza.

‘NOW,’ Howie roars and his quiet plan moves into play with Mo grabbing Marcy, heaving her back while Howie, Dave, Clarence, Blowers, Cookey, Nick and Meredith rush out and go wide before charging in behind Marcy’s horde. Running out within the arrow point. Using them to punch a hole.

‘GET THE FUCK OFF ME,’ Marcy yells, screaming at Mo as her horde falter, ready to turn back to her aid.

‘SEND ‘EM OUT, MARCY…’ Mo yells. ‘YOU’S GOT TO KEEP THEM GOING…’

‘Marcy!’ Paula screams. ‘Keep them going…’

‘FUCK YOU…’ Marcy roars, twisting and wrenching but unable to get away from Mo as Maddox rushes in, body blocking her.

‘Send them out, Marcy,’ he shouts into the chaos as Marcy rages and drives that fury into her horde. Making them go out with a greater application of energy.

Bedlam inside the mosque. An utter detonation of noise and terror as those left rush to block the doors. Heaving tables from the back to use as barricades. Lilly now in the front centre. ‘PUSH!’ she yells out, urging them to hold.

‘Henry! It’s Reginald. Howie is making a run for the leader. Halfway down on the right side. Do what you can.’

‘Got them,’ Joan says, leaning over the cliff edge and viewing through the scope.

‘It’s fucking working!’ Howie yells out, behind Marcy’s horde ploughing through the infected with an element of confusion as the infected falter, unsure of how to respond as the man halfway down by the café cocks his head over. Gaining awareness and knowledge and sending the signals back.

‘Wank it! It’s not working,’ Howie shouts and the infected turn in as one. Hundreds of human forms rotating about and charging into the small unit trying to run through and the compression starts. The crushing from all sides, but Howie runs them hard and they don’t stop to brawl or battle. Clarence at the front and the lads and Howie looping arms over Dave in the centre, shielding him from the ferocious onslaught because in Dave they trust.

Marcy’s horde start taking the hits and punishment. They get bit and raked, but they don’t feel a thing, only a pure loyalty to a woman that wills them on. Her eyes wide in the mosque. Her mind ramping them with every ounce of energy she can will into them. Her hands bunching to fists and she stares so hard the tears fall down her cheeks.

‘COME ON,’ Howie cries out, seeing one of Marcy’s go down. Then another, but still they go on. Clarence at their point within the arrow head. The others hunkering down behind him protecting Dave in the middle with the dog because in Dave they trust.

But that compression gets worse as Marcy’s horde start getting crushed and taken down.

The pressure grows at the doors to the mosque too. Clarence’s bulk no longer there and they start sliding back. Lilly yelling for them to hold on. Paula throwing her weight into it. Mo fighting like a bastard with Frank and Kyle to kill the ones coming in through the windows. Joan on the upper road, breathing slowly, readying and waiting.

‘How close are we?’ Howie yells.

‘Too far away,’ Clarence shouts back. Taking more of the brunt now as Marcy’s horde start getting decimated. Blood flying out. Soaking them all. Mouths and throats so dry. Hearts galloping. Senses overwhelmed, but still they hold their form. Howie, Clarence, Blowers, Nick and Cookey all running within a tight shell, arms interlacing over Dave in the middle.

‘WE’RE LOSING,’ Peter yells out, giving everything he has against the barricade.

‘HOLD,’ Lilly shouts. Carmen fights, stabbing them hard. Mo the same. Frank and Kyle unable to shoot fast enough. Marcy still wide eyed. Feeling the losses. Reginald on the drone, willing them on. Joan poised, breathing calmly, seeing the play at hand. Seeing the trick.

‘Almost,’ Reginald says in the mosque, watching the screen. ‘Almost…keep going…’

‘They’re getting inside,’ Paula shouts at the door.

‘It wasn’t enough,’ Marcy whispers. Her face twisting to show fury that manifests in the fear of Howie out there about to get torn apart. ‘It wasn’t enough,’ she says again, turning to the other survivors who all see what Maddox saw that day in the army base. A beautiful woman now glowering with power as she takes them in. A power within her. A brutal, awful power.

‘Come on,’ Reginald urges.

‘Almost there boys,’ Joan whispers as Marcy takes the first step towards the other survivors. Her face hardening even more than it was. Her eyes blazing. Her chin up. The detonation proper about to take place and outside that crush gets worse as Howie and the others lose sight of where they are. Struggling to breath. The pressure unbearable. Everything so frantic. Hands coming over the outer ring scratching their backs as they hunker closer together. Doing everything they can to protect Dave in the middle, but they can’t see now, and they lose all perspective of where they are as the hope starts to dwindle and the man at the café finally learns a new expression with his mouth twisting into a sick smile. A feeling of victory inside.

‘Almost…’ Reginald whispers, his teeth clenched.

‘Almost,’ Joan whispers.

The barricade slides. The infected pour through the windows. Marcy nearing the survivors cowering back in abject terror.

Howie outside, not knowing where they are. Not knowing anything. Just heat and noise and pressure so great he can’t breathe. Nick at his side crushing in. Cookey and Blowers being forced in. Dave low in the middle with a hand on the dog. Blood and filth. Everything crazed and they scream out from the pain, realising they have no idea where they are.

‘Now,’ Reginald whispers.

‘Now,’ Joan whispers.

‘NOW!’ Reginald roars.

‘Do it now,’ Joan says.

‘They can’t see,’ Reginald says, looking down at Howie who doesn’t know where he is. Seeing the man ahead at the café under the lee of the hillside and buildings out of view of the upper road. They have to go now. They have to do it now.

‘HOWIE! DO IT NOW,’ he shouts into his radio, watching as Howie shows no reaction. Knowing the transmission can’t be heard and with a yell he dive bombs the drone into the back of Howie’s head. ‘DO IT NOW…’

‘What the fuck?’ Howie shouts and Joan takes a shot, sending a round an inch past his head as he finally realises they are giving the signal. The signal to go. The signal to deploy Dave because in Dave they trust. ‘NOW NOW NOW!’

This is why he told the lads to come. This is why he told Clarence to come. To do this. To get beaten so low and so hard and still find the thing inside to fight out when there’s nothing left to give and with a guttural roar, the lads explode up. Energy inside coursing hard. Everything to play for and everything to lose. Wild faces and their own fury detonates with fists slamming into heads with a ferocious fight back. With an immense application of violence to punch out to the sides. Howie, Nick, Cookey and Blowers laying waste with bare hands, moving out from Dave who stands straight and lifts his head. Joan going to work with a bolt action sniper rifle. Sending rounds into infected lunging at Dave. Doing what she can to keep them back while Clarence gains a few more feet and Dave waits. Biding his time. A patient man. A man with an endless focus that doesn’t say anything that doesn’t need to be said and he watches as Clarence finally turns. His huge head pouring with blood as he squats down with his hands cradled low.

‘NOW,’ he roars out and Dave runs. Gaining speed within a few strides and placing his feet within Clarence’s hands as the giant explodes up, propelling Dave over the heads of the infected. Meredith running after him. Using Clarence as a springboard to launch off as Joan loses sight of them and a huge screech goes up from the barricade giving way.

The man feels that victory too with a rush of pleasure, making that twisted sick smile stretch wider as something lands behind him with a soft thud. He spins fast, already sending the signal to the closest hosts to come to him. A flash of metal. Pressure on his sternum and before he can blink, Dave is in close, cutting a hole and pushing his hand in and up behind his rib cage to grasp the man’s still beating heart. Their eyes lock for one full second before Dave twists his wrist over, severing connections and the man feels the pressure change inside. A wrench and Dave pulls the heart out. Holding it in his hand. The organ still pumping thick blood over Dave’s hand. And as the man looks from the heart to Dave, so it’s shoved in his mouth.

‘I am Dave,’ Dave says quietly and the last thing the man sees is Meredith’s huge mouth opening as she comes in for the bite.

Reginald tenses, hoping to hell he was right. Because everyone is about to get very dead if he wasn’t and he slowly looks over to the barricade collapsing in and the first few infected spilling into the room. Howling beasts dropping through the windows and Marcy at the back, ready to detonate and kill them all.

A sudden cessation of noise. The screeches and howls ending and with it that frenzied ramped aggression charging the air and as one, the infected hosts lose the direction willed into them. A loss of cohesion within the hive mind and the infected fall from the windows, landing hard and breaking bones. Those getting past the barricade lose that ferocious energy and stumble before tripping with a loss of balance. Reginald sees it happen. The sudden loss of focus within the infected. Everyone gasping and breathing hard. Frank and Kyle with pistols in their hands, glancing up at the windows. Lilly and Peter easing back from the barricade and sharing looks. Willie and Elvis, dripping with blood and sweat. Both with faces showing the extreme action they were in but a second ago.

The same thing outside as Howie, Clarence and the lads battle on. Heedless to the change for a few seconds as they lash out and Cookey notices it first. Smashing one down then staggering back as he realises there isn’t another one coming at him. He sucks air into his lungs, turning on the spot as Nick bumps into his back. The pair of them twisting about to see the change. Both still frantic. Clarence next, dumping a broken body and looking over to Howie and Blowers until even they notice that weird sudden loss of noise and energy.

The infected still about them, and still so many too. But unfocussed now and without that sheer aggression. Some snarling and hissing and lashing out at the air as the last few ounces of energy pulse within them. Others becoming limp like they were during the daytime in the first few days. Cookey looks about, gasping for air and simply pushes a fully-grown man over, shaking his head at the beast flailing weakly on the ground.

A second to see it. A second to process it. A second to realise a stupid ridiculous plan actually worked as Howie and Reginald both realise the same thing at the same time.

‘Fuck…’ Howie heaves for air, drenched to the bone in sweat, gore and blood that drips from every part of him. ‘Van,’ he says, his voice broken and low. The others nod, swaying the same as him and Howie sets off. Lurching into the ranks, pushing them away, slow at first. The fright at getting so close to losing still gripping their minds, but he starts speeding up. All of them running through solid lines of infected that swat out, or swing arms as though detecting the close proximity of potential hosts but are too zoned out to react like they were.

A roar from the mosque and through the gaps in the lines they spot Charlie on Jess making a hole for the others to pour through as they join Howie in racing for the van. Tappy going for the Saxon while back at the café, Dave and Meredith start killing everything in front of them and the sprays of blood coming from opened arteries create a rain that patters down into pools and rivers, and neither pause or show reaction when the first shots ring out.

Howie the first to the van. Sliding the door back and grabbing a case of fresh magazines, slamming one into his rifle and opening up while the others do the same. Tappy reaches the Saxon, clambering over dead bodies and pushing infected aside. Up onto the bonnet. Over the roof. Down the hole and over the seat and the big engine comes to life. Gear in. Foot down. Wheels spinning and she powers on, driving the heavy vehicle into near on stationary lines of human forms. Slamming them down. Men, women and children. The aggression still coursing inside of her for a few minutes. The same with all of them as they get rifles and start firing. All of them still feeling that lust for the battle.

But that changes because the infected don’t fight back now. The loss of the control point has made them so unfocussed that it becomes a blood bath. A place of slaughter. Genocide on an epic scale as Howie and everyone else fires rifles into inert human beings. Shooting them dead. Killing over and over while the Saxon runs them down. Tappy now grim-faced and staring with dead eyes. The knuckles of her hands turning white on the wheel.

‘I can’t fucking doing this,’ Willie says, shaking his head as he lowers his rifle and looks over to Lilly, Mary and Peter then back to the infected shuffling about. Some lunging ineffectually while more trip on the bodies littering the ground. ‘I can’t…they’re not fucking doing anything…’

Peter nods, feeling the same, and they’re not the only ones either. More of Peter’s men find the rage inside now abating too much as they translate the sight about them to one of murder.

But it must be done and as those bullets fly out, so the infection races through the minds of the hosts it has. Desperate to find one with the genetic structure to cope with what it is. It finds one. A woman with black hair. It gains her mind and finds it’s ready to work and as the woman starts to animate and show focus, so her throat is cut by Dave and she falls dead.

Another further up in the ruined town comes to life. Lifting his head and snarling as the bullet fired from Carmen takes the back of his skull out. Another woman next. Deep within the ranks. Pulsing with fresh energy as she’s run over and killed outright by the huge wheel of the Saxon crushing her body.

Reginald watches it from the Mosque. His fast brain processing it all and seeing little pockets suddenly animate with signs of the other player rallying, but only to be killed.

And the killing goes on too. A thing without end because there can be no mercy here. There will be no surrender or prisoners being taken, and while more of Peter’s men, the few that remain from the big group that set out, lower rifles and turn away in horror and disgust, so everyone else slaughters without compassion. Without mercy, and without hesitation. Lilly included.

On the upper road, Joan closes her eyes and lowers her head, unable to see any more of the death through the scope. Their small line of men with assault rifles now silent and quiet. Some turning away from the horror.

Henry and George do watch it. Seeing what it means. Learning fast. Taking information in and adding it to what they know.

They share a look and a nod as they start to rise. Both knowing that while the battle for Hinchley Point might be over, this day is not yet finished.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

‘Lads, it’s Peter, are ye hearing me?’

‘Aye, Peter. Patrick here, how’s it going? Did ye kill all the zombie things?’

Peter hesitates, the radio held close to his mouth while he stands at the back of the plaza viewing a scene of utter carnage. ‘Aye, we did,’ he says simply. His mind in turmoil at what he just went through. ‘How are you getting on?’ he asks.

‘Are we far out now?’ Patrick asks, driving the panel van and looking across to Tyson.

‘Not far, Patrick,’ Tyson says, squinting at a map book.

‘Peter, Tyson says we’re not far now…’

‘Keep me updated,’ Peter says, pushing his radio back onto his belt while he processes the changing thoughts, reactions and emotions he feels inside.

Howie and his group now deep within the town, firing and killing. Frank, Carmen and Kyle with them, and he looks about once more. Seeing nothing but death. Seeing nothing but horror. And it changes him too. It makes him think of his own actions at the fort when he refused to let Howie go to aid his friends, and that meant a few young lads were left here alone in this nightmare. That’s a stain on Peter’s soul right there and one he will always regret. He knows too that he wouldn’t have stayed here, and he definitely wouldn’t have been able to do what they’re doing now.

A strange day for sure. An awful day in many respects, but perhaps within that he can see a light at the end. That from this horror he can now choose to work with them.

‘How long?’ Lilly calls over. As hard-faced as ever.

‘Not long,’ he replies.

* * *

‘That’s a lot of gunfire,’ Patrick says, nodding at the radio at the sounds in the background.

‘Ach, that’s Howie’s boys shooting wide probably,’ Tyson replies to a few agreeable murmurs and comments coming from the lads in the back as the van drives along deserted country roads. The windows open to let the breeze in. Elbows leaning out. The sun shining down. ‘Should have bloody been there,’ Tyson adds. ‘Would have been over a lot quicker if we had of been there, let me tell you that.’

‘Ach, we’ve got to look after the cripple,’ Patrick replies, turning to grin at the festering look of hatred still etched on Callum’s face. His arm in a sling from being broken by Mo in the brawl. ‘Anyway, this is a top mission this is, lads. We’re finding the cure we are. Aye, we’ll get that back quick smart and have the ladies lining up for Patrick’s special medicine.’

‘Ye dirty bastard,’ Tyson laughs. ‘And this isn’t the cure we’re getting, Patrick. That Henry said this just his starting point. He said we go to this fella’s house and he’ll know where it is.’

* * *

Henry fell silent from the sound of a shotgun crunching a round into the chamber as every head looked over to Peter and his men surrounding them on the bay. The air tense and thick. An emergency radio call from Carmen reporting twenty thousand infected at Hinchley Point. Henry and Howie desperate to get away and give aid. Lilly desperate to know where the cure is and willing to kill the world to find it, to protect her brother.

‘I need that panacea,’ Lilly said firmly.

Henry looked from Peter to her. The air silent and charged. ‘Twenty thousand infected are heading towards your fort...’

‘Ach, ye not killing them for us now,’ Peter called. ‘By the time they reach this fort we can be gone and finding somewhere else. This is about helping Howie’s boys and ye wee lass Carmen.’

‘You fucking cunt,’ Howie said, taking a step forward as Clarence reached across to hold him back.

‘Aye, cunt as I may be, but we’ll be wanting that cure you’ve got, and nobody is leaving until we know where it is…’

‘Lilly, this isn’t the way to do this,’ Kyle said.

‘I think we need to slow down and talk about this,’ Norman said.

‘We’re done talking,’ Lilly cut in. ‘We asked. We waited. I won’t ask or wait again. Where is it?’

‘Lilly, my team need help,’ Howie said.

‘Where is it?’ she repeated.

‘Lilly,’ Paula said, shaking her head at the young woman. ‘What’s happened to you?’

‘Where is the cure?’ she asked again, chin up, eyes so cold and fixed on Henry, the grenade in her hand now on show.

Henry looked from her to Peter, to his men and their weapons. ‘I told you I dislike being threatened, Lilly.’

‘Lilly’s asked you a question,’ Peter said. ‘And I strongly advise you answer that question.’

‘And what then?’ Henry asked mildly, looking back at Lilly. ‘I could give a location or a starting point, but what then? Do we wait here until you check it? Does Howie’s team die while we stand here and wait? Does Carmen die too? What then, Lilly?’

She faltered. His tone so calm and making her feel cornered and in truth she had no plan beyond this.

‘Henry,’ Kyle said, his hands out to urge them all to stay calm. ‘You can see how desperate this is can you not? Lilly’s got family here.’

‘We need to go,’ Howie said.

‘When we’ve got what we want,’ Peter called out. ‘And tell the wee fella to get his hands off his guns.’

‘Dave,’ Marcy said, urging him to lower his hands.

‘We’ll be staying calm now,’ Kyle called out. ‘We can work a solution to this. Lilly, if Henry tells you where it is will you let them go?’

‘He’ll lie to get free,’ Patrick said.

‘Don’t listen to ‘em, Blondie,’ Willie added. ‘They could say anything.’

‘They’ll stay here until we’ve found it,’ Peter said.

‘I’m afraid that will take too long,’ Henry said. ‘And I can’t tell you where the cure is because I do not know…’

‘LIAR,’ Willie shouted, aiming his rifle higher.

‘However,’ Henry continued. ‘I can tell you where to start looking for it. The same place we were going to start looking for it.’

‘Are you sure about this, Henry?’ George said quietly.

‘I don’t think we have a choice, George.’

‘Your man is right,’ Peter said. ‘Ye don’t have a choice.’

‘This is escalating to a point that will result in serious harm,’ Norman called out. His strong voice bringing everyone to silence. ‘There is a solution…Henry, you tell us where to start looking. Peter, you send some men out to start and everyone else goes with Howie and Henry to help their friends. We need to work together in this.’

‘I think what Norman really means,’ Henry said. ‘Is that you will then be with us when your men find this location and will know if I am lying.’

‘That too,’ Norman said. ‘But the solution works. Howie? Do you accept?’

‘I DON’T GIVE A FUCK…We need to go right now.’

‘Lilly?’ Norman asked.

‘Agreed,’ she said. ‘Peter, get a small team together. Leave a handful here to guard the fort. Norman, you stay behind and clear the bay. I want everyone in the fort until we get back. Get Joan, Donald and Bashir over here and anyone else that can fire a rifle. Henry, please tell Peter where to start. But if you are lying…’

‘Yes yes, you will kill us all,’ Henry said, offering her a polite smile while pulling a small notepad and pen from a pocket. ‘As I said. We do not know where the cure is. However, my intelligence suggested there is a scientist that worked on the original development living in this location, or rather, he owns this house. And given it’s seclusion I would hope he is still there.’

‘Is that it?’ Peter asked.

‘Sorry. What did you want?’ Henry asked. ‘This is how intelligence and investigations works. You search the bloody house and see where next to go. So do make sure to send some boys that can read…’

‘Watch ye fucking mouth,’ Willie snapped.

‘Henry, I advise against this,’ George said quickly. ‘This is our investigation, sending untrained men in could seriously jeopardise our ability to find the cure.’

‘We’ll find it,’ Peter said, taking the address from Henry. ‘Patrick, Tyson, get the bay secure. Lock the entrances down once we’re gone then get out with a couple of lads and get looking.’

‘Good,’ Henry said, looking directly at Lilly. ‘Now we have a solution.’

* * *

‘So we find this scientist, turn him upside down, ask him where it is and get going,’ Patrick says in the van as they drive along. It took a while to get out of the fort and making sure the entrances in the container wall were sealed and everyone was on lockdown in the fort. Also for Joan and Bashir to get over and join the others turning out.

Eventually they did leave. Patrick, Tyson and a few older men not sent out with Peter and Lilly. A small group armed with rifles on an important mission to find the cure and save the world and as they near their destination, so Henry and George rush to their four wheel drive on the upper road, leaving Joan behind to supervise the used ordnance being cleared away.

‘Howie, it’s Henry. We’re coming into the town. Repeat. George and I are coming in…’

‘Understood. We’ll meet you by the plaza,’ Howie transmits, standing at the edge of the town and staring out over the playing fields. His team ranged out in a line all clutching rifles. Nick with the gimpy lowered at his side. Dave with his knives in his hands, the blades dripping blood. Meredith and Jess there too. Both coated in blood and gore and all of them silent as the Saxon comes to a stop nearby. The driver’s door opening and Tappy standing on the ledge, staring out with them in silence at the death and destruction. Eyes hurting from the smoke and chemicals in the air. The air so hot and charged and thick with cloying smells. Shit and piss. Metallic blood and the innards of people. Unwashed bodies and nothing nice. Nothing pleasant.

This town was so beautiful. So heart-achingly beautiful. Now it’s a ruin of war with skeletal buildings and the things within the homes scattered about charred and broken. The cost of fighting back now so very evident, but more than that. More than the broken buildings and the fire and smoke is the sheer sight of twenty thousand bodies.

They lie thick across the fields. Killed by mortars and gunfire from the hill. Run down by the Saxon and torn apart by grenades, and Howie turns to see the town behind him, seeing through the gaps in the destruction nearly all the way to the mosque at the far end and it’s nothing but dead human bodies covering every square foot. Draped over walls. Hanging out of windows. Crushed under debris. Burnt remains. Limbs. Organs. Innards. Faces. Eyes still open. Men. Women. Children.

‘Where’s Marcy and Paula?’ Tappy calls, her voice so harsh and low from the smoke and the battle.

‘Mosque,’ Nick says. ‘With Reggie.’

Tappy nods, not knowing what else to say and Howie turns away, heading back into the town as she gets back in for the slow drive back.

It’s an awful walk too. At least coming out they were occupied and had a task to do. Now they don’t and so the sights are there to be seen and taken in until they become saturated with them. Until they only want to be away from here. From what this is.

‘Shame about Claire,’ Charlie says, letting Jess pick her own route back over the remains. Grunts and nods from the others. They all felt it. They all knew her. Someone they never met. Someone they never spoke to. She was inside of them then torn away, and what can they say? What words are there to give after this?

They walk back. Coughing hard from the fumes. Veering away from the fires and heat. Treading over corpses and splashing through rivers of blood created by Dave on a rampage as they near the café.

They walk on to the square then over more rubble and corpses to the plaza. The bodies here thicker than anywhere else. Lying three or four deep in some places and the flies already buzzing in to feast.

Lilly and her group near the back of the plaza. Mary and Peter grim-faced and the hatred doesn’t show now when they look over to Howie. Not from Willie and Elvis. Not from anyone of them. Not after this. Not after seeing it for themselves. Kyle a few steps away. His normally genial face now a shadow of pain.

Frank and Carmen off to one side. Both silent as they change magazines in their assault rifles. Reginald by the door looking over at Howie. Eye contact held for a few seconds. The plan worked, but the cost is too high for them to rejoice in their own brilliance. Not from this. Never from this.

Howie reaches the edge of the plaza as the Saxon drives in, the engine shutting off. Everyone looks at it simply because it’s something other than death to view, and even Howie turns to watch Tappy getting out.

‘Marcy!’ Paula calls as every head looks from the Saxon to Marcy steaming out from the mosque with a look of thunder on her face.

‘Do not kill me,’ she shouts, pointing at Dave as she charges at Howie, drawing her arm back and Howie sees it coming. The clenched fist and the look of intent and he lets it happen, reeling back from the fist smashing into his mouth. Splitting his lip and he staggers a step, grunting from the sting.

‘DON’T YOU EVER HOLD ME BACK AGAIN…’ she roars out as Paula grabs her arm. ‘Tell me the fucking plan next time.’

‘You would have died,’ Howie says, spitting blood.

‘You are not god, Howie. Do you have any idea what they would have done to Mo if they were closer? They’d have ripped him apart. Jesus Christ…what the fuck is wrong with you?’

Howie doesn’t reply. There’s still no words to give so he nods once, accepting her point as she glowers, furious to the core and folds her arms. Shaking with anger and adrenalin.

‘At least you warned Dave this time,’ Paula says with a feeble attempt at a joke as she looks about at the awful view. At the limbs and bodies. At the gunshots and wounds and the flies buzzing through the now near silent air. ‘How many did you lose, Peter?’ she asks gently.

Peter swallows. His face ashen. ‘Four.’

‘Five,’ Willie says. ‘Kenny went down in the mosque he did.’

Paula nods, folding her arms and showing the sadness she feels inside. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says.

‘I think,’ Peter says, his voice low and deep as he shoots a look at Lilly. ‘I think I’m the one needing to apologise…’

‘COMING IN,’ a call from the side as Henry and George make their way forward with green laser lights shining from their rifles and on the other side of Southampton, way down the coast, the panel van travels along a seaside road. Tyson looking up from the map.

‘Somewhere around here,’ he says.

‘There’s fields and the sea, Tyson. But no houses,’ Patrick says.

‘What’s that up ahead, then?’ Tyson asks, spotting the rooftop on the right side of the road a distance in front of them.

In the plaza, Henry and George pick their way forward, both of them clocking the positions of everyone else. Frank and Carmen off to one side. Howie with a split lip. Marcy looking furious. Everyone filthy and looking ready to drop.

* * *

‘That’s got to be it,’ Patrick says, looking at the single isolated house between them and the sea.

‘Aye, reckon it is,’ Tyson says. ‘Pull up and we’ll have a look.’

‘Are ye telling me to pull when I’m already pulling up?’ Patrick says. Both of them looking down the driveway to the house. ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ he adds, lifting his radio up. ‘Peter, are you there?’

‘Aye, I’m here, go ahead, Patrick.’

‘We’re at this house we are. We’ll have a look and give you a shout.’

‘The lads are at the address you gave them, Henry.’

‘I heard,’ Henry says.

‘Do ye want me to stand them down?’ Peter asks, struggling to form his words the right way. Wanting to say sorry for what he did.

‘No,’ Lilly cuts in before Henry can reply. ‘Keep them going…’

* * *

‘Right,’ Patrick says as they all get out of the van outside the house perched on the cliffs overlooking the sea. ‘Callum? Where you going?’

‘Going in first,’ Callum shouts back, setting off down the driveway with a point to prove. A sense of humiliation still within him from being taken out so brutally by Mo and he yanks the pistol from his belt as the others roll eyes and set off after him. Patrick and Tyson holding back to stare at the windows, looking for motion inside.

‘ANYONE HOME?’ Callum shouts out, banging the butt of his pistol on the front door.

‘Jesus, Callum. Will ye calm down,’ Patrick calls.

‘I’m fecking calm, Patrick. IS ANYONE HOME?’ he yells again, hitting the door harder.

* * *

‘Good lord,’ George says, shaking his head while looking about. ‘I’d say that’s the whole town destroyed…shame really, it was very pretty here,’ he adds, taking in the mosque behind them. ‘Getting in through the windows, were they?’ he asks, prompting everyone to turn around to hide the discrete hand signal from Henry that tells Frank and Carmen to make ready. Both of them taking a step out while gently easing the safety switches off from their rifles.

* * *

‘OPEN THE FECKING DOOR,’ Callum bellows. ‘Ach, I don’t think anyone’s home. Shall I kick it in?’

‘Maybe we should ask Peter?’ Tyson says, looking at Patrick.

‘Fuck that,’ Callum says, stepping back. ‘I’m not asking for permission every time I need to fart…’

‘Callum, will ye ease it back,’ Patrick says as the lad boots the door again of the isolated fisherman’s cottage. ‘For the love of god, will ye pack it in…’

Callum kicks harder, forcing the door that breaks the wire that sends a signal to the receivers that ignite the blasting caps within the blocks of C4 prepped throughout the old cottage perched on the bluffs overlooking the sea. And as Patrick yells, so Callum and the guys with him are removed from this earth by the detonation.

Patrick and Tyson are blasted off their feet and sent flying as the house blows apart. Bricks and debris sailing out. Flaming rafters and furniture slamming across the road, smashing the van windows. Thick smoke billowing out. Flames licking the sky and it’s all the two men can do to crawl away from the heat and shockwaves.

‘Lovely old stained-glass windows they had too,’ George says, shifting into firing position in the plaza. Henry a few feet over. Frank and Carmen positioning. Dave seeing the way they are angling as Kyle realises the play at hand and turns fast. Snatching views to the preparatory positions of his old team as Peter’s radio blasts out.

‘PETER! IT’S A FUCKING SET UP…THEY BLEW THE HOUSE…CALLUM’S DEAD…THEY’RE ALL FUCKING DEAD…’

The blink of any eye. The beat of a heart and as Peter’s men and Lilly spin about, so they see four sets of green laser lights shining at them from four rifles held by four very experienced people.

‘DON’T!’ Kyle shouts but the speed of it is too fast and the shots ring out with double taps to chests and single shots to heads. Lilly blinks once, seeing men either side of her flying back and she spots the look of horror on Peter’s face a split-second before he’s shot dead. His hot blood spattering over her and Mary. Making both of them flinch as more bodies drop.

Then it’s done. Over. Peter dead and six other men killed instantly.

‘Fuck me,’ Howie mutters, hardly believing what he just saw. A brutal execution carried out so swiftly and only then does he notice Dave has his pistols out. Three of the kills down to him.

‘Jesus. Henry…what did you do?’ Kyle asks.

‘I dislike being threatened. I thought I made that clear.’

Lilly doesn’t move or reply. Mary next to her trembling from head to toe. Willie and Elvis rendered silent with shaking hands coming up in surrender.

‘This is what will happen now,’ Henry says. The green dot of his rifle unwavering on Lilly’s chest. ‘George is going to take over running the fort to ensure there is a place of safety for the people with immunity. If your men here, or any others in that camp even think of taking revenge I will kill every man woman and child in there and then I will come for you. Do you need me to clarify anything I have said?’

‘No,’ she says, her eyes fixed on his.

Howie blinks slowly, feeling a crushing sadness inside at what he just saw and right there he sees a flash of what Dave used to be. That he can take life so easily. The battles they face are mammoth, and all about them lie the bodies of those they have killed. But they were infected. ‘People ruined the world,’ he murmurs, remembering Cassie’s words. Seeing now what lies and secrets do. Seeing it all so very clearly. His own father lied. Dave lied. Kyle lied. Lilly lied. Everyone lies and power corrupts and the world spins on as all the things in it live the lives they were meant to live.

‘To be clear to you all,’ Henry says into that awful silence. ‘I do not know where the panacea is, but I do know where to start looking for it. Howie, I need to use you and your team as a shield to get where we need to be. Do we have an agreement?’

‘No,’ Howie says quietly, simply.

Henry frowns, glancing to Reginald then over to Howie. ‘I think Reginald intended for us to reach this plan, Howie.’

‘He did,’ Howie says, patting his pockets for the cigarettes he knows he doesn’t carry.

Lilly stares on, still calm, still cold and still learning. Her mind processing it all. Seeing where she went wrong and that the biggest mistake was that she wasn’t brutal enough. She glances over to Nick pulling the battered packet out and wonders if it was the same packet he had when she first met him, and in that surreal moment, as Nick throws it over to Howie, she thinks about the paths people take in life and how everything can change so very quickly, and how the equilibrium will always try and right itself. At least that’s how it feels right now.

‘Where was the place you stayed last night?’ Howie asks, glancing at the lads.

‘Camber airstrip,’ Blowers says. ‘Just up the coast.’

‘Any good?’

‘Yeah. Yeah it was okay,’ Blowers replies. ‘It’s got a nice feel about it…peaceful.’

‘Okay,’ Howie says, inhaling again as he looks at Nick. ‘You alright mate?’

‘I’m good, boss,’ Nick replies as Howie clocks the look between him and Tappy.

‘That was good, Tappy. What you did with the Saxon. Good skills…who taught you to drive like that?’

‘My dad,’ she says, looking from Nick to Howie as a tear breaks free to track a clean line down her blackened cheek.

‘He must have been a good man.’

‘He was,’ she says, trying to offer a smile.

Howie nods, smiling back at her before looking on at the others. ‘Danny? You okay?’

‘I’m fine, Mr Howie.’

‘He did well today,’ Blowers says. ‘They all did.’

‘Danny and Mo ran down that hill to save two kids,’ Carmen says, making Howie look from her to the steep hillside.

‘Jesus,’ he murmurs.

‘We saw an orgy,’ Cookey adds, prompting a few tight smiles as Howie looks over at his blue eyes.

‘An orgy?’

‘With a gimp,’ Cookey says.

‘And we met a medium,’ Blowers says.

‘How was that?’ Howie asks.

‘Average,’ Carmen replies, tutting at herself for the joke.

‘There’s a fruit orchard on the way back to Camber,’ Charlie says.

‘We’re not seeing Barry again,’ Carmen says, earning a few more faint smiles.

‘Fruit orchard sounds nice,’ Howie says, looking at Clarence and Paula.

‘Does,’ the big man rumbles.

‘Might have to make a few deliveries in exchange for fruit though,’ Blowers says.

‘I’m sure we can do that,’ Howie says. ‘I’m proud of what you did here…all of you…that took some bollocks that did.’

‘Incredible,’ Clarence says. ‘That’s above and beyond.’

‘It is,’ Paula says as the younger ones look at each other. Filthy and exhausted to the bone but still standing.

‘You have a good sergeant,’ Carmen says.

‘I always thought he was a wanker personally,’ Howie says, getting a few chuckles as Blowers lowers his head with a shy smile. ‘Anyway, we need to crack on. Carmen, I suggest you come with us. You’re covered in blood. We’ll stop somewhere and get cleaned up…Henry, Lilly…can you make sure the people here get somewhere safe please…’

‘Howie, we need to discuss…’

‘Go fuck yourself, Henry. We had that chat before. Go back to the fort. Don’t go back to the fort. I don’t give a shit. Do what you want…’

‘The panacea, Howie.’

‘Where is it then?’ Howie asks, flaring up as he glares at Henry. ‘We’re not pawns in your game. Where is it?’

Still Henry hesitates. Still he stays quiet.

‘Reggie? Can you find it?’ Howie asks.

‘I can try, Mr Howie.’

‘Good enough for me,’ Howie says. ‘Lilly, stop being a cunt and grow up. My team, load up, we’re moving out…’

‘Sounds so much better when he says it,’ Blowers says as Charlie nods in agreement.

‘You need your own thing,’ she says.

‘I said that. I said I need my own thing,’ he says as they start moving off towards the Saxon.

‘We’ll think of one,’ Tappy says, heading towards the driver’s door.

‘Tappy,’ Blowers says, bringing her to a stop. ‘The boss is back now…’

‘Eh? Ah shit. Sorry!’

‘It’s fine,’ Howie says. ‘You drive mate. I’ll jump in the back…Roy? We’ll batter a way through with the Saxon so you can get the van out.’

‘Right you are,’ Roy says. ‘Unless anyone needs any stitches? Stitches anyone? Free suturing? No? Right.’

‘London,’ Henry says, bringing them to a stop as Reggie hides the smile touching his lips. ‘That’s our starting point.’

‘Okay,’ Howie says, walking on with the others. ‘We’ll be at this Camber place when you want to talk properly. Carmen? You coming?’

‘She’s a spy,’ Cookey calls. ‘Tell her to sod off.’

‘Idiots,’ Carmen says, tutting as she looks to her CO for orders and Henry pauses, thinking fast while looking at Howie. At the likeness Howie has to his father. At the fact Howie and his team are infected with a version of the virus, which in turn makes Henry realise that Howie has been vaccinated. He looks to Carmen, now knowing she is the same and he wonders if they all are. If they were all vaccinated. And if they were, then only one person could have done it.

Howard.

Howie’s father.

‘Go with them. We’ll meet you there…’ Henry orders.

‘We’s might see that rare bird again,’ Mo says from the back doors, grinning at Carmen walking over.

‘Mo, honey. That was a pigeon,’ she says then frowns at realising she just called him honey again.

‘We all do it,’ Paula says, reading her expression.

‘Yeah, but a rare pigeon, you get me? Like for fact.’

‘For reals,’ Danny says.

‘Oh god, what am I doing?’ Carmen mutters, shaking her head as she winks at Danny and rushes to get in front of Mo. ‘Hey. Did I tell you about the time Henry made us all work undercover at a strip club? Do you remember that, Dave?’

‘Yes,’ Dave says.

‘I love your stories,’ Tappy calls from the front. ‘Oh and bagsy the second watch in the tower with Nick…’ she says before turning to look back at the cramped Saxon and the confused expressions. ‘So we can have sex again,’ she adds as Nick groans, covering his face with his hands. ‘He owes me a third time…it’s a thing…’

‘Knew it,’ Marcy says, clambering in to sit next to Carmen.

‘Knew what?’ Carmen asks.

‘That Tappy would bonk Nick back to happiness.’

‘Oh god, stop it,’ Nick groans, half laughing at the jeers.

‘Own that shit, Nicholas,’ Tappy calls, starting the engine.

‘I am,’ he calls back, their smile holding for a second with eyes alive and shining. ‘I’m owning that shit…’

Chapter Forty

Day Twenty-eight

Cassie wakes slowly, drenched in sweat and feeling groggy. The sunlight pouring into the room through the windows. Her clothes saturated and clinging to her frame. Her hair slick to her scalp and neck. She’s so thirsty. Hot too.

Voices outside drifting in through the open window. The boy laughing and Gregori telling him to catch something. Why did she sleep so long? Her boobs feel sore too. Is she due on her period?

She rises slowly, groaning as she heads to the bathroom. Everything feeling skewered and weird. Like she’s got the world’s worst hangover and she rushes to the sink to fill her dry mouth with cool water from the tap and wincing at the soreness from her chest pressing against the porcelain side.

She rinses her face and hair. Letting the water cool her skin and then peels her sweaty top off and gently feels her breasts. Wincing at how sore and swollen they feel then finally looks in the mirror.

‘Jesus,’ she mutters, pulling a face at herself standing there holding her own boobs while so flushed and sweaty. Bloody Gregori did this. He’s given her the flu from spraying her with a cold hose in the garden the other night.

You do not have influenza.

‘What the fuck!’ she spins about and expecting to see the boy behind her. But he’s not there. Just an empty room and she frowns, thinking maybe she’s sicker than she thought.

You are not sick.

‘Argh!’ she yelps and presses back into sink then yelps again at feeling pain in her bum cheeks. ‘Boy? Are you…’ she cuts off at hearing the child outside laughing and running about. ‘Oh shit…’ she says as the realisation starts creeping up her spine.

I have changed you, Cassie. I have changed the genetic structure within your brain.

She blinks at the voice. Not daring to move or speak.

You wanted what I am. Your genetic structure could not take what I am, but I have changed that.

‘But…’ she cuts off again, still too groggy to think properly. Then she remembers what it was like before. All that noise and the billions of voices.

Your body temperature has increased from the internal changes within your brain. Your breasts feel sore due to the increase in hormones to make them larger and your buttocks are tender from a reduction in the fatty deposits to alter the tissue in order to lessen the size. I will reduce the pain now.

She looks down at her boobs, trying to see if they look bigger. They certainly feel bigger but swollen and tender like she gets when she’s coming on. Then the pain is gone. Simply not there anymore and she’s left holding a bigger pair of boobs. ‘Wow,’ she says then twists to try and look at her own bum, reaching back to grab it and kneading her cheeks.

‘What about the noise thing? All the host people. Oh my fucking god,’ she says as her head fills with a new set of images, making her lurch over to the side and fall into the bathtub. She’s in a field lined with trees. Sunshine above her. She can smell flowers and something else. Horseshit. But she’s here in the bathroom of the bumfucknowhere house. ‘What the…where is that?’ she balks when the vision turns and it’s as though she is there and turning around in a field, but without actually moving and it makes her body feel weird. Like she should be in motion.

You are seeing what Daudi sees.

‘Fuck off,’ she says. But it’s true. She’s there but here. There and here. In both places and she grips the bath while Daudi turns in the field, looking this way and that from signals sent by the infection transmitted by Cassie. She remembers telling the boy to get Daudi and some hosts a few miles south and keep them close. This is them. This is the hosts. She can see them. She can actually see them and for a few seconds she simply stays in the bath. Seeing the world through the eyes of another person until the motion sickness becomes too much. ‘Shut it off,’ she gasps, clenching her eyes closed as the vision ends.

Your genetic structure will take time to adapt.

‘Okay,’ she whispers, still struggling to process it.

You must protect the boy.

‘I will. I promise.’

You said you will deal with Howie.

Her eyes snap open. ‘You leave that cunt to me,’ she says, sensing the power she now has.

You wanted what I am, Cassie. I have changed you. Does this make you happy?

‘Fuck yes it does. You focus on the boobs and let me sort that wanker out…where is he?’

Silence. She blinks.

‘Where is he? Where’s Howie?’

I do not know.

‘What?’

I do not know where Howie is.

‘He’s in that bloody fort. Show me the closest one to the fort.’

Howie left the fort in the van. Other people left the fort with him.

‘Where did they go?’

I do not know. There are gaps in what I know.

‘What the fuck! Where’s that Blowers then? Didn’t he send them out somewhere else?’

I do not know.

‘Eh? Hang on. You know everything…’ she says, talking to herself while naked in an empty bathtub. She flounders for a second, her mind still somewhat foggy and slow. ‘Okay, where did Howie go?’

I do not…

‘Don’t say you don’t know. Which direction? Which town? Where did you last him?’

He travelled west past Southampton.

‘And?’

I do not know.

‘How can you not know? You’ve got like a trillion hosts.’

There are gaps.

‘What gaps?’

I do not have hosts in that area. I do not know where he is.

‘You don’t have hosts in that area? Did you just say that?’

Yes.

‘How can you not have hosts in that area?’

There are gaps. I do not know.

She frowns. ‘Are you everywhere?’ she asks quietly, her eyes narrowing.

I am the one true race. I am the cure.

‘Don’t start that shit again. Show me a host in Scotland.’

There are gaps.

‘Wales then. Show me a host in Wales…’ nothing. ‘Show me a host in Ireland.’ Still nothing. ‘France? Oh bollocks. This is shit…’

What is shit?

‘This is! I thought you had all of them…how many have you got?’

I am many. I am in many places. I am the one true race.

‘How many? The number. Tell me the number.’

Nine thousand five hundred and twenty six.

Silence.

Nine thousand five hundred and twenty five. One just fell out of a window.

‘Please tell me you are joking,’ she says primly. ‘Because that…I don’t even know what that is. You have less than ten thousand hosts. Is that right?’

Yes. I am many. I am in many places.

‘Right. It’s just that I thought you had all of them.’

All of what?

‘All of the sodding people! Like the whole world. Like everyone. Ten thousand is just a colony. Like a really small colony. Like a…like a small nest of ants in the back garden that you kill with boiling water. You know. This is such a let down.’

I am many.

‘Not that bloody many. I had more followers on Instagram than that…’

I had more. Howie killed them.

‘Fuck me. How many has he killed?’

‘Two hundred and nineteen thousand, three hundred and nine.’

She cocks her head over, pulling a face as she hears it. ‘Wow, that’s a lot…that boy’s got some issues.’

He must be stopped.

‘Not with a few mouldy old bloody zombies he won’t be. Right, if we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it properly. First things first…we need more hosts…’

How many?

‘All of them…’

Chapter Forty-One

Day Twenty-eight

‘God only knows you bloody deserve it,’ Crispin snaps from the front passenger seat of the armoured SUV navigating the country lanes.

Steve grunts in the back, his bloodied hands clutching at the gunshot to his belly. His breathing laboured and a fine sheen of sweat covering his face. Bolo next to him. Mark driving. All four men dressed in combat trousers and tight-fitting wicking tops. Pistols in holsters strapped to their thighs. Tac-vests to carry magazines and radios. Assault rifles between their legs.

‘Fuckin’ hurts,’ Steve says again.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Mark says while driving. ‘It’s not like you’ll get infected, is it?’ he adds with a smirk, making Bolo laugh while Crispin just shakes his head.

‘It’s not fucking funny,’ Steve says. ‘I got shot! I might bleed out.’

‘Will it make you be quiet?’ Bolo asks.

‘You can fuck right off, Bolo, you fucking fuckfaced fucking cunt…’

‘Steve, shut up,’ Crispin says from the front passenger seat.

‘Yeah, Steve. Shut up,’ Bolo says.

‘The pair of you,’ Crispin orders, turning to glare. ‘It’s your own fault, Steve, you fucking plank…’

‘They fired first,’ Steve mumbles.

‘They were helping you!’ Crispin shouts, his face flushing red. ‘Fuck me, Steve. That was covering fire. What part of the fucking army were you in? A fucking RAF Regiment newbie twat on work experience for the day would know that was covering fire. Fuck me!’

A heavy silence descends. The air charged as Bolo pulls a cigarette from a packet in the back.

‘Alright to smoke, Cris?’ he asks dully.

‘Not in here.’

‘Why not? We can’t get sick from them,’ Bolo asks.

‘Cos they stink is why,’ Cris says before twisting round to look at Steve again. ‘Move your hands, let me see the wound,’ he waits and rolls his eyes as Steve makes a meal of gently pulling his hands away. ‘Steve!’

‘I’m doing it,’ Steve whines, looking down at the bloodied hole in his gut. ‘Oh god, is it bad?’

‘Yeah,’ Bolo says. ‘You’re gonna die…’

‘Fuck you!’

‘Looks fine,’ Cris says, giving Bolo a look to shut up. ‘I’ve radioed in for a med team on standby.’

‘It’s not even bleeding,’ Bolo says with the unlit cigarette in his mouth. ‘They said we’ll clot faster now. And I can tell it’s not that painful. I was with you in Iraq when you got hit in the leg and cried like a cunt.’

‘Whatever,’ Steve says. Bolo’s right though. It hurts, but nowhere near as much as it should. ‘You’re not having my kit if I die,’ he tells Bolo. ‘Cris, I don’t want Bolo touching my kit if I…’

‘So help me god. One more word, Steve. One more word and see what happens,’ Crispin says. ‘We’re almost back.’

Silence again and the car drives on, turning from the road onto an unmade track that runs deep into a forest.

‘Seen the nurses in the infirmary though?’ Bolo asks.

‘Fuck yeah, I didn’t think of that,’ Steve says.

Silence again.

‘That’s worth a belly shot actually,’ Mark says, looking at Cris. ‘If we pull over can you shoot me too?’

‘Yeah I’ll take one in the arm, Cris,’ Bolo says.

‘Fucking idiots,’ Crispin mutters, trying not to smile.

A few minutes later and they come to a stop outside the main gate of the South East Forward Operating Base. A big compound hidden deep within a vast privately-owned forest and secured behind three-metre-high concrete sectional blocks set end on end. Coils of razor wire on the top with night-vision cameras covering every angle and everything painted shades of brown and green to blend with the foliage about them.

Steve gasps again, holding a hand clamped over the gunshot. Not that he needs to do that because his wound is already clotting. His blood is now thicker and different to what it was. The gate opens and they drive in with Mark and Crispin nodding at the gate soldiers in standard camouflage BDU’s all clutching assault rifles.

They head to the side of the main building to a medical team on standby. Men and women in surgical scrubs all smoking cigarettes as they watch the SUV pull up.

‘He’s in the back,’ Mark says, getting out of the driver’s seat. ‘Single gunshot to the abdomen.’

‘Did the bullet pass through?’

‘How the fuck would I know?’ Mark asks.

‘Just a question,’ the medic retorts.

‘No, we don’t think so,’ Crispin calls over the car. ‘Mark, Bolo, get a brew. I’ll go and report in…and you,’ he adds, pointing at the medic. ‘Make sure you keep the bullet so I can shove it back up his fucking arse.’

Crispin stalks off, shaking his head at Steve’s stupidity and how it will look to the CO. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he mutters, nodding a greeting at one of the admin staff strolling by. He turns to look at her backside then winces when she looks back to catch him doing it. Why they put such pretty women in here is just daft. They should have staffed it with just blokes, or really ugly women. But then over three weeks of being cooped up and even the ugliest will look appealing.

The first few days were weird. Very weird. Being here, safe and sound while knowing the rest of the world was going to hell. One guy even shot himself after writing a note that he just couldn’t take it. Everyone else has been okay. But then they were all chosen carefully. People without family or ties or anything to go back to. Crispin was the same, and he knows Mark and Bolo definitely were. Ex-soldiers and bloody good ones too. They served with distinction with multiple combat tours then they came home to a country that didn’t give a fuck about them.

He begrudgingly accepts that Steve was also the same. But then right now he’s too cross to give Steve credit for anything. Trigger happy twat. And chucking grenades about like that too. He needs constant supervision. And it’s not even the first trip out. They’ve been out a few times now, scouting about here and there. Sneaky and quiet to see and observe and under strict orders not to engage anyone under any circumstances. Today was the first proper run out to check a secret weapons stash at Hinchley Point.

He enters the main building within the compound and heads down the corridor to the CO’s door.

‘Cris, come in,’ Captain Blanchard says. An older man in army fatigues. Smart and clean. Intelligence in his eyes. Short brown hair streaked with grey and a veteran of multiple combat tours. Cris likes him. He’s a good leader. ‘Well, go on then. I heard Steve got shot. What happened?’

‘Sir. I blame myself.’

‘Why. Did you shoot him?’

‘No, sir. Although I would very much like to do that. We got to that weapons stash you said to check…it was all locked up tight. Me and Mark got inside while Bolo and Steve had a scout about and got into a contact with some infected. Bolo and Steve put some rounds in…and er…’ he pauses as Captain Blanchard rolls his eyes, knowing without asking that Steve was being a trigger-happy twat. ‘Anyway, sir. Mark and me went to give support and that’s when Steve got fired on. I’ve got to be honest. Me and Mark saw it. We both think the people were giving covering fire…like to help Steve and Bolo, but Steve got excited, shot the wrong way and got one in the gut for his troubles. We were on our toes, sir. The rounds were coming in and I didn’t fancy hanging about to try and talk it through. Not with the infected there too. And your orders were clear, sir. You said to get away and not engage with anyone.’

‘No, you did the right thing, Cris,’ the Captain says. ‘Who were they?’

‘Didn’t get a good look. Looked like a young unit, but the one that got Steve was a black woman. About thirty. Don’t mind me saying it but she was very attractive. Listen, sir. This was my fault. I should have kept Steve with me and not put him out with Bolo.’

‘Bolo’s a good lad, Cris, but he’s not sharp. I mean that respectfully. Put me in a fight to the death and I want Bolo on my side. The man’s a tank, but he’s not finishing the under-ten’s crossword puzzle for fucking idiots anytime soon. Anyway. It’s done. Everyone will be twitchy on triggers. I want a report and tell Steve he can expect disciplinary action once he’s healed. How’s his injury anyway?’

‘Weird, Sir. He was in pain but, you’ve seen belly shots before…’

‘I’ve had one,’ the captain says, touching his own gut.

‘Yeah, they hurt right? Steve was hurting, but not like he should be, and it clotted fast too.’

‘Interesting. Well, if nothing else we’ve field tested our new super-powers. I’ll send it up the chain. Get me that report then stand down for now. Oh, that fort. Anything?’

‘Sir, yeah we had a look. There a marine industrial estate a fair way back from it. Good OP. We set up and had a squint. Looks okay actually. They’re building a wall from containers.’

‘Containers?’

‘Shipping containers. They make a good wall, sir.’

‘I know they do, Cris. I haven’t always sat behind a desk…’

‘Sorry, sir. Anyway, so yeah. Er, quite a few people inside. Few with weapons that we could see. Big camp set up. The map shows a housing estate was there, but that’s gone. And the fort is an island. I thought it was connected to the land…’

‘Out of date maps probably. Right. Okay, carry on then, Cris.’

‘Will do, sir.’

Captain Blanchard smiles and nods as Cris about turns and leaves. A second of thought and he rises to walk down the corridor to the secure comms room. Walking in to the switchboard operator on duty.

‘I need to report in. Connect me to HQ please, Jenny.’

‘Sir,’ Jenny says. An old-fashioned telephone exchange with jack plugs in a receiver board. A fail-safe using wiring laid in advance. ‘Line to HQ, sir.’

‘Thanks. Go grab a coffee.’

‘Ooh will do. Thanks!’

He pauses, waiting for her to exit then lifts the receiver on the old-style handset connected to the base with a wire.

‘HQ?’

‘Captain Blanchard. SEFOB. Reporting in. Put me through please.’

A pause. A click. Captain Terry Blanchard drums his fingers on the desk and wonders what the mess is serving for lunch.

‘Terry! It’s Jack. How are you?’

‘Jack. I’m fine. How’s HQ?’

‘Ah you know, same as ever. Chaos in a storm of calm.’

‘That makes no sense, Jack.

‘Nothing ever does, Terry. What can we do you for?’

‘Reporting in. I sent a patrol out on the route that was sent down.’

‘Oh yes. How was it?’

‘My unit had a contact at Hinchley Point while checking the armoury. They put some fire in then an unknown unit of soldiers arrived and got caught up in the frenzy. One of them put a round into one of my men. He’s okay. Single gunshot to the stomach.’

‘Oh that is a shame. Who were they?’

‘Couldn’t tell you. My lot bugged out under fire. Cris said they looked like young soldiers. Maybe a unit that got out of Salisbury. Cris said they had a black women with them. Very pretty by all accounts.’

‘Didn’t get her number for the breeding programme then?’

‘Very funny, Jack. They checked that fort too. They’re building a wall from containers.’

‘Containers?’

‘Shipping containers. They make good walls. Cris said it looks orderly and busy but nothing to report.’

‘Understood, Terry,’ Jack says, making notes in his pad while holding the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. ‘I’ve got all that. Hot black woman shoots soldier. That it?’

‘That’s it,’ Terry says, adding a chuckle while thinking Jack is a sarcastic twat that needs a slap.

‘Right. Speak soon. Over and out,’ Jack says, ending the call. He finishes his notes at the desk in the secure comms room within HQ and nods at the admin woman before walking out and down a corridor lined with rooms. His combat fatigues all smooth and clean. His boots bulled to a shine. He stops at the Colonel’s door and knocks before entering. ‘Report just in from SEFOB, ma’am. Terry’s lads went out to check that location you specified. They had a contact with some infected, put some fire down then were fired upon by what Terry’s team-leader states were probably soldiers. Young squaddies from Salisbury probably, oh and a black woman, ma’am. Younger. Cris said she was pretty. I did obviously feedback that language like that is not appropriate when describing…’

‘Give me your report,’ Colonel ‘Mary’ Poppins cuts in, holding her hand out. ‘Thank you. Carry on, Jack.’

‘Anything else, ma’am?’

‘I said carry on,’ she says, giving him a look as he scuttles out. Rolling her eyes when the door closes. ‘Smarmy little shit,’ she mutters, figuring he must be connected to have got such a safe role within HQ. The way he speaks certainly marks him out as privately educated, and she knows he hasn’t ever fired a round in anger or been within five hundred miles of a combat theatre. Mary has. Mary has been there, seen it, got the t-shirt and the scars too.

She reads the report again. Brown hair pulled back in a tight bun. The lines on her lips speaking of a life lived. Her face without make-up that remains impassive as she reads it through.

Patrol unit sent from SEFOB to check designated location given as a hidden Spec-Ops armoury within Hinchley Point industrial Estate.

Contact from small group of infected, during which time a squad of young soldiers led by a black woman gave fire which resulted in one operative sustaining a single gunshot to the abdomen.

She pauses, thinking and biting her bottom lip while thinking on what Jack said. That the black woman was pretty. And her looks would have to be striking for it to have been remarked on by the patrol unit to their CO and then to Jack. And there’s only one striking black woman with enough capability to get a round into an experienced combat veteran during a firefight that also knows where that armoury is.

Carmen Eze.

A phone on her desk. She lifts the receiver and dials a number.

‘It’s Mary. A unit from SEFOB had a contact while checking the Hinchley Point armoury. The description matches Carmen Eze. Tell Howard it looks like Henry has broken cover…’

Also by RR Haywood

EXTRACTED SERIES:

EXTRACTED

EXECUTED

EXTINCT

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