Day Twenty-Nine - Hindhead Part 1 (Season 5: The Rain)
Author: R R Haywood
Date: 2024-05-10 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Zombie Apocalypse
Description: The Undead. The UK's Bestselling Horror Series. The Undead Hindhead Part 1. Washington Post, Wall Street Journal, Amazon & Audible bestselling author, RR Haywood. One of the most downloaded indie authors in the UK with nearly four million books sold and over 25 Kindle bestsellers. *WINNER OF DISCOVER SCI-FI BEST RELEASE OF 2023 * The Battle For Gatwick is over, but the team are broken. They desperately need rest. But rest is not to be found because the darkest days still lie ahead in season five of The Undead. This book was authored by Richard Haywood and not generated by any machine or artifi

THE UNDEAD TWENTY-NINE

RR HAYWOOD

1899 INC LTD

Copyright © 2024 by RR Haywood

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

Untitled

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Also by RR Haywood

SEASON FIVE: THE RAIN

HINDHEAD PART I

“You will fight. Or I will take what you love…”

1

Wednesday, 17th August

Day Thirty-Four

The Fat Bee Garden Centre

It’s a hard drill the morning after Maddox kills Booker.

A bad energy within them all. A wrong turn taken. Booker was rogue. He wasn’t one of them.

But things are never that simple. If only they were.

Some of them felt something was off about Booker; then they found the cameras hidden in the bathrooms, and the monitor near Booker’s tent, and it validated their worries.

Booker was exiled.

Maddox then found an entry in the incident book that detailed how a former employee was hiding the same cameras in the toilets five days before the outbreak which exonerated Booker.

Maddox went after him.

To bring him back.

He found Booker living in the storage units.

The same storage units Booker was using to kidnap and then rape infected women, which in itself raised a whole ton of ethical questions.

Booker went for Maddox and was killed when Maddox hung him by the same torture ropes and chains Booker used on the infected women.

Maddox went back and reported what happened. First, to Howie, and then, to Henry, at which time Maddox realised the entry made in the incident book detailing the previous employee matched the ink within Henry’s pen. That being the pen Henry tasked Maddox to retrieve during an earlier test.

Now Maddox isn’t entirely sure about what happened. Nor is anyone else. Booker was a wrong un, as Frank put it, and what he was doing was bad. Very bad. But he didn’t do the thing they’d accused him of.

Did he?

‘How do we know Booker didn’t put the cameras in just like whoever that other pervert was?’ Nick asked. ‘And he still groped Tappy.’

But then, even Tappy wasn’t sure about that. She felt his hands on her boobs during the battle of Gatwick, but it was all so intense and fast, and thinking back, she’s just not sure.

None of them are.

It’s confusing. Booker was one of them.

Wasn’t he?

‘I’m sorry. I’m just going to say it. I didn’t actually feel Booker in our hive mind,’ Charlie said last night when Maddox came downstairs and told everyone else gathered around the firepit.

That was a minor revelation because, come to think about it, none of them actually felt Booker within their hive mind.

‘But then, it’s not, you know, a thingy,’ Nick said, floundering for the words. ‘I mean. I don’t feel all of you, and it’s not like we can go Oh that’s Cookey, or that’s Blowers.’

‘Yeah, no, I get that, mate,’ Blowers said. ‘But I have felt Cookey and you, and Tappy, and Charlie, and we all feel the boss.’

‘God, yes,’ Tappy said. ‘And Henry at Gatwick. His energy aura thing was like whoa, that’s the same as Mr Howie.’

‘I’s felt all of yous, but I ain’t felt Booker,’ Mo said.

‘Same,’ Danny said, somewhat shyly as everyone was there, and they all looked at him. ‘I was going to ask, but I felt bad.’

‘Ask what?’ Charlie asked.

‘Why I couldn’t feel Booker.’

‘Dude. You ask,’ Blowers said, and they all agreed.

‘So, you didn’t feel Booker?’ Charlie asked after a moment of reflection.

‘No,’ Danny said. ‘But he was their mate from Salisbury and the army, so I didn’t say anything.’

‘Can you feel all of us?’ Charlie asked.

Danny nodded.

‘Can you feel me, Danny?’ Carmen asked with a quizzical look.

‘Yes.’

‘What about Frank?’

Danny nodded again, ‘Frank is like Sergeant Blowers.’

That comment caught their attention, and even Paula and Clarence drifted over to listen while Henry and Reginald paused in their muted conversation.

‘How do you mean?’ Charlie asked softly.

‘Um. Sergeant Blowers is very focussed. And Frank’s the same. But only when they go, you know, I mean when they go, like when we fight. But outside of that, they’re chill and easy, like everyone else.’

Silence.

Paula moved closer, edging from the light, with Clarence at her side, and Henry and Reginald emerging on the other side.

‘Danny? Can you feel us all now?’ Paula asked as the lad nodded.

‘All the time. Can’t you then?’ he asked with a look around.

‘No, mate,’ Cookey said, keeping his voice low and soft.

‘What about me, Danny?’ Carmen asked. ‘Can you feel my energy now, or whatever it is?’

Danny nodded again, but he struggled for the words to explain how it felt to the others, which he’d assumed they all felt in the same way. ‘You’re like… So, Carmen is like a, like a lioness. No. It’s hard to explain. She’s not the alpha energy, but she’s just as dangerous. Like watchful and alert, and it feels, er… Confident? Yeah, confident. It’s nice. I like it,’ he said with a shy smile at Carmen.

‘Okay, and wow,’ Tappy said, widening her eyes. ‘How about Clarence? Can you feel him?’ she asked, and Danny smiled in a way that brought life to his face and made them all smile.

‘Clarence is big. Like BIG! His energy aura thingy is like all of ours put together but bigger, and when he gets angry… Oh, man. Dude. That’s like a volcano. That’s all I can feel. Like no one else. Just Clarence.’

‘That’s Clarence,’ Tappy said with a nod as they all murmured, and something about it made Tappy want to cry, and she wiped a tear from her face.

‘What about Tappy?’ Charlie asked.

‘Tappy’s wild,’ Danny said, and they all smiled and chuckled softly as he brought his hand up to rise and dip like on a rollercoaster. ‘She’s like that… But it’s really positive. I like Tappy’s energy. Cookey’s like that, but Tappy is like a can of pop that’s been shook up, all fizzy, but Cookey is the light. Like the sun. Yellow and strong. Really strong.’

‘That’s definitely you,’ Charlie told Cookey. ‘Most of the time,’ she muttered.

‘What about Nick?’ Cookey asked.

‘Oh, Nick is different. Nick is like, his energy is like really, oh, what’s the word when you want to know things?’

‘Curious? Inquisitive?’ Charlie suggested.

Danny nodded quickly. His shyness eased back. ‘Nick is very curious. His energy is like what’s that? How does that work? Where is it going? Argh, it doesn’t make sense.’

‘Makes perfect sense,’ Tappy said as the others nodded.

‘But frustrated too,’ Danny added. ‘I can feel that in Nick.’

‘That’s the dyslexia,’ Blowers said with a nod at his mate.

‘Can you feel me, bro?’ Mo Mo asked.

‘Yeah. All the time. You’re different too. Like Cookey and Tappy. Positive and warmth, and light. That energy feeds the other energies. Like batteries that give power or, or, or like solar panels or something. They push their energy out to others, and it’s like they vibrate more than the others, and when they’re happy, it makes everyone else happier, but when they get hurt, it hurts them more than us, but Mo can switch to be like Blowers and Frank and focus like a laser. Bash is like that a bit. Solid and strong like Sergeant Blowers and Cookey, and Nick, but he can adapt, and his energy is frustrated. I can feel it now because he can’t understand me.’

Mo translated it all quickly to Bashir, as he had done with the rest, prompting Bashir to nod with agreement.

‘What about Roy?’ Charlie asked.

‘Roy’s above us,’ Danny said instantly and smiled. ‘Like his aura is always over us, watching down.’

‘Overwatch,’ Cookey said.

‘Oh my god, wow. That’s so Roy,’ Tappy said.

‘He’s like I’m watching you all really closely,’ Danny said with a mimicry of Roy’s voice that made them all smile. Roy smiled too.

‘I’ll take that,’ he said with a wink to Danny.

‘I can feel Jess too,’ Danny said with a smile to Charlie.

‘Really? I mean. I can sense her presence. Especially when we’re fighting, but how does it feel to you?’

‘Jess changes. Sometimes she’s gentle and soft; then sometimes she’s playful like happy and buzzing, but then she gets mean, and it’s like she wants to hurt the infected. She enjoys it. She’s not scared of them at all. Like, not one bit. She hates them. And she’s like Clarence when she gets angry. Strong. Really strong.’

‘Is Meredith like that?’ Tappy asked, and they all hung on every word Danny was saying.

‘No,’ Danny said quickly. Shaking his head. ‘Meredith is one of the others.’

‘Others?’ Charlie asked.

‘Like Paula and Carmen. She’s like… Argh, okay, so she’s like I’m watching. I’m here. Don’t be scared. Pack. Pack, stay together. Don’t bicker. Don’t be sad. Little ones. Protect the little ones. Sleep now. Play now. Eat now, but she’s so strong. Man, she’s like the only one that can get into the boss’s energy when we’re fighting. She just pushes his energy back and gets into him, and is like no, do it my way. MY WAY!’

‘Fuck me,’ Blowers mouthed, shaking his head as they all felt the hairs on the backs of their necks standing prickle at the astonishing insight Danny was giving them.

‘What about Paula?’ Tappy asked.

‘Lioness,’ Danny said and frowned because it wasn’t exactly what he meant, but he didn’t know how else to describe it. ‘Or wolves! Yeah, like in a wolf pack, every wolf has a job, right? I saw that on TV. Paula is the head lady wolf.’

‘Lady wolf,’ Paula whispered with a smile.

‘And you don’t mess with the head lady wolf,’ Danny said.

‘Matriarch,’ Charlie said. ‘That’s the lead female in a pack or herd.’

‘Yeah! I remember that!’ Danny said. ‘Paula is the matripack lady. She’s like, wow, I can’t even describe it. She’s just everywhere all the time. My pack. This is my pack. Nobody touches my pack.’

‘Oh, shit! That’s so Paula,’ Tappy said, and they all agreed.

‘So, you don’t feel this?’ Danny asked as he looked at the others.

‘I think perhaps you have a very special gift of insight,’ Charlie said.

‘What’s Charlie then?’ Cookey asked.

‘Smart. Really smart, but she changes too. Like she, er… What’s that word? Adapts! She’s a lioness and dangerous, and one of the pack, but then, she’s playful, but then, she’s focussed like a laser. Charlie’s energy is powerful. Like Maddox.’

They all looked from Danny to Maddox, and even Maddox frowned and stepped forward to listen. ‘Mads isn’t infected, Danny,’ Blowers said.

Danny shrugged. Not knowing what to say.

‘Can you sense him?’ Charlie asked.

Danny nodded. ‘Mads has really strong energy. Same as yours, but he’s not in all of us. Like… Er, we all flow through each other?’ he said while trying to motion with his hands what his inner mind can see. ‘But Mads doesn’t. Roy doesn’t either, but it’s different. Roy is protective and above. Mads is just like there, but not in us? I can’t… I can see it, but saying it?’

‘I’m on the list of people with immunity,’ Maddox said as he looked across the firepit to Reginald.

‘You can’t be immune to a Panacea,’ Howie said as he paused at the edge of the light spill. ‘You’re immune to the bad virus,’ he added and stared at the flames for a second. His eyes dark and hidden by the shadows dancing on his face that looked harsh and sinister. ‘That whole thing with Neal was rushed. I don’t think they knew what they had.’

‘Quite,’ Reginald said, and they all felt it. The way the air charged and hardened. It happened sometimes when Howie and Reginald spoke about the infection. They all felt it outside the feed store too, when Reginald said they were fighting the thing keeping them alive just before Howie found the dying puppy.

‘So, I am infected,’ Maddox said.

Howie just nodded once. He could have said Maddox’s rate of healing was greater than it should be, as was his strength and speed, and his ability to recover and withstand that heat within Gatwick too. That was the real test. But Howie didn’t say any of that. He didn’t need to. ‘Marcy’s making you a brew,’ he said to Clarence and Paula.

They both nodded. It was their turn to take over the watch. Howie walked by into the bathroom.

‘I think I shall make myself a herbal tea,’ Reginald said, and he too walked off, leaving them in a silence with the unspoken question hanging in the air until Tappy cleared her throat.

‘Seeing as I’m the fizzy one, then I’ll ask it…’ she paused as they all looked to Danny. ‘What about Marcy and the boss?’ she asked.

‘And Reginald and Dave,’ Charlie said, and they all saw the expression change on Danny’s face. His smile faded with a fleeting look of fear, or awe perhaps. It was hard to tell, but there was a very great intensity within his gaze.

‘Marcy is like Paula and Carmen,’ Danny whispered. ‘Like a lioness. A wolf. She’s pack. But she’s not like them… But then, she is.’ Danny paused and frowned. Trying to relay how it felt as he remembered what they all said about Marcy. ‘She’s the nuclear bomb,’ he added quietly, staring into himself. ‘She has two energies. I can feel it. One is good. The other isn’t. But she’s loyal. Like, she loves us. Really loves us. Like way more than we could ever realise, and when it gets rough and we’re threatened, her other energy starts taking over, and it’s like… It’s like she’d use that bad energy to kill everything, like destroy everything to protect us.’

Everyone was silent. Everyone was listening.

‘And then there’s the boss and Dave, and Reginald,’ Danny whispered as the flames from the firepit danced on his face, and the shadows seemed to grow darker. ‘I can’t… It’s too much,’ he whispered and gestured with his hands. ‘I mean. Mr Howie and Reginald are like us most of the time. The same energy. The same aura. Like gentle and calm, and we all flow around each other. Not Dave though. Dave is always this powerful, like… Like beam of pure energy that doesn’t ever switch off. And it’s so strong, and it never stops or gets scared. Like stronger than all of us. But Mr Howie though… Reggie. Like, you do not fuck with that kind of energy. We’re small. They’re big. BIG. You don’t even look at them sometimes. It’s too much. Like, too intense. And then… And then… So, like, you’re in a desert right. And there’s nothing anywhere. It’s just flat. But you feel something and hear it, and you turn around, and there is a wave coming at you. But it’s a thousand feet high, and it’s all frothing and wild, and crazy, and it makes you feel fucking small. And it will destroy everything, and it won’t stop. That’s Mr Howie and Reggie when their energies combine. At Gatwick, like, we thought Reggie was in his van, but he was there, with us, feeding power to Mr Howie and Dave. And, and, and… And Mr Howie has this rage inside of him. Sometimes Mr Howie and Reggie do this,’ Danny said and gently punched his fists together. ‘And we all feel it, and that’s when Tappy and Cookey, and Mo’s energies feed us, and Paula and Meredith hold us together, and Roy watches us, and we all move into each other, and wait… But then, the boss and Reggie do this,’ he added and entwined his fingers. He didn’t speak for a moment, but his expression spoke a thousand words. ‘Mr Howie’s got this rage or something, I don’t know. It’s inside of him, and that’s where it all comes from. It’s just power. Like pure power. She’s got it too,’ he said with a gentle frown. ‘But the boss is heat and fire, and she’s cold and ice. Mr Howie is red. Pure blood red, but she’s blue and frozen. She’s smaller and younger, and still growing but I wouldn’t fuck with her. She’s like the boss. She’s got that same level of power.’

‘Who has?’ Charlie asked as they all stared at Danny lost in his own mind, and the lad blinked and looked up, almost with surprise at seeing them all there.

‘Lilly,’ he whispered.

There wasn’t much to say after that. It was a remarkable insight that generated a thousand more questions that were left without answers, and the raw truth was that they just don’t know, and that feeling crept back in. The aftermath of Booker that left them feeling betrayed and confused, and guilty too, but without knowing why. Guilty that they’d trusted him. Guilty that they’d turned on him when he could have been innocent. But then, he wasn’t innocent at all.

Charlie paused at the entrance to her tent and tried to make eye-contact with Cookey. She wanted comfort. She wanted his presence. But he hung back and seemed to falter, then headed off to the toilet. She caught Maddox’s eye. He smiled sadly. She went inside.

They slept fitfully.

2

Clarence was always strong.

Big Chris used to tell him to stop pushing weights and do more CV.

‘I hope to God we never have to parachute anywhere,’ he said. ‘You’d need a cargo chute, and you’d still leave a crater.’

But then they’d deploy with Big Chris’s squad of elite Pathfinders, being given tasks with house entry and room to room clearance, and suddenly, having a six-foot six man mountain take point to smash through doors with a 35 kilo battering ram in one hand and a machine gun in the other made sense.

They were thankful for Clarence then.

But then his service days came to an end. Soldiers get older and wiser, and question the reasons for the wars they are sent to fight.

Clarence left, as did Big Chris and Malcolm. Big Chris did well. He was charming and social and had connections. Chris organised some private military contracts that paid very well. Overseas protection missions. Guarding dignitaries in Iraq or Afghanistan, or in war-torn African states.

It was the same as before for the most part, except the lines were even more blurred because, while it was the government that ultimately paid them and used private military contractors, they did so, knowing the ethics were often questionable.

It meant the government could effectively deny involvement, and should any of the private soldiers get killed, they were not duty bound to repatriate the bodies or pay death-in-service compensation to their families.

It was a good earner, but they couldn’t do it forever, and so, eventually, they were out of the military complex completely. Again, Big Chris did well. But then, he always would with his charisma, and Malcolm was always slightly closer to Big Chris than Clarence.

Which left Clarence on his own. Struggling to find work. Which was hard because who wanted to hire a six-foot-six man mountain with no real transferable skills, and so, like many, Clarence ended up feeling demeaned and despondent, working civilian security jobs.

He did a stint for a firm contracted to supermarkets. That was awful, and the prosecution policy was more merciless than some of the Russian mercenary groups Clarence had met overseas.

Old women forgetting to pay for toilet roll. Old men who put a bottle of medicine in their pocket in the aisle while fumbling with their basket and forgot to take it out. Young kids stealing candy and snacks. People in poverty unable to pay bills. Nursing mothers in floods of tears at being caught stealing baby formula.

Clarence stood over them all while the wispy-bearded, skinny, young men in ill-fitting trousers bragged about nabbing the fuckers and shared high-fives while feeling like the FBI.

There was no honour in it.

Clarence left and picked up work on the doors in nightclubs. His size and presence meant he could earn half decent money. But that size also attracted every wannabe tough guy to have a pop. Especially if they’d had a few.

The women were awful too, and in many ways, they were worse than the guys.

Clarence hated it.

He detested it.

He hated grabbing people. He hated getting slapped and kicked, and scratched and always worrying that his strength would cause injury.

He was on duty on the door. Friday 15th July. He felt so low and broken that he was seriously considering signing back up to the PMCs. He’d heard of a gig out in Kabul guarding the embassy and figured even that was better than doing the doors.

The other bouncers were discussing neck tattoos and steroid cycles. It was hot. Clarence was out front, watching the crowd in the garden area. Smokers. Vapers. People coming back from the toilets, wiping cocaine from their noses. The club only had a zero drug policy when the cops were around.

‘Bloody hell! Look at him!’

He tensed at the rough female voice and pretended not to hear it, and kept his eyes up on the crowd.

‘Jesus! How tall is he? Here, mate? How tall are ya?’

‘Oi!’ one of them shouted and smacked his arm. ‘His muscles! They’re rock hard. Go on, Lakisha. Put yer hand on here and feel this.’

He finally looked down at them. Six women. All drunk. Fake tan. Short skirts. Muffin tops. Boobs falling out. Huge lashes. Lots of make-up. Fingers like talons, with fake nails holding cigarettes and vape-sticks.

‘Sorry, do you mind,’ he said politely and stepped away.

‘Alright, mate! Jesus. We’re only having a feel of your muskels.’

They swarmed back in. Entitled and grabby. Laughing unpleasantly. Cackling and goading each other on.

‘How big’s yer cock?’

‘Don’t ask him that!’

‘Nah, he’s alright. He’s smiling. Go on, is it massive?’

Clarence wasn’t smiling. He felt broken inside and winced when the hand came in to grab at his groin.

‘Please, don’t.’

‘It’s your job, mate!’

‘Should be flattered.’

‘You got a missus? I don’t care. I’d fuck you anyway. I’ve done all the other bouncers here.’

‘All at once an’ all, you dirty bitch!’

‘She put it on her OnlyFans,’ another told Clarence as the same woman tried to feel his groin again.

‘I said stop,’ he took her hand and extended his arm to push her away.

‘Get yer fucking hands off me!’

‘You touchin’ my missus, you bald cunt?’

‘She was grabbing my groin.’

‘I didn’t fackin’ touch him! He just grabbed me.’

‘He just grabbed her, Steve. He’s trying to touch her up!’

The same thing again and again.

Clarence let go of the woman who pushed at his chest and screamed that he’d grabbed her, and the woman’s boyfriend and his mates all swarmed in.

Clarence didn’t even listen to what they were saying. Nor did he try and placate them like he would normally do. He’d learnt long ago there was no reasoning with people off their face on booze and drugs.

He couldn’t even summon the energy to argue or push the woman away that was getting too close and screaming at him. And he didn’t do anything about Coke Dealer Steve either, who’d been going to the gym for six months and wore an extra-tight top to show his arms off, and who was now puffing himself up like a puffer fish.

‘I don’t care how fucking big you are! I’ll deck ya!’

Clarence just stood there like a sentinel. Feeling big and clumsy, and stupid and seeing the bleak future of either doing this or scaring terrified people in Aldi, or going back to a war zone and risk being blown up or shot.

He thought he’d have a house by now. Maybe a wife. Maybe some kids. The leaflets they handed out in the army about requalifying made it all seem so easy and possible.

But the truth was that he had to stand here while Steve got egged on by his mates and felt emboldened by Clarence’s lack of action, and pumped himself up enough to try a two-handed push at Clarence’s chest. Which only caused Steve to push himself back with a short, sharp dose of humiliation.

‘WANKER!’ Steve screamed as Clarence’s senses detected something happening over at the corded rope entrance. Four of the neck-tattooed, steroid-cycling bouncers in super-tight shirts were telling two guys they had to queue.

Except, the two guys didn’t want to queue.

Because they’d heard something bad was coming.

But then Big Chris always was connected.

‘We don’t want to come in. We just want him,’ Big Chris said and pointed to Clarence standing over a group of screaming banshees.

‘And I said you gotta fackin’ queue!’ the bouncer yelled as Big Chris rolled his eyes and nodded for Malcolm to follow him in.

Which prompted the bouncers to try and stop them.

Which didn’t go well for them at all.

Which, incidentally, is when Steve finally got brave enough to throw a punch, which Clarence caught one-handed in his giant mitt while watching four bouncers bounce off the ground.

Then there was silence.

A deep and awesome silence as Big Chris and Malcolm walked over to Clarence, slowly squeezing the fist of Steve the coke dealer. Who was by then on his knees and gasping at all the tiny bones in his hand going pop, pop, pop.

‘Got incoming,’ Big Chris said. ‘Hot intel. Pandemic,’ he added as he came to a stop and looked at Steve on his knees and all the fake-tanned, muffin-topped women going wide-eyed. ‘Put him down, Clarence. You don’t know where he’s been.’

‘You’ll catch something,’ Malcolm said as Clarence let go. Which was right after giving it another squeeze to break Steve’s knuckles.

‘I’ll brief as we go,’ Big Chris said, and that was that.

Clarence walked out past the groaning, pimply, tiny-testicled bouncers and the stunned crowd.

Thirty minutes later, he was side by side with Malcolm, gunning the infected down with a machine gun to give cover to Big Chris and Malcolm arranging the barricades with a man called Doc Roberts, and six days after that, Clarence met another man.

A man called Howie who came to London to rescue his sister.

Clarence thought Big Chris was charismatic, but Howie was something else. He had an aura that made people feel compelled to follow him.

Even Big Chris.

That was thirty-four days ago.

It feels like it was a decade, but then, Reginald says time is moving differently now. Clarence knows time is only a concept, and therefore it cannot move faster or slower, but their perception of time is different.

It was like that in the military. There’d often be months of intense boredom, doing mundane drills, with the odd exercise thrown in to keep the soldiers motivated – and then you’d go to war. That could be boring too but interspersed, with seriously intense bouts of all out full-throttle firefights and battles. The siege of Sangin in 2006. Musa Qala in 2007. Both of them in Afghanistan, and both of them big, intense, sustained contacts with multiple casualties. Then it would go quiet, and they’d get airlifted into Iraq, and it would go nuts again.

But even that, even all of that cannot hold a candle to what they’ve done over the last thirty-four days because, as the boss says, something seems to happen every half an hour.

Gatwick was brutal. Rye was intense, and that poor puppy. Jesus. That was brutal. Finding the poor thing still alive got into all of their heads.

And now, on top of that, they’ve got the fallout of Booker being killed by Maddox.

Clarence sighs heavily and goes to rub his jaw while forgetting he doesn’t have a hand, and smacks the stump into his face.

He tuts at himself. Sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxers, staring at his missing right hand, and that feeling comes back.

The feeling of being big and clumsy, and stupid.

He starts putting his socks on, but even that takes time and planning with only one hand.

It gets done, but it takes ten times longer than it did before, and that’s just the socks.

He grabs the trousers and shakes them out, gets his left leg in, then his right, but his right foot snags the top, making him hop and struggle, and bump into the edge of the bed that shunts into the fence panel Roy put up, banging it noisily and bringing Paula and some of the others rushing over.

‘Why didn’t you call me?’ Paula asks with her toothbrush in her mouth.

‘Because,’ Clarence mutters, his tone loaded and dark, and full of frustration. Paula waves the others away, sensing Clarence’s pride is hurting.

‘It’s okay,’ she says softly, moving in to tug his trousers up.

‘I can do it.’

‘Just lift your foot.’

‘I said I can do it.’

She stares up at him. Her hair messy from sleep. Only in a vest and shorts, and with the toothbrush still in her mouth. ‘Would you help me if I lost my hand?’

Clarence would be glued to Paula’s side if she needed help. He doesn’t even need to say it.

She pulls his trousers up and works to fasten the button and belt. ‘Hang on there a sec, let me finish my teeth, and I’ll come back and help with the boots. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ he says and sits on the bed. She kisses his forehead and darts off, but he grabs her wrist and pulls her back to press his head into her body. Her arms around him. Nothing said. No words spoken.

‘It’ll be alright. You’ll adapt,’ she whispers after a moment before heading off to get ready for another day of being stuck indoors.

He looks at his boots and thinks about how handicapped people had Velcro clothes and Velcro shoes, and now, he needs them.

He tugs them on and uses his left hand to tighten the laces, ready for tying, and has to stop with another grunt of frustration.

‘Morning, big guy,’ Tappy says, dropping to her knees in front of him and patting her thighs. ‘Up,’ she says and guides his foot onto her lap to work at the boots. ‘Do you wrap around the ankle? Or do you want a big, fancy, droopy loop?’

‘I’d like a droopy loop.’

‘Knew it,’ she says, wrapping the laces around his ankle with a smile up at the man that is the same size and shape of her father. The same presence about him. The same centre of calm that radiates out even when he’s frustrated like now. She grew up around that energy, and it means something very deep to her. ‘Mads said what happened. With Booker,’ she says quietly.

‘I heard,’ Clarence says. Sensing her disquiet. ‘You okay?’

She shakes her head and wipes a tear away as another one falls free, landing on his boot.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.

‘Just the whole thing,’ she says quietly. ‘I mean. I know what he was doing, but I falsely accused him, and then all that stuff about him groping me.’

‘Did he grope you?’

‘Yes. I think so. I don’t know!’

‘Clarence has lifted me out of the way more than a few times,’ Paula says as they both glance at her listening nearby. ‘And Blowers. And I’m pretty sure Nick has. And I’ve seen Howie grab Charlie… And Clarence has definitely had to grab Marcy before, and not one of them ever put a hand anywhere near our boobs.’

Tappy listens, thinking to the fights and battles, and how close they are to each other. How they grab one another to move them away from danger or drag them if they fall, or when they piss about and playfight, or bundle into the Saxon, and Paula’s right; none of the lads have ever touched her anywhere in the wrong way. Not even Nick, and she’s sleeping with him.

‘I know it’s confusing,’ Clarence says. His deep voice rumbling out as she looks up at him. ‘But some people develop ways of projecting a victim mentality and showing innocence. That’s called grooming. That’s what Booker did. He groomed us, but as the boss would say, those things don’t work in the new world, and he showed his true colours, which was dealt with. What I’m trying to say is you haven’t done anything wrong.’

She nods. Feeling like she could cry again, but from the kindness and the way Clarence is speaking.

‘You okay?’ he asks after a second as she blinks, and the smile comes back. Sheepish and growing wider.

‘I forgot why I came over,’ she says with a self-effacing laugh and grabs his good hand as she gets to her feet and pulls him up. ‘Come on. Gotta show you something.’

He looks from her to Paula who shrugs with an expression that he should go, and so he lets Tappy pull him across the room and into the workshop to see Nick and Roy smiling at him.

‘Okay, so, just stand there,’ Tappy says and takes a weird looking thing of leather and thick cord, and a weird screw end from Nick’s hand, and she smiles as she moves back to Clarence’s injured arm, then rolls her eyes, and moves off, and comes back with a chair to stand on. Then she’s up and moving his arm, with Nick and Roy coming in closer to examine the fittings and Mo stopping to look on in astonishment.

‘Whoa,’ he says quietly, then calls to the others who slowly filter over to stare inside at Tappy fitting a harness to Clarence’s left shoulder, with thick straps going across his back and chest to another harness on his right shoulder, which has more straps going down his arm to a thick, leather cup fitted snug over his stump. ‘And ta-da!’ she says with a smile and takes a sharp metal spike that she screws onto the bolt poking out from the leather cupping his stump.

‘Fuck me. Mad Max anyone?’ Blowers mouths from the door as the others watch on in awe at Tappy and Nick making adjustments to the straps and cords. Telling Clarence to lift his arm up, then hold it out, and bend his elbow.

‘Okay. Try that,’ Tappy says and jumps down from the chair as Clarence stares at his prosthetic spike and thinks about thirty-four days ago and being surrounded by screaming banshees and feeling so low and broken that he could have cried.

He could cry right now too. From the act of it. From the kindness and decency, and he blinks furiously to try and rid the tears.

‘Oh bless!’ Tappy says and hops back on the chair to give him a hug as everyone else smiles at the sight and strolls over to gawp at the straps and fitting.

‘Nick designed it,’ Tappy says proudly.

‘Hey, no! We designed it,’ Nick says. ‘But Tappy made it.’

‘She spent hours on it,’ Roy says with a nod at Clarence.

‘It’s incredible,’ Clarence says, his voice still choked from the emotion he feels inside.

‘I had it on, with Nick and Tappy both pulling it to test the strength,’ Roy says. ‘Seriously, try it with Mo. Mo, grab the spike and hold it, so Clarence can lift you.’

Mo does it with a smile. Gripping the thick metal jutting out of the cup as Clarence slowly raises his arm until he’s lifting Mo like he weighs nothing at all.

‘How do you even do that?’ Blowers asks, sharing a head shake with Maddox at Clarence’s raw strength.

‘I love it,’ Clarence says, lowering Mo as the much heavier form of Cookey gets lifted with ease.

‘Brave, new world,’ Howie says, marvelling at the way the straps are fitted to spread the weight and keep the leather cup fitted snug. ‘Is it good? Do you like it?’

‘Love it,’ Clarence says again as he spots the smiles being shared between Nick and Tappy, and Roy. ‘What?’ he asks.

‘Close your eyes!’ Tappy says as Paula goes behind and covers Clarence’s eyes, and he feels the sensation of the spike being twisted off and something else replacing it.

Something heavy, and when she uncovers his eyes, he looks down at the big metal clump of metal, shaped like the end of a sledgehammer. ‘Oh, yes. Now that’s the thing,’ he says with a gleam in his eye as he lifts it up to feel the solidity of it. ‘Right! Let’s drill!’

‘Speaking of that. I brought some kit back with me,’ Maddox says.

They fetch it from the van he brought back. A heavy-duty weight bench. Olympic barbells. A squat rack. A heavy punch bag and gloves. Maddox found them in another storage unit Booker had converted.

They set to it.

Running lightly up and down, with Blowers building the pace, and the hard mood seems to magnify. Even Reginald joins in. Running up and down. Up and down. Faster and faster.

They drop down for press-ups, with Clarence using his new hammer hand prosthetic, and Danny and Reginald grunting through the pain of their injuries. Reginald’s desensitisation training has worked, and the pain is already reducing. The infection inside of their bodies working to protect them in ways far beyond that of normal humans.

They go old school and do star jumps and burpees, and relays, and they run and press, and squat, and work until their lungs are bursting, and their legs are on fire. Sweat pouring down faces, and chests heaving, and the rain pelts the hard metal roof and sides. A lashing rain coming down harder than any of them have ever seen, and it’s been that way for five days now.

It's hot though, and so the humidity is high, making them sweat until they’re all soaked and gasping, and even then, they keep going.

A bad energy within them all. A wrong turn taken. Booker was rogue. He wasn’t one of them.

They vent that energy. Using the pain of exercise as therapy. Meredith with them. Running up and down. Jess too. Until she gets bored and mean and kicks a display stand over, then trots off to shit in the canteen.

They do punching drills with Clarence relishing his right hand once again being useful. They partner up using pads and sofa cushions to punch as fast as they can for a full minute before swapping over. Then they do it again. And again. And again. More running. More everything. Clarence tests his metal fist on a few wooden chopping boards that snap like tiny twigs. Then he heads outside and beats the shit out of a brick wall. Smashing it to pieces with massive punches until he’s sweating heavily.

But all things must come to an end.

Reginald stops first. Exhausted and sweating heavily.

He drinks water, then heads downstairs and out the back to shower in the open rain.

Marcy stops a short while later. Flaking out on the floor after a gruelling set of beep-test sprints up and down the room. Soaked through and gasping for air. ‘I’m done,’ she gasps and motions a time out with her hands.

She staggers to the side and drinks water as the others grab air for a few seconds. ‘I’ll have a shower, then be in the kitchen. Dave, come and find me when you’re finished.’

‘What for?’ Howie asks, bent double with his hands on his knees.

‘Prepping for the dinner party.’

‘I don’t think we should have a dinner party,’ he calls.

‘And I don’t need your permission, Howie!’

Paula shoots him a look. Howie just exhales and sweats, and they do it again. Running fast drills until Paula gives up. Then Tappy. Frank. Henry. Howie. Nick, and Cookey. Roy a moment later. Dave stops too, but only because Howie did.

They head downstairs to gather kit and then out into that drenching rain. The men to the right behind the old unit. The women to the left at the back of the outbuilding.

Hooks inside the backdoor of the workshop holding towels and clothes. Shower gels and shampoos, and washcloths left outside.

Blowers keeps going. Carmen too. Maddox, Bash, Charlie, and the two lads.

‘I brought an Xbox back,’ Maddox gasps when they pause for air. ‘Forgot to mention.’

Danny and Mo bail out. Bash goes with them. Learning English from hanging out. They shower and rig the games console up to a large flat screen TV near the firepit, and eat snack bars, and drink juice.

Tappy and Nick go to work in the vehicle bays. Munching snack bars while cutting sheet metal into the right sizes, then banging it into place inside the large, old Royal Mail van before welding it into place. A snorkel already fitted to take the exhaust fumes up over the top, and the wheels changed to big, knobby all-terrain run-flat tyres. An oversized bull-bar grill to the side waiting to be fitted.

Roy heads upstairs to the canteen to find a quiet spot and writes his story while eating tinned fruit.

Marcy heads into the kitchen. Checking stock and stacking piles of things on the side. She walks into the retail zone and selects a notepad from a display, and heads back to write lists and ideas.

Howie makes coffee. Paula, Clarence, Henry, and Frank join him. The spike now on Clarence’s stump. They munch snack bars, with a few chuckles at Clarence spearing one through the middle and eating it with a grin. Howie goes to the front door to smoke. Dave goes with him.

‘You finished part three yet?’ Frank asks Roy in the canteen. ‘I need something to read on the bog.’

‘Working on it.’

‘Where’s that incident book?’ Frank asks. ‘I’ll read that. It’s funny cos it’s mostly about fat people falling over.’

He heads off to the toilet with a few tuts and guilty chuckles sounding out from the others.

Cookey grabs a coffee and drifts into the kitchen to watch Marcy for a bit; then he heads downstairs to watch Danny and Mo, and Bash, then into the workshop to watch Nick and Tappy, but each visit feels like an incursion into another’s zone of privacy, and he eventually heads back up into the canteen to sit and eat snack bars, and watch the others exercise while the elders chat on the next table along.

‘Might go for a run,’ Blowers says a moment later. Still full of bad energy, and an absurd level of fitness that isn’t yet satiated.

‘You’re a boxer, aren’t you,’ Carmen says, picking up the boxing gloves. ‘You should spar with Frank. He used to box for the army. That’s how he met George, actually.’

‘My uncle George?’ Paula asks, hearing the chat in the canteen. ‘He was a boxer?’

‘George was a brilliant boxer,’ Carmen says. ‘Could have gone pro. He was offered some serious money apparently. Anyway. You up for it?’

‘Have we got headguards?’

‘Why? You scared I’ll hit you?’

‘Not for me,’ Blowers says with such raw bluntness it makes Maddox and Charlie wince with half smiles as Carmen bridles. She chucks a pair at Blowers, then pulls hers on, and uses her teeth to tug the big Velcro straps over the wrists. ‘Don’t get silly,’ Blowers says, backing up a step as she comes in fast and starts throwing jabs. ‘I’ve never boxed a girl before.’

‘Twat. I’m a woman, not a girl.’

‘You know what I mean and stop punching me!’ he says with a laugh, using his gloves like training pads to block her hits.

‘I’m going to punch you, Blowers.’

‘Just do pad work with me.’

‘I’m going to punch you. In the face. Ready?’

‘Carmen, just don’t,’ he says, backing up as the others watch Blowers squirming.

Then Carmen speeds up and goes in with a fast combination as Blowers ducks and weaves, and draws back, but she presses relentlessly, jabbing constantly with head and body shots. A cross. A hook. Another jab. She feints and gets past his guard to smack his nose.

‘Point!’ she calls, backing away with her hands up. ‘Point right there.’

‘You punched my nose!’

‘I said I was going to. Stop being a twat and box me.’

She swarms back in and attacks faster than before, not giving him room or space to do anything other than defend. She gets another hit to his face. Then another, but she can tell he’s toying with her and holding back, both in defence and attack.

‘Don’t fucking patronise me,’ she hisses and moves in fast, with Blowers seeing he has genuinely pissed her off. He slips gear and flashes his speed and power with a blur of motion. Ducking and weaving, with gloves flashing out to drive her back. Mid range body shots. Jabs to the head. She tries to counter but leaves herself open, and his fist gets through and hits her nose, sending her staggering back with a spray of blood.

‘Fuck mate! I’m so sorry!’

‘Would you apologise if you made Frank’s nose bleed?’

‘No, but-.’

‘Then don’t do it with me,’ she says, wiping her nose with the back of her arm. ‘I’m consenting to this. Okay?’

‘Train with Dave. He won’t hold back.’

‘Yeah, fuck off. I’m not stupid.’

‘Can I try?’ Charlie asks.

‘Yeah, go for it,’ Blowers says, tugging his gloves off.

‘No, with you.’

‘With me?’

‘Yes. If I can do that, I could have stopped those men holding me down.’

The silence of a second.

‘What men?’ Carmen asks.

‘When Blinky died. Some men pinned me to a table.’

‘How? Show me,’ Carmen says and drags a canteen table over. ‘Were you on the top?’

‘On my back.’

‘Like this?’ Carmen asks, lying on her back. ‘Where were the men?’

‘One had my hair, and one on each arm, and then one on my feet.’

‘Cookey, come and grab my feet,’ Carmen calls and gets the lads to hold her arms and Charlie to go to her head and grip her hair. ‘Is this right? Were you like this?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, you can’t do a lot against men in this position. But that just means we have to be smart. Right, lads, grip hold of me. For fuck’s sake! Grab me! That’s better. I’m going to try and get free. Pin me down.’

She starts moving to test strength. Pushing and pulling, and straining as they learn to use more force. ‘Good… You ready?’ she says, feeling them clamp on.

She goes for it. Grunting with an explosive energy to try and yank her arms free, but Blowers and Maddox clamp hard. She keeps doing it and arches her back, and heaves her upper body side to side, but it’s no good. She goes limp and passive as though giving up. ‘It’s impossible,’ she gasps and feels Cookey’s grip loosen just a fraction; then, with another explosive move, she bucks and curls her hips to draw her feet up. Cookey goes with her. Trying to pull her back as she gains position and kicks out as hard as she can. Her feet slamming into Cookey’s chest and sending him flying, then rolling back fast and hard, with her feet aimed at Maddox’s head. He ducks and loosens his grip, allowing her to snatch her arm free and slams a fist into Blowers’ head, driving him back enough to fly off the table and swarm into him. Going behind to grip his head. ‘Like this, thumbs in the eyes as hard as you can. Stamp. Bite. Gauge. You’re looking to immobilise, not kill, or defeat. Then over to Maddox. See, he’s already on his feet. Don’t give them a split-second to recover. What’s around me? A gun. A knife. A stick. What can I use?’

‘Jesus. Carmen. That was incredible,’ Charlie says.

‘It’s just training and awareness. You okay, Cookey?’

‘I’m fine,’ he gasps.

‘I’m not,’ Blowers says, rubbing his head.

‘Toughen up, Marine,’ Carmen says, giving him a wink. ‘Right, Charlie, on the table.’

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Come on. Get in position.’

‘I… I’m not sure I can, Carmen.’

‘Why? Traumatised? Fuck being traumatised. Learn to fight or get dead. It’s that brutal, Charlie. You’re a woman. You’ve got tits and a vagina. Men will always try and fuck you.’

‘Jesus, Carmen,’ Paula says from the canteen.

‘Is that not true?’ Carmen demands as Paula thinks back to the guy in her offices the night the outbreak started. ‘On the table, Charlie. Trust me, sometimes the best therapy is the Frank McGill school of excessive violence.’

‘I like violence,’ Frank says, coming out of the toilet as Charlie sucks air and clambers onto the table.

A memory inside of the men from that day.

Grabbing her arms and legs. Grabbing her hair.

A feeling inside. Fear. Terror. Her mouth goes dry.

‘Charlie, you don’t have to do this,’ Cookey says.

‘Yes, she does. Courage comes after doing the scary thing,’ Carmen says, reaching out to put her hands on Charlie’s stubbly head. ‘Grab her arms and legs… Look at me, Charlie. You are strong as fuck. You heard what Danny said. You have power. You’re explosive. You have very strong legs and hips from hockey and horse-riding. Power comes from the hips.’ She drops down lower to Charlie’s face as the men grip her wrists and ankles. ‘Violence, Charlie. Pure, filthy, dirty, nasty, seething, cunting violence… Now, get free… Come on!’

Charlie tenses, pulling her arms the way Carmen did. Tugging Blowers and Maddox a little as she builds strength and gets over the psychological block that these are her friends and the terror inside that this happened to her. That men pinned her down, and she couldn’t fight free while her friend was murdered.

‘Mind out,’ Frank says, pushing Carmen out the way to grip Charlie’s head, and he stares down with cold, blue eyes. Gnarly and tough, with masculine energy. ‘Alright bitch? How’s it feel to be weak?’

‘Fuck you,’ Charlie says and bucks harder, thrashing to free her arms.

‘Weak,’ Frank hisses, staring down as Charlie’s lip trembles, and she closes her eyes and goes limp with tears pouring down her cheeks.

‘That’s enough, stop,’ Cookey says as Charlie triggers the rage. Bucking her hips, then slamming down into the table to gain momentum to draw her legs in, then kick out hard, sending Cookey flying again as she rolls backwards, slamming a knee into the side of Maddox’s head, making him drop with a shout, and she lashes out with her free arm at Blowers. He blocks and ducks away, freeing her other hand, and she rolls fast to attack Frank, on his feet and dancing back. Letting her swing and hit him. ‘Come on!’ he yells and lunges for her waist. She snarls and twists, and gets a knee into his side, then into his head. The fury inside flashing up as Jess slams through the tables and chairs and runs across the room to grab Frank between her teeth.

‘NO!’ Carmen yells as Jess back-kicks the table away and launches Frank into a display of potted ferns, and spins around to slam Blowers away with her rump.

‘Jess!’ Charlie shouts, rushing to her head. ‘It’s okay… We were playing… It’s okay. Shush… Good girl… Jesus, Frank, are you okay?’

‘Yeah, but I might just lie here for a moment… Also, I’m glad I had that shit when I did.’

‘Jess. No, put the chair down,’ Charlie says, trying to pull it free as Jess grips the back of a wooden chair and swings her head side to side. ‘Jess! No! Look out!’ she yells when Jess throws it hard, sending the chair slamming into a glass cabinet at the edge of the canteen that smashes into tiny chunks, then grabs another one to start swinging. ‘Okay! We’ll go out… Jess! I said we’ll go out. She’s too full of energy. I’ll go for a run with her.’

‘I could do with a run, come on,’ Carmen says, motioning Blowers, still on the floor rubbing his head.

‘It’s pissing it down,’ Blowers groans.

‘Yeah. We’re Marines. We like water,’ Carmen says.

Howie stands with his foot holding the front door open to blow the cigarette smoke outside and stares back at the others pinning each other to tables and throwing chairs through glass cupboards.

‘Cabin fever,’ he says.

‘What is?’ Dave asks.

‘It’s what you say when you get stuck indoors for too long. This rain though. It’s insane. How long’s it been now?’

‘It started five days ago, Mr Howie.’

‘That’s unbelievable.’

Dave doesn’t find it hard to believe at all. It is fact and obvious.

‘JESS! Just stop,’ Charlie yells as Jess runs towards the front doors with the chair still in her mouth, making Howie and Dave run out and grab the doors to hold them open. ‘Thank you!’ Charlie shouts, running after her, with Maddox and Cookey in hot pursuit.

‘Well. What do you make of that then?’ Howie asks, watching them run around the side of the building.

Dave doesn’t know what he should be making.

‘You wearing that?’ Blowers asks from behind, prompting Howie and Dave to turn and see Carmen flapping her pink beret out before tugging it on.

‘Yeah. They’re waterproof. Where’s yours?’

‘Downstairs. Should I get it?’

‘It’s up to you.’

‘But you’ve got yours on.’

‘So?’

‘So, argh! I’ve got OCD with stuff like that,’ Blowers says and runs off.

‘Have you got actual OCD?’ Carmen calls from the top of the stairs.

‘NO!’ Blowers shouts from somewhere below. ‘Well. Maybe a bit. Like, you wearing one, and me having one and not wearing it would do me in,’ he adds while running back up and tugging his on.

‘Yeah. Actually,’ Carmen says as though she can understand that.

‘I think we can all get a bit like that,’ Howie says to Dave who isn’t entirely sure what they can all get like, but he also knows the best way is to often simply just agree.

‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ he says. Which seems to be the right answer as Howie nods.

‘We’re going for a run,’ Carmen says as they head over to the doors. ‘I think we’ll go from here down the access road, then take a right towards the industrial estate, then back again a few times.’

‘Right,’ Howie says slowly. ‘And you’re telling me that why?’

‘In case we don’t come back,’ Carmen says as even Dave thinks that was obvious.

‘Got it! Sorry. Yeah, stupid question,’ Howie says, doing that thing by showing humility and grace with a shy smile and a roll of his eyes at his own stupidity.

‘It’s fine. You don’t know what you don’t know. Come on,’ Carmen says, dragging Blowers outside with a pause as Jess runs back from the other side, still with a chair in her mouth, and the dog at her side, and the others giving chase.

‘You said she needed exercise,’ Howie calls as they run past, and Blowers and Carmen set off into rain.

‘Why are they wearing their berets?’ Cookey shouts with a glance back. ‘I want my beret on now. I’ll go and get it.’

‘Can you get mine too!’ Charlie calls. ‘It’s on my bag. In my tent. That being the tent you keep actively avoiding.’

‘Ouch,’ Howie mouths and pulls a face at Dave who looks to see what caused pain to Howie as Cookey walks between them with a worried expression and disappears downstairs.

Howie waits for him to re-appear and starts frowning when he doesn’t, then blinks in surprise when Jess comes back around with Cookey and the others behind her all in their pink berets and figures Cookey went out the back door.

‘Ouch,’ Howie says again as Dave peers at the ground.

‘Was it a nail?’

‘Was what a nail?’

‘The nail.’

‘Was the nail a nail?’

‘Yes,’ Dave says.

‘You know what. Stuff this,’ Charlie says, coming to a stop outside. ‘Just let her run. She’ll finish when she’s ready.’

‘Get some biscuits. She’ll stop then,’ Howie says.

‘I think she’s had enough biscuits,’ Charlie says in a frosty tone. ‘Sorry,’ she says, lifting a hand in apology.

‘It’s fine,’ Howie says as Jess runs past again. ‘I’ll be here for a bit if you want to go inside.’

‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Mr Howie, thank you,’ Charlie says with side-eye at Cookey as she walks past, leaving Maddox shrugging and Cookey looking a little stricken as they follow her inside.

‘Blimey,’ Howie says, giving Dave a wink as he nods after them. ‘That’s some weird dynamics.’

‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ Dave says and winks in a rare attempt to show an expression, but blinks instead.

‘Did you try and wink? Can you not wink?’

‘I can wink,’ Dave says and blinks at Howie.

‘That’s blinking. Winking is with one eye. You did this… You needed to do this,’ Howie says, winking at Dave.

‘Yes,’ Dave says and blinks at Howie.

‘Mate, how are you so skilled at everything apart from that? What else can’t you do? Can you lift one eyebrow?’

Dave tries by looking up, with his eyes narrowing and widening, and his eyebrows shooting up and down, setting Howie off with a burst of laughter.

‘Okay, okay. How about the Star Trek greeting,’ Howie says as Dave splits his hand into the two fingered greeting.

‘To boldly go where no man has gone before.’

‘That’s so cool. Did you like Star Trek?’

‘No, Mr Howie.’

‘Why did you watch it then?’

‘My mother made me watch it because the other children watched it, and she said I had to be normal.’

Howie takes his turn to blink as he studies Dave for any sign of emotion, but of course, there simply isn’t any.

‘Your mother? So, I mean. What was she like? Describe her to me. So, Paula is brunette, and Marcy has black hair, and Charlie is mixed-race. What did your mother look like?’

‘Not like them.’

‘Great answer. What hair colour did she have?’

‘Like Lilly.’

‘She was blond? Okay. What about your father?’

‘His hair was the same as Nick.’

‘Light brown then. Ah, okay. Yeah. I can see the blend in you. What was your father like?’

‘My mother said he left because I was a spastic.’

‘Fuck! She said that?’

‘She said I had to stop being retarded and watch Star Trek. And Thomas the Tank Engine. And Scooby Do. But they confused me. Trains can’t talk, and dogs can’t talk, and we don’t have sliding doors and live on spaceships.’

Howie listens intently. Seeing the world through the eyes of an autistic child.

‘Do you remember your father at all, Dave?’

‘I met him two times.’

‘What was the first time?’

‘I was five. My mother took me to the park, and he was there. She told him I was not too retarded, and I could read and write, and I knew my manners. My father said knock, knock to me. I didn’t know what that meant. My mother said I had to say who is there, but I knew who was there. I said the man is my father. She said it was a joke, and my father said I was still a spastic. Then he left, and my mother told me to go down the slide with the other children.’

‘Did you like the park?’

‘No, Mr Howie. I couldn’t understand the other children. They said I was a spaz and retarded, and stupid. But I could read better than other children, and my writing was very neat.’

‘What about the second time you met your father? How old were you then?’

‘I was sixteen. George took me to see my mother and father.’

‘George? Paula’s uncle?’

‘Yes. George Shaw.’

‘Is that his surname? I didn’t know that. Okay, so what happened? Why did George take you to see them?’

‘I killed someone in the army, Mr Howie.’

‘Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?’

‘We were in training.’

‘Oh, shit! Someone from your own side? Like another recruit?’

‘Yes.’

‘Jesus, Dave. Why did you kill him?’

‘I was told to do it. The army said I was wrong to do that, and I was in trouble, but George had seen it and-.’

‘Fuck me. Alright. So, you killed this man, and George saw this, and he got you out of trouble with the army.’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘And why did he take you to your mother and father?’

‘To give them money and to make them sign custody of me to George.’

‘George took custody of you?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Why?’’

‘Because I was sixteen, and the training George wanted me to do was forbidden to people under the age of eighteen. George gave my mother and father money, and they gave George custody of me.’

‘Did they say anything to you?’

‘My mother asked me if this is what I wanted. George told me to say yes. I said yes.’

‘Did you know what you were agreeing to, Dave?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie. George said I had a special gift, and it would make me become a very good soldier.’

‘Well, bugger. I guess the alternative might be prison for manslaughter, but then, you only did what you were told to do. What about your dad though? Did he speak to you? And hang on! Why was your dad there if your mother raised you?’

‘My mother gave me away, Mr Howie. I was raised in children’s homes. My mother had legal custody, and she had to give that to George.’

‘So, your father turned up for the money? Shit. That’s cold. Did your dad say anything to you?’

‘He asked me if I was still a spastic.’

‘He said that!? What did you say?’

‘I asked George if I was a spastic. George said I was never a spastic, and he did not like that word, and if it was said again, he would get cross. My father said I was his son, and he could call me a retarded spaz if he wanted. George told me to wait outside. I went outside, but I could see through the window when George punched my father.’

‘Good on him! No, I know he was your dad, Dave. But he had that coming. Did you ever see them again?’

‘No, Mr Howie.’

‘Mate. Blimey. I’m so sorry you went through that. That must have been hard for you.’

Dave pauses again. Trying to use his words to voice the things inside his head. ‘I am autistic. I don’t feel emotions,’ he pauses again because that wasn’t right, but he doesn’t know how to make it right.

‘Take your time, Dave. No rush,’ Howie says gently.

‘On the top. I don’t feel on the top. But down below. But I don’t know I am feeling them,’ he flashes a rare scowl in frustration of himself.

‘That makes sense to me, Dave,’ Howie says. ‘I think you explained that well.’

‘Thank you, Mr Howie.’

‘Well. Fuck a duck, eh, mate? This rain is giving us all a chance to stop and think.’

Dave doesn’t think Mr Howie wants to have sex with a duck but is using the phrase as a slang expression. Dave also feels an urge to talk and say more, but the words won’t form. Dave wants to say so much, but it’s just not there, and so he doesn’t say anything at all and stands with Mr Howie, and watches the rain.’

A short while later, a squidgy hacky sack ball filled with beads lands on the tiled floor behind them, making them both turn to stare at it as a shout comes from the stairs.

‘Mine!’ Danny yells, running into view.

‘Mine, bro!’ Mo yells at the same time and seems to grab Danny and hold him back to try, and get in front, with the two lads tussling on the stairs while Bash runs past both and dives to grab the ball, landing on his back and readying his aim.

‘Incoming!’ Mo shouts as Bash launches the missile, with Mo’s deft hand catching it mid-air.

‘Uh-oh! Spaghetti-o,’ Bash mutters and flips over to start crawling away as the hacky sack slams into his arse.

‘Point!’ Mo shouts. ‘One nil to me… Shit!’ he yells when Bash grabs and twists, and throws all in one smooth move, making Mo duck, with Danny being too slow and copping it in the forehead.

‘Point!’ Bash yells, on his feet and running down the stairs, with Danny recovering and grabbing the sack to throw after them as he runs out of sight.

‘You ever played dodgeball?’ Howie asks.

‘No, Mr Howie,’ Dave says.

‘Oh,’ Howie says casually. ‘Hang on here a sec. I need to get something.’

Dave waits by the doors as instructed as Howie jogs into the store, then comes back with his hands behind his back. Dave knows that as he can see Howie in the reflection in the glass door. And he can also see Mr Howie grinning and coming to a stop, and positioning himself to throw something which he launches at Dave, who turns and catches it one handed, and stares at the scrunchy hacky sack throw ball.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Howie mutters, flapping his hands out. ‘How did you see that?’

‘The reflection,’ Dave says.

‘Buggered that one up then. Let me try again. Chuck it over.’

Dave doesn’t chuck it over. He just stares at it, then at Mr Howie.

‘Oh, shit,’ Howie says, and bursts out laughing, and tries to run right as Dave throws the ball into the back of Mr Howie’s head. ‘You fucker!’ Howie says, snatching it up to throw back as Dave catches it and gives chase after Howie through the canteen, scoring another hit, with Howie snatching it back up and aiming as Dave runs into the kitchen.

‘You can’t hide!’ Howie calls and runs after him to see Marcy looking up from her lists while surrounded by tins and packets.

‘I don’t need your bloody permission!’ she snaps.

‘I didn’t say anything!’ Howie says. ‘Exfil, Dave!’

Dave follows the order and swiftly exits, and gets a hacky sack to the side of his head from Howie lying in wait.

‘I got you!’ Howie says in disbelief. ‘I got you! I GOT DAVE!’

‘I let you, Mr Howie.’

‘Did you fuck! Oh, shit… Run!’ Howie yells as Dave picks the hacky sack up.

‘It feels so good to be running,’ Carmen says, jogging at a fast pace next to Blowers through the pouring rain, with their feet splashing through increasingly deep puddles and pools of surface water until they reach the industrial estate.

‘This rain. I need to pee,’ Blowers says.

‘Same. You go. I’ll go after,’ Carmen says, nodding him to go ahead, with Blowers jogging into the entrance to the other side of the feed store, but he stops on passing the door, with his eyes growing wide for a second.

‘Carmen,’ he whispers. She instantly detects there is something urgent, but not dangerous, or threatening and rushes over to look through the door Clarence smashed in five days ago. ‘Oh god,’ she says, grabbing his wrist. ‘Are you seeing this?’

Birds everywhere. On the light fittings, hanging from chains and in lines and groups on the higher shelving with an incredible noise of calls and whistles.

‘Wood pigeons. Collared doves. Look how many starlings! And Blackbirds. Thrushes. Tits. Finches. That’s a woodpecker. ‘

Dozens and dozens of them resting while more flit and fly around, and yet more peck at the seed spilled across the floor that Carmen and the others opened when they came in a few days ago.

‘Is that blood?’ Blowers asks, seeing a splodge on the floor, then a few feathers nearby.

‘Foxes probably,’ Carmen whispers. ‘The rats won’t be far behind. I’m surprised they’re not here already.’

‘The infection tried to turn rats on the fifth day. I think they nearly all died.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ she says, looking back at him with an intensity he’s not seen in her before. ‘They’ll recover though. Rats and cockroaches can survive anything. You okay if I have a moment?’

‘Have all day, mate. We’re not doing anything.’

‘An owl!’ she whispers excitedly, cutting over him and grabbing his arm. ‘Up there, on the light fitting. Can you see?’

Blowers spots the snowy white, round face and dark eyes of the barn owl perched on the edge of a hanging light, high in the air.

‘She’ll keeps the rats at bay,’ Carmen whispers. ‘I am in heaven. Honestly, I could just live in here. Oh my god! Shut the door!’

‘There isn’t one,’ Blowers says.

‘Shush! Look. Up there. Literally dead opposite the owl.’

Blowers cranes his head, struggling to see what she means until the large bird shifts position, and he spots it against the dark shadows of the high shelving. Mean eyes, and a curved yellow beak. ‘What is that?’

‘Buzzard. And it’s in hunt mode,’ she whispers, tightening her grip on his wrist as the bird stares at the pigeons pecking at the spilled grain.

Blowers waits for it, but nothing happens. Nothing at all. The buzzard stares, and the pigeons peck, and the birds cry out and coo, and shit, and he thinks about going for that wee he still needs when a rat runs out from underneath a shelving unit, sparking the owl to drop like a missile, with its wings opening at the last second, and the claws coming out to snag the rat that squeaks in alarm, which sends the pigeons into flight, with a great downdraft of displaced air wafting over Carmen and Blowers, and as the pigeons rise, so the buzzard drops and swoops with wings spreading more than a metre as it slams into a pigeon mid-air, grabbing the thing with its talons and dropping down to the ground, stamping and stepping as the pigeon struggles to get free while only a few metres away the barn owl gives flight with the now dead rat hanging limp and goes back to the light fitting. Blowers drops his eyes to see the buzzard stabbing its beak into the pigeon’s sternum, wrenching feathers out and then pecking through the flesh until the stomach opens, with the seeds the bird just ate once more spilling over the floor.

‘And we think Dave is brutal,’ Carmen whispers.

Dave is brutal.

He was only sixteen when he killed for the first time. Then he was taken into the custody of George Shaw who trained him to be the perfect soldier, capable of taking life without ever questioning orders, and it was George who trained him to hunt and kill, and to never give up.

And so the garden centre falls to a near perfect silence, save for the rain falling on the roof and spattering the windows.

A silence brought on by everyone else finding places to hide because Dave is armed with a hacky sack. And he’s not taking prisoners.

The game evolved when the others bundled inside, with Mo seeing Dave taking aim at Howie and getting a cheap shot to the back of Dave’s head.

Which, of course, was a declaration of war, and so the sides were quickly established, with Dave versus everyone.

Which wasn’t really fair at all, because the others just didn’t stand a chance.

Not even when Mo got to the toy aisle and the big basket of the made in China hacky sacks, priced at £2.99 each, and passed them out like grenades to everyone else. All of them stuffing their pockets and filling their hands with whispered giggles.

‘What are you lot doing?’ Tappy asked, having wondered upstairs and followed the whispered giggles to the toy aisle.

‘Shush!’ Charlie said as a hacky sack twatted Tappy in the head.

‘What the fuck was that for?’ Tappy asked as Mo shouted Attack! And they all sprung up to launch the counter-offensive at a now unarmed Dave. Which, of course, completely failed to hit him and only succeeded in giving him plenty more ammunition. ‘Scatter!’ Mo then shouted, having assumed the role of hacky sack commander.

Tappy, being a playful person, quickly joined in, although Nick didn’t because he was busy assessing how to waterproof his beloved drone, which was after meticulously getting rid of all the mud and gunk from when it got stuck inside the van with Reginald during the landslide, although Reginald did manage to wrap it in a protective cover in the dark.

Marcy and Roy did not join in either, seeing as Marcy was in the kitchen, and Roy was writing part three of his story.

Neither did Reginald and Henry, who were in the end office.

‘My point is though, Henry. Don’t push too hard.’

‘We’re losing time,’ Henry replied with an obvious air of frustration.

‘And I would remind you of the work Howie undertook before you joined us.’

Henry tutted and rolled his eyes as though it was a cheap hand to play, but Reginald held his ground because the point was valid.

‘We’ve killed hundreds of thousands, Henry, and it’s raining so intensely we couldn’t possibly fight even if we wanted to.’

‘Where there is a will, there is a way.’

‘And you are most welcome to proceed and have at it,’ Reginald said. ‘But if you want Howie, then I strongly suggest you allow him time to recover.’

‘We don’t have time.’

‘And if you push too hard, you won’t have Howie at all, and no Howie means no team.’

‘And you?’

‘Me? I will have to assess as and when that happens. One option being that I return to the fort and continue with Lilly.’

‘She’s sixteen, Reginald.’

‘The infection doesn’t see age, Henry. Although, yes, I agree; she is immature in some of her methods, but with the right guidance…’

They paused to think and look at the rain pouring down the window.

‘Lilly?’ Henry asked again. Still not getting it. Still not seeing it.

‘They are control points, Henry. The other player manifests control points that can create telepathic control over vast hordes, with each host feeling compelled to do as willed or told. Marcy was a control point. Darren was. Howie and Lilly are most definitely control points. And I would suggest, what they have takes them beyond a level we can perceive. Marcy had control over thousands, but even she isn’t as powerful as Howie is now or as powerful as Lilly could be.’

‘And the evidence for this is what?’

‘I have no evidence,’ Reginald said with a snort of laughter. ‘None whatsoever, save for what I can see and deduce, and by all means, dismiss it, but do so at your own peril.’

Another pause as Reginald spoke out, ‘Perhaps though, and I say this only because of my great respect for Howie and not in any way to encourage manipulation of him, but perhaps encouragement of positivity rather than cajoling will aid your efforts. Get the team out and functioning in some non-combative capacity. A trip to visit Tilda Tanners perhaps. Nothing violent, and nothing that exposes Howie to the great unwashed public.’

Outside the office, the war wages on.

An evil and violent war where Dave, for the first time in his life, is being driven back by a double flanking action, with a sudden spearhead manoeuvre designed to drive him down the stairs.

‘NOW!’ Mo shouts as they all break cover to launch hacky sacks, with too many coming in at once, and so Dave retreats, knowing he is giving ground and a height advantage.

‘Good tactics, Mohammed!’ he shouts as he runs.

‘Thanks, Dave!’ Mo yells as his army gains the top of the stairs and prepares their next fusillade. ‘FIRE!’ Mo orders, and they unleash hacky sack fury at Dave below trying to bat them away, but too many are coming in at speed, and one is sure to get through. One launched by Charlie that is going straight for Dave’s head. They can all see it, and they all tense in readiness of the victory. Until Meredith snatches it from the air.

‘Traitor!’ Mo’s army shouts, but Meredith wags her tail and grabs more hacky sacks, until her cheeks are bulging like a giant hamster. ‘Advance!’ Mo cries, and they sweep down the stairs.

But Dave knows one of George’s tricks.

‘Sometimes, Dave. You have to play a sucker to catch a sucker. That means you act slower or dumber than you really are to draw your enemy in close; then you attack!’

Dave remembers every lesson George told him, and so he waits for Mo’s army to reach the bottom of the stairs and stops cowering to reveal his gathered arsenal of hacky sacks, and instantly launches his counterattack.

‘Ow!’ Danny says when a hacky sack hits his elbow.

‘Ow!’ Tappy says when she gets twatted again.

‘Ow!’ Charlie says when one hits her nose.

‘My ear!’ Howie says, rubbing his ear.

‘Fuck this,’ Bashir says in broken English and dives for cover as the others do the same, with their offensive line in a rout. All of them rubbing sore spots and laughing so hard they have tears streaking down cheeks.

‘He’s on me!’ Cookey shouts in alarm, glancing back to see Dave in full on Terminator mode, stalking the lanes of the dark basement area.

‘In here,’ Charlie says and reaches out from the shadows to grab his arm, and she pulls him into the centre of a large, ringed clothes rail holding long waterproof jackets. They fall to the floor, giggling and breathing hard, with Charlie on her back and Cookey on top.

‘He got me right on the nose,’ Charlie whispers, still giggling as Cookey looks down, with her face only inches from his. The heat of play within them. Their cheeks flushed. Their bodies pressing together. The air dark as they lie hidden from view, encapsulated within their own private haven.

Charlie knows it will happen again. The magic is hanging in the air, and everything is right, and she closes her eyes when his head starts lowering, and the sense of delicious anticipation surges up as she waits for his lips to touch hers.

Except it doesn’t, and she feels him starting to rise.

She grabs him for a second, thinking to demand why, but suddenly it feels desperate, and the whole thing pisses her off, and she pushes him away and climbs out as a hacky sack smacks into her head.

‘End-ex, Dave. I need a drink.’

Cookey groans and rolls onto his back, staring up into the air as a hacky sack whacks the side of his head. ‘End-ex for me too, Dave. Ouch! I said end-ex,’ he says when another one slams into his groin.

‘That wasn’t from Dave,’ Charlie calls as she storms off, and the rain pours down, keeping them held within their walls and the confines of their lives.

‘Circle of life,’ Carmen says as they watch two collared doves going at it on the next checkout counter over.

‘Did you have someone?’ Blowers asks. ‘If it’s okay to ask that.’

She holds quiet for a while. ‘No. My life wasn’t conducive to settling down. George was the only one of us that managed it. Howard too, I guess. But Howard wasn’t an operative, so that doesn’t really count.’ She swings her legs slowly. Thinking amidst the noises of the birds and the rain on the roof. ‘I’m a sapiophile.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It means I am attracted to intelligence.’

‘Reggie’s hot to you then.’

‘God, yes,’ she says before she can stop it.

‘Shit! Really? Reggie?’

‘Yeah. No. I’m not joking.’

‘Does he know?’

‘Get off,’ she says with a laugh, looking shy and vulnerable in a way Blowers hasn’t seen before. ‘I mean. I’ve flirted, but I feel so stupid around him. And other than declaring my feelings, I don’t think he’d even notice. Which makes it even worse.’

‘Forbidden love,’ Blowers says, earning a surprised look that a young Marine could know of such things.

‘And you?’

‘I don’t fancy Reggie,’ he says, earning a laugh and an eyeroll. ‘Nah. Nobody.’

She looks at him in a way that makes him feel scrutinised. ‘You’re like Howie. You can’t lie. Which is a good thing, and it’s actually very cute. But go on.’

He smiles and blushes, pulls all sorts of facial expressions as she watches on, seeing his discomfort. ‘This girl,’ he finally says. ‘I met a girl.’

‘Woman.’

‘Eh?’

‘A girl is a child. A woman is a woman.’

‘Woman then. I met a woman. But, er… I mean… She said she likes me, but she said we can’t be together.’

‘Why? Is she married?’

‘No.’

‘Different religion? Because I think that stuff has gone out the window now.’

‘Nope.’

‘What then?’ Carmen asks with a laugh.

‘She’s dead.’

‘Do what now?’

‘Yeah. I said it was stupid. So, I died, right. I think twice. And I went to this place, and I saw Big Chris and Malcolm, and Blinky and… And other people that we knew who died. And they told me things that I couldn’t have known. And this woman was there. She’s called Meredith…’

‘The bloody dog?’

‘No! The dog isn’t called Meredith. We all thought she was called Meredith because Paco said that name before he died, but obviously he didn’t die. Whatever. The dog’s name was Bear. But Meredith was a girl… Sorry, a woman that Paco tried to save, but she died… Oh, fuck off. I said it was stupid.’

‘I’m not laughing at you!’

‘You fucking are.’

‘Yes, I am. But keep going. No, seriously. Paco tried to save this woman, but she died and went to this place where all the dead people go, and you went there and… You hooked up?’

‘Well. We chatted. And she said I had to wait until I went there.’

‘Okay. Right.’

‘You asked! Oh, fuck off and snog an accountant.’

‘Urgh. No. Now, a research scientist. Boom! Or a physics engineer. All beardy and untoned, and wearing a Marvel t-shirt. But what you mean is that you had a dream about someone.’

‘No. It wasn’t a dream. The boss has been there.’

‘To this place where you go when you die?’

‘Yes.’

‘Blowers. You and Howie share a connection through the hive mind that manifests through the virus that has altered our genetics. Is it possible that Howie had a dream, and it got shared to you, and you thought it was real?’

‘But Blinky told me something about Charlie that I couldn’t have known.’

‘You’re also connected to Charlie. Who knows what’s being passed to each other on a subconscious level?’

Blowers drops his head to think, figuring that makes sense.

‘I mean. I’m not saying it didn’t happen,’ Carmen continues. ‘If someone told me six weeks ago we’d have talking zombies, I wouldn’t have believed that either. Anything is possible. I just mean, you know, there are reasons why you might have had such a strong image or experience in your mind. Especially at the point of death. The body produces some very strong chemicals when it thinks it’s about to die.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.’

She winces, thinking she went too hard on him. ‘What I mean is… You know. Yeah, if it’s real, then great. You’ll be with this woman when you die, but don’t live your life in chastity for someone that might not exist.’

‘She says while unable to tell Reggie how she feels.’

‘Touché,’ she says with a smile as they swing their legs, and the rain pours down. Relentless and never-ending.

‘We also have to consider team dynamics,’ she says in a more serious tone. ‘Reggie is essential to what we are doing. Me acting on my own desires would be selfish and risk upsetting the harmony should he reject me. Which he obviously would.’

‘Why would he?’

‘He’s asexual.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Someone who doesn’t experience sexual desires or attractions.’

‘Fuck. Seriously?’

‘And in my head, someone like that is like way above me. I mean. I’m disciplined, but you know, not being graphic, but I get urges like any woman, but yeah, to be so smart, you don’t have anything like that. Man.’

‘It can’t just be smart people who get like that.’

‘Of course not. It’s just part of the fantasy I spin in my mind.’

‘Have you ever dated someone like that?’

‘Tried it once, but it didn’t go well. He got really upset and insecure and started going to the gym, and acting more manly. I said just be you, but he changed, and it was stressing us out. And I’m always around Type A men like Frank and guys like you, and most guys can’t handle that. Anyway. Enough maudlin. Run back?’

They head outside with a grimace at the rain pelting their faces and set off at a jog back along the road.

‘I haven’t even told Cookey about that woman,’ Blowers says.

‘It’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know sometimes,’ Carmen says. ‘And I’m a girl.’

‘Woman.’

She shoots a grin with a self-effacing eyeroll. ‘I haven’t told anyone about Reggie either.’

‘Okay. Is that code for please tell Reggie.’

‘Yeah. Literally do that. Or hey! I could write a note, and you could take it to him and say my friend fancies you.’

‘On it,’ Blowers says, offering a fist bump, with Carmen giving it a thump. ‘Ow!’

‘That was for my nose.’

‘You told me to punch you!’

3

Wednesday 17th August

Day Thirty-Four

Evening comes, and once more, the garden centre takes on the cosy glow from lanterns and string lights. The rain still coming down outside as they gather in the canteen. Ready to eat.

‘Marcy’s doing food,’ Paula says to the others as she comes out of the kitchen.

‘Will it be long?’ Nick asks.

‘No idea, and you are welcome to ask, but there are some very sharp knives in there, and she is not in a chatty mood,’ Paula says as Nick weighs up the rumbling in his belly against going up against an angry Marcy armed with a big kitchen knife.

‘Danny, go and ask Marcy,’ he says as the others chuckle. ‘Tell her you’ll do a free energy reading.’

‘Energy reading? Has she got an electric meter?’ Blowers asks as Nick gives him the bird.

‘I meant her aura energy thingy. We need a name for it.’

‘We’ve got one. The aura energy thing,’ Tappy says. ‘Where’s Dave?’

‘In the kitchen with Marcy,’ Paula says. ‘She’s serious about this dinner party, Howie.’

‘What, tonight?’

‘I don’t think so? MARCE! Are we having the dinner party tonight?’

‘No!’ Marcy shouts from the kitchen. They wait for more, but no more is forthcoming, so they sit and wait, and stare at the rain lashing the windows.

‘Finished part three yet?’ Frank asks as a sudden ripple of excitement spreads through the room.

‘Almost,’ Roy says, head down and working hard on his story as the ripple of excitement goes back to being slightly bored.

Another day gone by.

Five days since Gatwick.

Five days in the same place, with no war or death, or violence.

‘Suggest we pop out and see Tilda Tanners tomorrow,’ Henry says, ever so casually as though the notion only that second popped into his head, while Reginald goes for the best supporting actor Oscar and deigns surprise.

‘That’s a good idea,’ he says as Howie gives them both an arched eyebrow.

‘That sounded rehearsed,’ he says.

‘Which is because it was,’ Reginald says, quick as a flash, with a grin that makes the others chuckle. ‘Henry and I mentioned it earlier. Fancy it?’

Howie shrugs. Seeing no reason not to.

‘She did help us at Gatwick,’ Paula says.

‘And I need parts,’ Tappy says. ‘And Charlie needs a new horse box, and I need leather from the place that sells horsey stuff.’

‘Tack,’ Charlie says.

‘What do you need leather for?’ Paula asks.

‘To make Clarence’s straps for his stabby hand thing.’

‘Prosthetic,’ Charlie says.

‘Or hooky hand thing,’ Tappy adds.

‘Still prosthetic,’ Charlie says.

‘Oh,’ Paula says.

‘And a meshy windshield cover for our new van.’

‘Grille,’ Charlie says.

‘We can pinch one from a popo riot van,’ Tappy adds.

‘Are we keeping that van then?’ Clarence asks.

‘Yes! She’s a beast,’ Tappy says. ‘New wheels, and all-terrain run-flat tyres, and I’ve fitted sheet metal inside and protected all her pipes. Just need a desk now and some seats. And on that, how do you want the seating?’ she asks with a look at Reginald, then over to Henry and Howie.

‘Seating?’ Howie asks.

‘She’s a command-and-control vehicle. Did I not say this? Oh my god. She’s so cool. So, right. Desk. Seats. Sheet metal protection. Go-anywhere, fuck-you tyres. The engine is super sweet. Shocks are great. Brakes are uber.’

‘I would rather like a bookshelf,’ Reginald says.

‘Bookshelf. Got it.’

‘And a doorway into the front cabin. And my desk should be at the side, next to the sliding door. With a swivel chair,’ Reginald adds.

‘So, basically you want it the same as the old van.’

‘Yes. Except with seats on the sides. I’d suggest bench seats around the edge, facing towards the desk.’

‘We also need storage space,’ Paula says. ‘In the new van.’

‘She’s actually much bigger than the old van. Inside, I mean,’ Tappy says as Nick’s belly gurgles, and he gets up and edges towards the swing door into the kitchen, with everyone else tracking his motion.

‘Don’t do it, nips,’ Frank warns as Nick glances back and shrugs as though he’s not bothered, and pushes the door open to peer inside.

‘I SAID IN A FUCKING MINUTE!’ Marcy shouts from inside, then tuts at herself because she didn’t mean to sound so harsh. ‘Watch that spaghetti, Dave,’ she says and rushes to lean through the door. ‘Nick! Sorry! It’s coming. I promise. Do you want an apple or something?’

‘It’s alright, Marce. You need a hand though?’

‘I’m fine,’ she says, shooting him a smile before glaring at Howie.

‘What did I do?’ Howie asks, but she’s gone and striding back to the stove fed by a big gas bottle. The burners on, with Dave staring at the spaghetti like his life depends on it.

‘Turn it down a touch,’ Marcy says, glancing as she passes.

‘What’s a touch?’

‘One notch on the dial. No, another… Another… See? The water simmers down a bit,’ she says and picks up a potato from the sack of spuds she found in the pantry. Proper spuds too. Still covered in soil which has helped preserve them. ‘Is that oil hot yet? Actually. Daft question. Don’t touch it, Dave. Best way to see if oil in a pan is hot enough is to flick a teeny, tiny drip of water in…’ she does it now and wets her finger from the tap, and flicks a tiny drop that instantly sizzles within the oil. ‘Anything more than that, and it spits and burns you,’ she says as Dave listens and watches, and takes it all in. His face as expressionless as ever, but Marcy has spent a lifetime seeing the same thing in someone else, and she can read his eyes. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes, Marcy.’

‘Do you like being in here?’

‘Yes, Marcy,’ Dave says again because Marcy has already asked him several times if he is enjoying being in the kitchen.

‘Ooooh! I’m so excited,’ she says, clapping her hands together. Her hair all messy and her cheeks flushed. Flour on her arms, and a smudge on her cheeks, and her apron stained with splodges and smears. ‘Do you think they’ll like it? They will though. Won’t they? I think so. Do you? No, but really? God. I’m actually a bit nervous. Do you know what I mean? Anyway. Shush, I need to cut the potatoes into chips. Do you think chips or skinny fries? What do you prefer? So, like this?’ she asks, quickly cutting a slice from the potato and then cutting into a thinner sliver. ‘Or like this?’ she asks, cutting a much thicker chunk.

‘Bigger,’ Dave says, being able to see what she means with the visual aid and thinking how he liked to eat big chips.

‘You know what. You are so right,’ she says earnestly. ‘Right, so, the spaghetti is not far off. And stir the carbonara, Dave, otherwise it’ll stick. Not that’s it actual, proper carbonara, but it’ll be nice though. Eh? And at least we don’t have to do the dishes if we’ve cooked. Okay, so these are ready,’ she says, going over to the tray of smoked canapes. ‘And these,’ she adds, putting a hand on the top of the warm metal tray covering the second dish of sautéed garlic mushrooms. ‘Okay, so just the chips for a tester; then we’re okay. High five!’

Dave gives her a high-five, and she spots the fleeting, nearly invisible glint in his eye that tells her he’s enjoying it.

She goes back to her station and grabs the potato and knife, and sets to chopping it up. Pushing the blade harder through the denser part of the spud.

‘It’s sticking a bit at the bottom,’ Dave says, stirring the big pot.

‘Turn the heat down a notch,’ Marcy says, looking over to watch Dave gradually reduce the heat until he can see a visual change in the bubbling inside the big pan of food. ‘Yay! Look at you, Chef!’ she says and chops down into the potato with an application of pressure to get through the dense middle.

That being with the knife that Dave sharpened earlier.

Because it was a bit blunt.

‘The knives are a bit blunt, Dave. Can you sharpen them for me?’ Marcy asked him.

Dave was very happy to do that for Marcy.

Sharpening knives was Dave’s favourite thing in the whole world, and so he found a stone and some oil and set to work, and because Marcy had asked him, and because Dave now really likes Marcy, he made sure to do a very good job.

Which is how the knife became so sharp that it cuts through Marcy’s finger, because she’d already chopped through the spud, and so there was no spud to chop through.

Only her finger.

Which made her frown because she was still staring over at the big pot, and suddenly, her hand felt very hot, and she looked down to see the index finger on her left hand in two pieces. One piece being attached to her hand, and the other piece now not attached to her hand, or anything else.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I think I’ve chopped my finger off…’

Dave looked over and saw that Marcy had indeed chopped her finger off. ‘Yes,’ he said as Marcy blinked from her finger to him as the realisation walloped into her mind.

‘ROY!’ she shouted and stepped back, with her hand pumping blood from the end of her chopped off finger as the door flew open with everyone piling in. ‘I think I’ve chopped my finger off!’

And they all looked from Marcy’s hand to the chunk of finger on the chopping board amidst the chopped spuds and saw that she had, indeed, chopped her finger off.

Which is the same thing that Meredith saw.

‘NO!’ They all shouted as Meredith went for it, and Marcy screamed and lunged for her dismembered finger, and sprayed blood in Dave’s face as he went past her, also trying to save her finger, and got blinded by hot blood, which, interestingly, as many of them noted later, was the first time they ever saw Dave get someone else’s blood on him.

But there he was. Dripping with Marcy’s blood as both, he and she, lunged for the tip of the finger that had been cut off while Meredith ran and jumped, and everyone else shouted, and all crammed forward, with Meredith snagging something and twisting away.

‘She’s got it!’ Howie yells and dives for the dog who ducks and twists, but gets nabbed by Nick, but she wriggles between his legs and dodges Danny, and misses Mo, and bounces off Bash, and pivots around Paula, and crashes into Charlie as they all lunge and dive, and twist, and turn until Meredith slams into the tree trunk legs of Clarence who lowers fast and wraps an arm around her midsection, and even she realises she’s fucked when he picks her up under one arm.

But the battle is not lost, because while he might have her body, neither he or anyone else can have her mouth, and so she writhes and twists, and wrenches her head side to side, until Nick and Maddox, and Paula all grab and hold while taking care not to actually hurt her, and begin prising at her mouth.

‘Come on, open up,’ Paula says.

‘Get my bloody finger!’ Marcy says.

‘We’re trying!’ Paula says as they coax and cajole, and urge Meredith, who keeps her jaws clamped while Nick spies a chunk of salmon on the side and first thinks to tempt the dog with it, then remembers how hungry he is, and eats it instead. Which Meredith notices and instantly starts trying to swim through the air to get at the next bit of salmon Nick is picking up, and opens her mouth to drop the bloodied chunk.

‘Yes!’ Paula says as Danny grabs it and holds it up, and passes it on to Charlie who passes it to Tappy who passes it to Nick who bites into it.

‘That’s Marcy’s finger!’ Tappy yells.

‘Is he eating my finger?’

‘No! It’s a potato,’ Nick says as they all notice that it is, indeed, a chunk of potato. ‘The ketchup’s a bit shit though.’

‘It’s Marcy’s blood, you twat!’ Blowers says as Nick spits it out on the floor, with Meredith busting a gut to get at it while still held by Clarence like a giant lapdog.

‘Where’s her finger then?’ Paula asks as they all spot Dave holding her dismembered digit.

‘You could have said,’ Marcy says.

‘Said what?’

‘That you had my finger.’

Dave thought about this. ‘I have your finger.’

‘Right! Nobody panic,’ Roy then exclaims, which makes everyone stop because nobody was panicking. ‘No. Shush. Seriously. Do not panic. Dave, very gently and very carefully hand me that limb.’

‘It’s not really a limb though, is it,’ Carmen says as Dave hands Roy the finger as though it is made of glass. Which it isn’t. Because it’s a finger.

‘Nick! Don’t eat that!’ Marcy says and slaps at Nick lifting the cover off the metal tray. ‘Did you eat the salmon? I just made those! And now my spuds are all fucked, and I bet that carbonara is burnt, and the spaghetti will be ruined.’

‘Uh-oh, spaghetti-o,’ Bash says as everyone looks him, and Marcy starts to cry.

‘I tried so hard!’ she says in such a stricken voice that they all rush in around her. ‘I just wanted to show Howie and Paula it could be a nice dinner party.’

‘You said we weren’t having one,’ Paula says.

‘Not tonight! I made canapes and entrees for you to try and, and, and… And I made spaghetti carbonara, and now my finger’s all chopped off, and that’s my favourite nail.’

‘Okay, people! Do not panic,’ Roy exclaims again.

‘Nobody is bloody panicking, Roy!’ Paula says.

‘Then just calm down! I’ve got this.’

‘What, her finger?’ Howie asks.

‘The whole this,’ Roy says.

‘What this?’ Howie says. ‘Oh! Are you going to stick it back on?’

‘I was going to say that!’ Roy says with a huff.

‘Ah, sorry, mate. You carry on.’

‘No. You’ve said it now.’

‘Just say it,’ Howie says.

‘Hang on, are you going to re-attach her finger?’ Carmen asks.

‘And I was going to make chips,’ Marcy says as they all look from her back to Roy.

‘Yes,’ Roy says.

‘How?’ Carmen asks. ‘You’re not a surgeon.’

‘Well. You know. With some tape.’

‘What the actual fuck. Are you sellotaping her finger back on?’ Howie asks as Roy nods and holds the finger up.

‘We stick it back on and tape it up, and you know, let the infection do its job.’

‘I hate that fucking phrase,’ Howie says.

‘DOG!’ Clarence shouts as Meredith gains purchase on her back feet and lunges for the finger, with Roy turning away and sending the already chopped chips over the floor.

‘My chips!’ Marcy says, now in floods of tears. ‘It’s fucked. It’s all just fucked. Fucking Howie.’

‘Eh? What did I do?’

‘You said I couldn’t have a bloody fucking dinner party.’

‘And?’

‘And I needed to prove you wrong, obviously!’

‘Yeah, obviously, Howie,’ Paula says as Carmen, Charlie, and Tappy all give him looks like he should have known that.

‘Right. Anyway. Let’s get prepped for surgery,’ Roy says brightly.

‘There’s no point. My dinner’s ruined now,’ Marcy says.

‘So, you don’t want it back on then?’ Roy asks.

‘Of course, I bloody do! Obviously,’ Marcy says.

‘Obviously,’ Paula says as Carmen, Charlie, and Tappy all give Roy looks like he should have known that.

‘And it’s actually really hurting now,’ Marcy says.

‘Okay, someone, hold this, and I’ll get the tape,’ Roy says, waving the finger past Meredith’s nose as she lunges and snaps while still tucked under Clarence’s arm.

‘I’ll get the tape,’ Carmen says and heads off but stops. ‘Er, where’s the tape?’

‘Nick?’ Tappy asks.

‘I’m not the tape guy!’

‘You had the bloody tape last!’ Tappy says. ‘With your drone.’

‘Oh. Yeah. It’s by my drone.’

‘I’ll get it,’ Carmen says.

‘Don’t touch my drone!’ Nick yells and runs out.

‘It’s sticking again, Marcy,’ Dave says, stirring the big pot.

‘Because it’s bloody ruined,’ Marcy says with her lip wobbling, and her eyes spilling tears.

‘It’s not ruined. Just turn the heat off,’ Paula says. ‘And drain the spaghetti.’

‘Uh-oh, spaghetti-o,’ Bash says as Nick runs back in holding the roll of super sticky gaffer tape.

‘And my medical bag,’ Roy says.

‘You’re doing it in here?’ Carmen asks.

‘Good point. Right people. Patient transport to the canteen, please.’

‘Hang on,’ Marcy says, bravely blinking her tears away. ‘Dave, get those chips up and wash them off. It’s not like we can get sick, is it? And then pour that big pot into the big serving dish. And then drain the spaghetti.’

‘Got it,’ Nick says, coming back in with Roy’s medical bag.

‘I’m so upset,’ Marcy says. ‘I just want to give up. I tried so hard all day,’ she says with fresh tears as Roy takes her hand and walks her over to the sink to let clean water run over the end of her finger. ‘What the fuck! Ouch much!’

‘Got to clean it,’ Roy says. He leads her to his medical bag and starts getting tape and dressings ready while juggling with the finger.

‘I just thought it would be nice to have a proper dinner party,’ Marcy says with a big sigh as the others work to recover the meal.

‘How will it be nice?’ Paula asks, draining the pasta. ‘I bloody hated dinner parties. My boss used to hold them just to show his house and cinema room off. Such a dick.’

‘But mine was going to be classy and nice,’ Marcy says as Roy tries to shove her two bits of finger back together. ‘Fuck, Roy! That hurts.’

‘Cos you chopped it off. Just hold still and stop moving.’

‘Marcy, we’ve got a lot happening,’ Paula says. ‘We don’t have time for a big dinner party.’

‘Like what? We can’t do anything in this weather.’

‘We need things!’ Paula says. ‘Ammunition. Weapons. Grenades. Spare boots. And a horse box, and Tappy needs parts, and Henry wants to organise the strike on Krakov, but he can’t until Howie says he can use Dave.’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t see your point,’ Marcy says as Paula goes wide-eyed and blinks. ‘Don’t pull that face, Paula. Those things are normal things. We always need ammunition and parts, and this, and that. Me holding a dinner party isn’t going to get in the way. I’ll do the work and make it all happen… I’ve already written it down,’ she says and pulls a notebook from the pocket on her apron.

‘Hold still!’ Roy says, trying to hold her finger and hand together before dropping the finger, and trying again. ‘Carmen, hold this while I put a dressing on.’

‘Oh god, she’s got a dinner party notepad,’ Howie says.

‘I’ll read it out,’ Marcy says and clears her throat.

‘You don’t need to read it out,’ Paula says.

‘Let me read it out! You like lists. I made a list. Right. So. And this is all in bullet points, FYI…

- Arrange security with Blowers, so Howie can’t use the risk of an attack to get out of it.

- Organise smart fatigues for the dress code (fun!), just in case we do get attacked.

- Organise music. (Speak to Nick for sound system. Speak to Tappy for playlist.)

- Develop a five-course menu. Canapes. Entrees. Main. Desserts. Cheese & biscuits.

- Send invites. Ask Mads to do them in his calligraphy writing. (Find Heather & Paco. Invite George and Marion, and Kyle. Actually, we can send Heather’s invite to the fort.)

- Set the wine list. Sweet/dry. Red/white/rose. Cocktails. Spritzers. Brandy & coffee for after. (*Must get after dinner mints.)

- Refurb & decorate restaurant area. Tablecloths. Screens for backdrops to create sense of privacy. Low lighting.

- Source napkins. Wine glasses. Nice cutlery and dinnerware.

- Consider counter arguments to Howie and Paula. Paula will say we’re too busy, and it’s too much faff, and we need to focus on work, and Howie will just be grumpy. Tell them it will be good for moral.

‘I’ll do you a dinner party playlist,’ Tappy says. ‘Nice, soft background music. Bit of jazz maybe.’

‘God, I hate jazz,’ Howie says before he can stop the words coming out of his mouth.

‘You hate everything lately,’ Marcy says with an equal level of bluntness that brings a sudden and awkward silence to the room. ‘Whatever. I just thought it would be nice to invite George and Marion, and Kyle and do something positive.’

‘God-bothering twat,’ Frank mutters.

‘Don’t be like that,’ Carmen says. ‘You and Kyle were best mates. Oh, fuck off. I was there in Mogadishu too, you know. There are always two sides. No! Don’t even start. George and Marion would love it, Marcy. And Kyle.’

‘I knew you’d shoot it down,’ Marcy says with a look to Howie and Paula as she closes the notepad. ‘I said to myself Howie is never going to go for this, and Paula will be like stop faffing about. I just thought… I don’t know. I just thought it would be nice. I mean. We’ll be back out there when it stops raining and, and… Look, I made smoked salmon canapes. And I know the casings are pre-made, and its tinned salmon, but I’m working with what we’ve got, and I made the seasoning.’

‘They’re really nice,’ Nick says.

‘And I made garlic mushrooms as an entrée, and it’s only tinned mushrooms, but the garlic is from proper cloves, and I made some seasoning… And I thought I could serve them with a bit of crusty bread. Fuck it. Whatever. Shit idea,’ she says with a sigh. ‘I just… You know… We’re gonna die. We can’t get through this fucking hell we’re in and live, and I’ve never held a dinner party. I used to see them and thought I want to do that one day. And I know it’s not your thing, and I would have done all the work. I know how to do them. I used to waitress at private functions in the hotel. Most were awful, but some were really nice people that had conversations, and they dressed nicely, and I thought I want to do that. Oh! And then after, if they tipped well, I’d go to the fried chicken place in town and get a bucket for my brother, and we’d sit and eat fried chicken and chips, and I’d tell him about the dinner party. He was autistic like Dave, but like way more. Oh, and he loved fried chicken! He said he wanted to have a dinner party with me, so we’d pretend that was our dinner party.’ She smiles as another tear rolls down her cheeks, and the room falls to an intense silence.

‘You had a brother,’ Howie asks quietly. Breaking the unspoken rule that they never ask about each other’s families and lives before the outbreak.

Marcy nods, and the pain shows in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t get to him,’ she says quietly.

‘What’s his name?’ Howie asks.

She gives that sudden lopsided smile, the genuine one, and snorts a laugh that comes out like a half sob. ‘Davey.’

‘Oh god,’ Paula says, wiping her own tears away as they look at Dave nearby, stirring the carbonara in stony-faced silence.

‘I had my own Davey,’ she says. ‘He was a little fatty!’ she adds with a laugh.

‘All that fried chicken,’ Tappy says, making Marcy look over to more than a few wet cheeks.

‘Mum kept telling me off, but he loved it. Especially the hot wings. Hot tongue, Marcy!’ she laughs again, then falls silent, trapped in her own memories. Raw and vulnerable in way even most of them have never seen before. And in a room full of people too.

She wins Howie over completely at that point. He’s all in. Hook line and sinker. He’d move heaven and earth for Marcy to have that dinner party.

‘That’s, er. Yeah,’ Howie says, feeling a sense of shame and guilt and all sorts of things as he sees himself reflected in how Marcy sees him. Grumpy. Angry. Mean. He was never those things. Is he those things now? ‘I, er, I think it’s a good idea,’ he says.

‘Fine. Whatever,’ Marcy says, then blinks at realising he didn’t shoot it down. ‘Really?’ she asks in a way that makes Howie feel even more ashamed.

‘I think it’s a lovely idea,’ Paula says, patting Marcy’s hand. ‘Why not? When do you want to do it?’

‘Seriously?’ Marcy asks, looking from me to Paula. ‘No, don’t be dicks and say it was a joke.’

‘I think it’s a marvellous idea,’ Henry says.

‘Yeah, good idea, Marce,’ Carmen says.

‘Man. I really want to go to the dinner party now,’ Tappy says.

‘That’s the next point on the list,’ Marcy says before looking down to read the next bullet point.

- To make it fair, the elders can provide security for the lads to have a party after. (If Howie and Paula let me do the dinner party.)

‘Fuck yeah!’ Cookey says and pushes up to do a little jig. ‘I’ll teach you all my new sock dance.’

‘When do you want to do it?’ Howie asks.

‘May I?’ Henry asks, raising a hand as though to politely interrupt the conversation. ‘And hear me out when I say this, but how about we invite Tilda Tanners? After all, she did provide very valuable support, and it would only aid our efforts to strengthen that contact.’

‘I love that idea! Why wouldn’t I?’ Marcy asks.

‘Because,’ Henry says politely, ‘if you are going to invite George and Marion, and Kyle, in addition to Heather and Paco, and Tilda Tanners, then you must also-.’

‘Not a fucking chance,’ Marcy says bluntly.

‘Marcy. Hear me out,’ Henry says.

‘Eh?’ Cookey asks as the others look to Charlie.

‘Major Henry is suggesting that Marcy must invite Lilly.’

‘Fuck off!’ Tappy says as lots of other people say the same thing all at the same time while Henry holds a hand up.

‘There are two choices here. We either hold a dinner party with just us. Which is fine. Or, if you want to invite outside parties, then you must invite Lilly and a plus one. Which I would assume would be Mary.’

‘I’m not inviting Lilly! I held a knife to her throat!’

‘Lilly is a player in this, like it or not,’ Henry says calmly.

‘And a very powerful one,’ Reginald adds.

‘Reggie, no!’ Marcy says as though he just betrayed her.

‘Marcy, my dear,’ Reginald says. ‘I am wholly in agreement with you, but Major Henry is correct,’ he says as Danny detects the stubborn streak glowing in Marcy like a radioactive aura. She even folds her arms and sets her face just so. ‘Look at it this way,’ Reginald continues. ‘Howie is quite possibly the most powerful person in this country right now. Which makes you akin to a queen, Marcy. And a queen cannot cause a diplomatic incident by not inviting one of those central factions.’

‘Don’t hijack my dinner party with shit politics!’

‘We all participate in politics in the way we interact with each other,’ Henry says. ‘And if we do it right, we control the politics and prevent Lilly from doing anything rash again.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Marcy says with a heavy sigh.

‘So, my queen!’ Henry asks with a charming smile as Roy wraps gaffer tape around her finger. ‘Will you deign to invite your mortal foe?’

‘Flattery gets you everywhere,’ Marcy says with a roll of her eyes. ‘Anyway, she’d probably say no.’

‘She won’t,’ Paula, Henry, Reginald, Charlie, Maddox, and several others all say at the same time.

‘Done!’ Roy says, feeling like a brain surgeon.

‘And this is ready to eat,’ Paula says, having washed, drained, and deep fried the chips, and put the mounds of pasta spaghetti in a try and the carbonara in a huge dish.

‘And for our entertainment during our evening meal,’ Roy says. ‘I would invite you all to the first release of The Mystery House Of Rob… Part Three!’

4

Roy’s Story Part III

The Mystery House Of Rob

Rob looked at the secret messages written on his walls in blood. The walls of the mysterious house that he’d inherited from an uncle he didn’t even know he had, and he remembered Mr Penfold trying to warn him.

Was he warning Rob about these messages? What did Mr Penfold know?

And how was the door locked from the inside?

It was all very complicated, and Rob tried to figure it out, but he needed a poo, so he turned to go but suddenly he span back! Because he recognised one of the symbols written in blood on the walls of the bedroom that was locked from the inside that he’d inherited from a mysterious dead uncle!

Rob ran to the window and looked out to the sexy Lesbian woman in the wheelchair, who couldn’t get past because Rob had kicked the door in so hard it flew through the window and was now blocking the pavement.

‘Wait there!’ he yelled and ran off to have a poo, then ran outside. ‘Sorry. All the excitement triggered my IBS.’

‘I get IBS too,’ the sexy Lesbian said. ‘Because I get stressed at all the men trying to have sex with me, which is why I always say I am a lesbian, but I’m not really.’

‘And I say I am a karate champion because women always try and hit on me, but karate is for middle-aged accountants,’ Rob said, and they laughed and laughed for ages.

‘I want to show you something,’ Rob said, and the woman who wasn’t a lesbian at all wondered what that was and why this mysterious and very handsome man was talking to her.

She followed him inside, but she couldn’t go upstairs because she was disabled, so Rob carried her, because he was still a bodybuilder, and the woman thought Rob was very strong and buff.

Then he fetched her wheelchair and pushed her into the bedroom that had been locked on the inside that he’d inherited from his dead uncle.

And the woman looked shocked when she saw the messages.

‘It’s my turn to show you something,’ she whispered and unbuttoned her blouse.

Rob thought she was going to show him her boobs, but she wasn’t showing him her boobs. She was showing him the symbols tattooed on her chest.

The same mysterious symbols that were written on the wall!

‘My name is Anika, and I know what those messages mean. You’re in danger, Rob! You’re in very grave danger!’

‘What the fuck! Noooo! You can’t leave it there,’ Tappy says.

‘Bro!’ Mo says with his hands in his hair.

‘She knows Rob’s in danger,’ Danny says.

‘Seriously?’ Carmen asks, looking at everyone else’s reactions. ‘I mean. Yeah, That was seriously er… Good?’

‘Sorry. Anika?’ Paula asks.

‘That’s the hot woman from the fort, isn’t it,’ Cookey says.

‘Yeah, the really pretty nurse,’ Blowers says.

‘I mean. She’s not that pretty,’ Paula mutters.

‘Oh, the nurse! The Indian lady,’ Tappy says. ‘Wow. Yeah. Hot.’

‘She is very attractive,’ Charlie says.

‘Really? Do you think so?’ Paula asks. ‘Not seeing it myself, but each to their own.’

‘She is very pretty,’ Marcy says. ‘Howie? Do you think Anika is pretty?’

‘God, yes.’

‘Oi!’ she says, swiping his arm with her injured hand. ‘Ow! That hurt, Howie!’

‘I didn’t do anything!’

‘You hurt my finger with your stupid arm.’

‘Do you think Anika is pretty?’ Paula asks Clarence.

‘She’s lovely. Really nice personality too.’

‘Really nice,’ Tappy says.

‘Great personality,’ Charlie adds. ‘Which is actually super rare for someone so pretty.’

‘Anyway. My point is you can’t use someone’s real name,’ Paula says.

‘Yeah, actually that is a bit weird,’ Charlie says.

‘And you two hooked up,’ Tappy says.

‘Did they hook up?’ Carmen asks.

‘Yeah. Roy and Anika. The night of Clarence’s boat,’ Marcy says.

‘I was thinking of inviting her to the dinner party actually,’ Roy says.

‘Aw! That’s so cute,’ Tappy says as the others all show the same reactions.

‘I mean. She’s not a faction, though,’ Paula says. ‘I’m just saying. Henry had that whole speech about factions and players.’

‘What about my story, though?’ Roy asks.

‘Dude!’ Mo says.

‘Bro!’ Danny says.

‘Amazing,’ Tappy says. ‘What do the symbols mean?’

‘And why is he in danger?’ Nick asks.

‘Okay. So, for me. Personally,’ Charlie says. ‘I think you don’t need so many plot recaps.’

‘Got it! I was worried people would forget what had happened,’ Roy says, making a note as they eat carbonara and spaghetti pasta. Which isn’t carbonara at all, but it’s got ham and cheese in a sort of white sauce, and it still tastes nice.

‘And I’m still hung up on the whole lesbian thing actually,’ Charlie adds to a collective groan.

‘She only said it cos she gets hit on!’ Tappy says.

‘Mate, let it go,’ Blowers says.

‘It’s really offensive,’ Charlie says. ‘It is!’ she adds over the others trying to drown her out.

‘She can say what she wants. Who are you to tell Anika what she can or can’t say?’ Tappy asks. ‘And actually, yeah, the name is weird. Definitely change the name.’

‘Just don’t even mention the gay thing,’ Charlie says.

‘Woke!’ Tappy says.

‘Cancel culture,’ Nick says.

‘I’m not being woke! I’m just saying the character can’t be described as being the hot lesbian, and then she’s not a lesbian and is showing her boobs to Rob!’

‘To show him the symbols,’ Mo says.

‘I’m actually really proud of this,’ Roy says. ‘Good literature should create discussion.’

‘Yeah, I don’t think it’s that,’ Carmen says as Roy shoots her a hurt look. ‘I mean, it’s not finished yet though, is it? And I, for one, am just so into this journey.’

‘Are they gonna shag?’ Frank asks.

‘Frank!’ Carmen says.

‘You need a third character called Marcy,’ Marcy says. ‘A beautiful, dark-haired heroine with much bigger boobs than Anika.’

‘Anika looks like she’s got amazing boobs,’ Tappy says.

‘Amazing figure,’ Charlie says.

‘Really just not seeing it,’ Paula mutters.

‘She does have an amazing figure,’ Roy admits.

‘You dirty dog, Roy!’ Tappy says with a laugh. ‘Did you have sex?’

‘Don’t ask him that in front of everyone,’ Charlie says.

‘Like I’m going to say,’ Roy says with an eyeroll.

‘Which is a yes because you’d say no otherwise,’ Tappy says.

‘Where you going?’ Marcy asks as Paula gets up and walks off.

‘Doing the dishes,’ she mutters.

‘The lads have to do them!’ Marcy calls after her.

‘Need translate,’ Bashir tells Roy in heavy English.

‘Oh wow. My first foreign rights deal!’ Roy says.

‘I can read it to Bash,’ Mo says.

‘Anyway, crack on then,’ Tappy says with a nod at Roy. ‘We need part four for the firepit.’

‘What, tonight!?’ Roy asks in alarm. ‘Oh god, that’s pressure.’

‘Just write it when you want, Roy,’ Charlie says.

‘No! We need part four,’ Tappy says.

‘It’s up to Roy when he writes it,’ Charlie says.

‘And don’t forget to put Marcy in it,’ Marcy says. ‘Actually, I’ll write that bit.’

‘You’re not writing yourself into my story.’

‘Er, if you’re putting me in it, then I damn well will write it.’

‘I’m not putting you in.’

‘We just agreed about the new character.’

‘We didn’t. You bullied yourself into it like you do with everything,’ Roy says as Marcy pulls her head back.

‘Er, excuse me!’

‘Oh god. Don’t. I fucking hate that,’ Howie says. ‘Er, excuse me? I’m like so triggered right now.’

‘I am triggered! Roy’s attacking me.’

‘He’s not attacking you. It’s a discussion.’

‘Why are you on his side?’

‘I’m not! Just don’t do the whole fucking er excuse me thing. Jesus. Fucking people.’

‘Don’t fucking people me Howie bloody Howie! Everyone picking on me… And you know what,’ she says, turning to point at Roy. ‘I am a strong, independent woman, and I can write my own story! Misogynist!’

‘Not writing you into my story isn’t misogyny!’ Roy yells as she storms off.

‘Piss off, Roy! But thank you for my finger!’ she yells angrily.

‘You’re welcome!’ Roy shouts after her.

‘Man, I wish I could see all the energy flows like Danny can,’ Tappy says.

‘Dude,’ Danny says, puffing his cheeks out at the weird and wonderful spikes and flows within the room.

‘Anyway. Come on! Chop, chop,’ Charlie says, standing up to gather dishes with a smile at her own joke.

‘I’ve just got to get something,’ Maddox says, rushing off as the others jeer.

‘Oh, I can’t do the dishes, I have to get something,’ Cookey mimics as Maddox flicks the bird over his shoulder and disappears. Leaving the lads to clear the tables and take it all into the kitchen.

‘You’s all want a hot drink?’ Mo asks the elders.

‘Oh bless, thank you, Mo!’ Paula says, getting up to give him a hug.

‘Such a creep!’ Nick calls from the kitchen.

‘Bro, I get unlimited snacks.’

‘Soooo, would anyone like a hot drink?’ Nick asks, striding back out as they all laugh, and Maddox runs back in with a case under his arm.

‘Okay. Bit clichéd. And ignore it, if you want,’ Maddox says, sliding it onto the table in front of Reginald, then opening the top that folds down flat to reveal a checked playing board.

‘Chess?’ Henry asks with a delighted smile.

‘Something else I found in the storage place,’ Maddox says. ‘It’s only a travel set, but the pieces are all there. And I’ve got a draughts set too. Do you play chess, Reggie?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you?’ Henry asks Maddox as he nods. ‘Charlie? Do you?’

‘What?’ she asks, coming out to see the board. ‘Oh, chess? I can play.’

‘Marvellous. We should hold a tournament,’ Henry says. ‘Carmen? How about you, Howie?’

‘Never learnt,’ he says. ‘I like draughts though.’

‘Love draughts!’ Carmen says.

‘Love me some draughts,’ Frank says.

‘Tournament night it is!’ Henry says. ‘Roy? Chess or draughts?’

‘I’m on a tight publishing deadline.’

‘We’ll get the kitchen cleaned up,’ Charlie says, heading off with Maddox following her into the kitchen.

‘I don’t give a shit!’ Blowers says.

‘You’re the sergeant. Tell her I’m washing,’ Nick says.

‘I’m washing!’ Tappy says.

‘I’m not the sergeant of the dishes,’ Blowers says.

‘Tappy can wash,’ Charlie says, taking command. ‘Nick, you scrape and stack. I’ll dry with Bash. Maddox and Sergeant Blowers can put away, and Danny and Mo wipe the sides down. And the hobs. And then we have a chess or draughts tournament after.’

‘I can’t play chess,’ Blowers says. ‘Can any of you?’

‘Mads can,’ Mo says.

‘You can play chess, Mads?’ Nick asks.

‘Learnt in prison.’

‘I bet you’re good at chess,’ Cookey tells him.

‘Anyone can learn.’

‘Nah. Way too complicated,’ Cookey says with a grin as he leans against the side and folds his arms, with the others shooting him looks. ‘Er, I wasn’t given a task from the corporal of the dishes,’ he adds with a smug smile as Charlie throws a cloth in his face.

‘Can you speak languages, Mads?’ Tappy asks as they set to work.

‘Not really. I can get by in French.’

‘He can get by,’ Mo laughs from the other side as Maddox gives a self-effacing shrug. ‘He’s fluent.’

‘I keep forgetting you two knew each other,’ Tappy says. ‘What was Mo like growing up?’

‘Feral.’

‘Fuck you!’ Mo says, throwing a cloth. The energy light and playful. ‘So, like when my grandad died, I didn’t have no one, and Mads looked after me.’

‘That’s actually really sweet,’ Tappy says.

‘It is,’ Charlie says.

‘And he made me sell drugs,’ Mo adds as the room erupts in laughter, with Danny smiling both at the joke and the way he can feel them all inside, but it’s so organic and natural that he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Nor can he say when it started. But then, in a way, it’s always been there. He could sense his stepfather’s moods way before he even entered the room. The same with his mum and other people. But since meeting Howie, it’s got much stronger, but in such a natural way, he doesn’t notice the skill, or gift, developing the way it is.

‘Handsome. Strong,’ Bash says with a grin to Maddox and says another word in his own language.

‘Smart,’ Mo says, feeding him the word.

‘Smart, bro!’ Bash says, picking up the slang from Mo. ‘Women. Many womens!’ he grins and nudges Maddox as the others laugh. ‘Womens love smarts and…’ he says another word as Mo translates.

‘Muscles.’

‘This word,’ Bash says.

‘Er, sexist,’ Charlie says as the other groan. ‘We don’t all swoon at men with muscles.’

‘But a smart guy with muscles,’ Tappy says, leaning against Nick with a comical wink.

‘I’m not smart!’

‘Get off, you’re a genius,’ Tappy says.

‘Dude,’ Blowers says. ‘You can literally fix anything… And then, set it on fire.’

‘Fuck you!’ Nick says to the laughs.

‘No, okay. Yeah, I’ll give you that one,’ Charlie says. ‘A smart, fit guy is hot.’

‘You’re fucked then, Cookey,’ Blowers says. Cookey laughs along as Danny scrubs the sides and shoots a discreet glance, sensing the energy in Cookey dipping, despite the outward show of fun.

The night comes with the sky a blanket of pure blackness. The low clouds hiding all sight of the moon and stars. The rain still coming down.

They gather at the firepit for the tournaments to commence, but mostly they eat marshmallows and drink hot chocolate, and chat, and idly watch the others play.

The monitor showing the feeds from the night-vision outside cameras being watched by Dave. Howie and Marcy downstairs with everyone else. The dog lying on a cushioned garden sofa with her head on Danny’s lap, having her ears tickled. Jess amongst them. Looming over Clarence’s shoulder to eat his marshmallows and drink his hot chocolate. Because, you know, they have a secret club which means whatever is his, is really hers.

Charlie and Maddox play chess. It’s a tight game, with both studying the board intently and trying to gauge the other’s playing style to detect a weakness they can exploit.

Howie and Carmen play draughts. ‘Fuck off, already!’ Howie says with a laugh as Carmen crowns her first piece that now has freedom to roam in any direction. She finishes his forces off in quick succession, with Howie taking it in good humour.

‘Check!’ Charlie says, moving her piece to threaten Maddox’s king as the others look over.

‘Nice,’ Maddox says, and Charlie looks for her next move to finish him off, but Maddox smiles politely and takes her king. ‘Checkmate.’

‘Oh, her face,’ Tappy says with a laugh as Charlie double-takes as though that can’t possibly be right. ‘You sneaky sausage!’ she says as the laughs roll out from her choice of words.

‘Sausage?’ Nick asks.

‘It feels wrong to swear in front of Henry,’ she says as she gives Maddox a mock screwy look.

‘Winner stays on?’ Henry asks, taking her seat as Maddox resets the board. ‘Roy? Sure you don’t want to play?’

‘Thanks, but this deadline…’ Roy says as though the weight of the world is pressing down on him as he frantically writes.

Marcy opposite him on the other side of the firepit writing her own, which is obviously going to be way better than Roy’s and not misogynistic, or boring. ‘Hahahaha!’ she says with a delighted laugh at her own genius. ‘This bit is so funny…’ she adds when Roy fails to look up.

‘Who’s playing me?’ Carmen asks. ‘Frank?’

‘Busy,’ he says while dozing off.

‘How do you play?’ Nick asks. ‘Is it hard?’

‘You’ve never played draughts?’ Carmen asks as they crowd in, with everyone giving instructions at the same time, and Maddox and Henry facing off in a war of tactics and strategy.

‘Okay, got it?’ Carmen asks. ‘Basically, your counters can only go forward diagonally until they reach the end, and then they get crowned and can go backwards too. I’ll go first… And then, you. Right. That was quick. Then me. Your turn. Jesus, you don’t hang around. Okay, my go and… Did you just jump mine?’

‘Is that not right?’

‘Yeah, but no… But how? Okay, like that is it… Er, well, you’ve left yourself exposed, so ha! Now I can take yours… Oh, cock!’

‘How did you not see that?’ Nick asks as he takes a double; then a few moves later, takes a triple and demolishes her second to last line, forcing her to bring the defending back-pieces out. Which also get taken very quickly.

‘Jesus, Nick,’ Carmen says. ‘You’re like a savant or something. Right, who’s good at draughts? Charlie, get in here.’

‘Oh god, no, that’s not fair,’ Nick says as Charlie takes over, and they reset board and play rock paper scissors to see who goes first. Charlie wins and moves first… And five minutes later, stares on in surprise at her two remaining pieces encircled on the board by Nick’s intact army of counters. ‘Did I do it right?’ Nick asks as the others cheer, and Charlie throws her hands in the air. Her competitive spirit showing clear.

‘And I believe that is checkmate,’ Henry says a second later as the attention shifts. ‘Good game, Maddox. But remember, attack isn’t the only method. But well played.’

‘Reggie, come and play Nick at draughts,’ Carmen says.

‘Ah, the old checkers,’ Reginald says.

‘Was going to see if you wanted a round of chess?’ Henry asks as Reginald passes by to the checkers board. ‘But after that perhaps.’

‘Well, now, Nick. Go easy on me, eh?’ Reginald says as Nick resets the board. ‘You’ve got the right mind for this though, Nick. Very analytical, whereas Charlie is given to overthinking. Which is not a critique by any measure,’ he adds with a nod at Charlie.

‘Rock paper scissors?’ Nick asks.

‘You can go first if you wish, or I will. Entirely up to you.’

‘No, do it fairly,’ Nick says. ‘One…Two… Three! Oh, nice. Well done, Reggie. Paper covers rock.’

‘Yes. Indeed. I shall go first then. Are you set up, Henry? Would you like to go first, or shall we do the hand thing? Yes? Alright then. On three… One… Two… Oh, dear. I win again. Scissors cut paper. I shall go first then…’ Reginald says, having already deduced what of the three options anyone in the room would go with while playing rock paper scissors. Nick would always go rock first, and Henry, having seen Nick go for rock and Reginald go for paper, would go for scissors. But he does it nicely, with a self-effacing smile, and leans over to move his piece on the chess board, then glances back, and moves his piece on the draughts board. Then on the chess board. Then on the draughts board.

Back and forth with no hesitation.

‘Shit,’ Nick says when he loses his first piece and tries to counter, but loses another, then a double.

‘Good grief,’ Henry says a moment later, blinking at the board, ‘is that a checkmate?’

‘I rather think it is,’ Reginald says as he finishes Nick’s pieces off.

‘Eight moves,’ Henry says, shaking his head as though that can’t be right.

‘Fuck,’ Nick says, shaking his head as though that also can’t be right.

‘And swoon,’ Carmen mutters, staring at Reginald with hearts in her eyes.

‘Again,’ Nick says.

‘Again!’ Henry says.

‘Alright,’ Reginald says.

‘I really want to play Reggie now,’ Charlie says.

‘There are some novelty chess sets up in the retail area,’ Reginald says. ‘The pieces are shaped like woodland creatures. Quite cute actually.’

‘Right!’ Charlie says and runs off.

‘Get two sets!’ Maddox calls, then runs off with her, with Cookey staring after them while Carmen drags a chair closer to Reginald to watch him play.

‘Got them,’ Charlie says, running back down. ‘More draught sets too,’ she adds, putting them down. Children’s games. Brightly coloured and cheaply made.

‘Pass one over,’ Carmen says. ‘Can you play me too?’

‘Of course,’ Reginald says, ‘but you make me the nicest tea and tend to my injuries, so I shall take no satisfaction in defeating you.’

‘Ha! We’ll see about that,’ Carmen says as the boards are set up, with Maddox, Charlie, and Henry all with one chess board each, and Nick and Carmen playing draughts.

‘To save a lengthy game of rock paper scissors, how about you all go first. Sound okay?’ Reginald asks as they each make their first moves, to which he counters, to which they counter, and so it goes, with Reginald simply leaning this way and that to move pieces without a fraction of hesitancy.

‘Fuck!’ Nick says when he loses his first piece.

‘Okay. Wow,’ Charlie says.

‘Dammit,’ Maddox says.

‘Gosh. Right. Focus,’ Henry says.

‘Arse!’ Nick says.

‘Bugger!’

‘Focus, Henry!’

‘Cunting fucking pissflaps!’ Nick says, bursting out laughing as Reginald takes another clean sweep.

‘Wow. Okay,’ Charlie says, sitting back in awe.

‘And me,’ Carmen says. ‘Mads?’

‘Nah. I’m done. He’s got me checkmate.’

‘And me. Damn, Reginald! Fine work,’ Henry says, reaching over to shake Reggie’s uninjured hand as Carmen sighs long and heavy, with her eyes fixed on Reginald’s profile while Blowers smiles to himself, knowing the secret and seeing how obvious it is now.

He thinks about Meredith and what Carmen said, and Blowers wonders if it really was a dream. They are all connected, and who knows what the others are projecting into his mind? Maybe that was the case. Maybe the dog pushed the image of Meredith into his mind. Or Paco.

But it felt comforting knowing Meredith, the woman, was there. It gave Blowers hope and something to fight for, and it took away any sense of fear of death because in his heart, he knew what was waiting for him.

Carmen was right too, because people do get urges, and Blowers is a very healthy young man. But he pushes such thoughts aside, with that astonishing sense of self-discipline removing any such thoughts, and instead kicks Cookey’s foot to snap him out of his daydreams, and flicks him the bird. Cookey smiles back, but the humour isn’t filling his eyes like it normally does. Blowers has asked him about Charlie, but Cookey won’t be drawn. He deploys escape and evasion manoeuvres whenever the subject gets raised.

Blowers shrugs to himself and looks over to see Charlie laughing at the games boards. Her face flushed. Her head now covered in thick, dark stubble from her hair growing back, but she looks radiant. Beautiful even. Why is Cookey holding back? Charlie is an incredible woman. And next to Maddox, she looks amazing. They both do. Jesus. Imagine if Maddox and Charlie had kids. The genes they’d pass on would be insane. Blowers hated Maddox. He detested him. But that’s lessened a lot now. Maddox put his head down and worked hard. He’ll never be one of them, but he’s earned respect through effort, and so the respect is given.

‘Do you want another tea?’ Carmen asks Reginald. ‘And how’s that dressing? Is it okay?’

‘It’s all fine, and no, not another for me. I shall be up all night if I have any more tea.’

Blowers thinks Carmen would probably offer to carry Reginald to the toilet if she could. And then realises that’s actually a weird thing to think, so shakes it from his mind as Carmen shoots him a look. He motions Reginald with a discreet dip. She rolls her eyes with a what can you do look that makes him laugh.

‘Another game anyone?’ Reginald asks.

‘And it’s done!’ Roy announces with a great sigh of relief and a big smile. ‘Part Four of The Mystery House Of Rob is ready to drop.’

‘I’m done!’ Marcy yells over him. Holding her notepad up. ‘Marcy’s Tales Of Misogyny. Episode One!’

‘Well. This isn’t awkward at all,’ Carmen says. ‘So, who’s going first?’

‘Me!’ Marcy yells. ‘I mean. You know. I’m not bothered. But it should be ladies first.’

‘Isn’t that sexist?’ Howie asks.

‘Stop attacking me!’

‘I’m not!’

‘Paper rock scissors,’ Tappy says.

‘Okay,’ Roy says, bringing his hand up.

‘But I’m injured. I lost a finger,’ Marcy says.

‘A bit of a finger… Which I stitched back on,’ Roy says.

‘Well. More taped,’ Carmen says. ‘Use your other hand, Marcy. On three… One!’

‘Wait!’ Marcy says. ‘Roy, are you doing scissors, paper, or rock?’

‘You can’t ask me that!’

‘But I want to win.’

‘Two… Three!’ Carmen calls.

‘No, wait! Oh, bollocks. Rock then,’ Marcy says after pausing to see Roy doing scissors. ‘Ha! Rock blunts scissors.’

‘You’re such a cheat!’ Carmen says.

‘Honestly. I don’t mind,’ Roy says. ‘A great writer should never be threatened by other writers.’

‘Fuck that. Mine is way better,’ Marcy says. ‘Are you ready? And silence, please! Frank! Stop snoring… Because I shall begin…’

Marcy’s Tales Of Misogyny

Episode One

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess called Marcy, who was also really funny, and she had really nice long, black hair that she shampooed and conditioned every day, and great skin that had this sort of olive complexion, but she wasn’t like from the Mediterranean or anything, but she might have had a great grandparent that was like Arabic or Indian, or something? Whatever. The point was, Marcy was just beautiful and had amazing, green eyes and the best pair of boobs anyone in the whole realm had ever seen.

‘Had they all seen them then?’

‘Howie!’

‘Sorry! Joking.’

But no, the realm had not seen her boobs, but she had such an amazing figure that it was obvious her boobs were the best.

‘Did the realm have OnlyFans?’

‘Howie, I swear to god!’

And then one day, while she was locked in her castle tower and not on OnlyFans, because it didn’t exist in the realm…

‘Er, sorry. Why was she locked in a tower?’ Paula asks.

‘If you let me finish the pissing story, I’ll tell you!’

So, she was locked in the magical tower because, er, there was a spell, and her hair wasn’t long enough to dangle down. Not that she’d let some twat knight put his greasy hands all in her nice hair to climb up. Cos she was also a strong, empowered woman, and she hated it when everyone attacked her just cos she was smart and empowered.

But then she saw the big, mean grumpy troll called Huwie was stomping over, and she threw a banana skin out, and he skidded on it! And it was sooo funny…

She falls silent as they wait for her to carry on.

‘And?’ Howie asks.

‘And what?’

‘Is that it?’

‘What do you mean, is that it? I said it was funny!’

‘It just ended.’

‘Er, it’s called an episode! Was it good, though? Did you love it? I bet Charlie did cos it was diverse and not racist.’

‘Right. Well. Yes, I think?’ Charlie says diplomatically.

‘It was shit,’ Frank says, making Howie snort and set everyone else off laughing.

‘Fuck you!’ Marcy says. ‘Howie! Don’t laugh.’

‘I’m sorry. Marcy, you’re awesome, but seriously?’ Howie asks.

‘God, I love you,’ Paula says laughing as she pulls Marcy over to kiss her head. ‘That did make me laugh.’

‘Nice one,’ Nick says.

‘It wasn’t a comedy though,’ Marcy says. ‘Ha! Or was it? No, but was it? Fine. Fuck you. Go on then, Roy. Let’s hear your lame sexist Rob story.’

‘Fuck, yes!’ Tappy says.

‘Shush!’ Mo says, waving everyone to silence as the energy changes, focussing sharply as they all look to Roy.

5

Roy’s Story Part IV

The Mystery House Of Rob

Rob could see the terror in her eyes and knew what she was saying was real, but he was confused as to how she had the same symbols tattooed on her chest as were on the wall.

‘Anika, what’s going on?’

‘I can’t lie. My name isn’t even Anika. It’s Sophia, and I was sent back in time to warn you.’

But Sophia stopped talking when the bedroom door slowly creaked open, and they saw Mr Penfold standing there.

‘Mr Penfold!’ Rob said, but Mr Penfold did not reply because he was falling forward onto his face, and they both gasped when they saw the knife sticking out of his back. ‘The portal,’ Mr Penfold whispered with his dying breath and stretched a bloodied hand out towards the wall. ‘Activate the portal… Quickly… They are coming…’ he said because he had another dying breath left. But then he died.

‘Rob, we have to get out!’ Sophia said, and they ran to the window, and both said swear words at the wraiths gathering outside. Demons in black with ghostly, smoky vapours swirling around them, and they kicked the door Rob had thrown out far down the street, and all looked up and laughed with evil laughs, and started gliding over the front path to come into the house. ‘Quickly, Rob!’ Sophia said and pulled her blouse apart to show her breasts, and she ran to the wall with the symbols. ‘Touch the symbols, then touch my boobs, Rob! We have to activate the portal. It’s the only way out!’

‘No!’ Rob said. ‘I shall not touch your boobs because I am not a sexist pervert, despite what my friend Marcy calls me. Who, I think, is really super bloody annoying, but she made a nice dinner, and Danny said she loves us so, you know, I’m cool with her.’

‘But Rob! You must touch my boobs! I give you consent.’

‘Can I have that in writing?’ Rob asked because he was worried about the whole ‘me too’ thing and false allegations and stuff, and so they found some paper, and she wrote her consent, and they both signed and dated it.

‘Now you must touch the wall, Rob, and then touch the same symbols on my boobs!’

Rob reached out and touched the symbols on the wall. A square. A triangle. A circle. A cross. ‘These look like the symbols from an Xbox,’ he said, but then he touched the same symbols on Sophia’s boobs, but he didn’t touch her nipples or anything because she still had her bra on.

But they both gasped when a shimmering, blue, iridescent light formed in the shape of a doorway in the wall as the evil laughing wraiths glided up the stairs.

‘I don’t know what’s through that portal,’ Rob said as he pulled Sophia’s blouse closed and took her hand. ‘But I know we can get through this together…’

The wraiths glided faster into the room, and Rob and Sophia leapt, hand in hand, through the portal.

Roy finishes off and looks up with a worried grimace at the silence. ‘Was it alright?’

‘Alright?’ Tappy asks. ‘Oh. My. Fucking. God, Roy! That was amazing!’ she says and rushes over to hug him. ‘Mate! That was insane.’

‘Poor old Penfold, though,’ Howie says. ‘But I thought he was going to be a baddie.’

‘I so though that,’ Tappy says.

‘Good twist,’ Clarence says. ‘Great work, Roy.’

‘I can’t even speak right now,’ Danny says. ‘Can you read it out again?’

‘Can you read the whole thing from the start?’ Mo asks.

‘You read it, just don’t damage it,’ Roy says, passing it over. ‘And can you translate it for Bash. Okay, so, Charlie… Hit me.’

‘It’s really good!’ Charlie says with genuine meaning while blinking in amazement.

‘It was, actually,’ Carmen admits, surprised at herself for enjoying it as much as she did.

‘But, if you want feedback,’ Charlie says with an eyeroll as the others start groaning.

‘You are so going to moan about the whole breasts thing,’ Tappy says.

‘Well. Yes. It just seems excessive,’ Charlie says. ‘No, hang on! But then I thought, is Roy trying to like maybe draw awareness to appropriate touching and consent, and boundaries?’

‘I was!’ Roy says.

‘Ah, okay. Yeah, I can see that,’ Paula says as the others join in.

‘I mean. It was a bit clumsy, though,’ Charlie says.

‘You’re so mean!’ Nick says.

‘I’m not. Roy asked me, and how do people get better without honest feedback? I just thought, for me, on the whole, it was better. Like so much better, but the consent and touching thing? It seemed too obvious and… No, let me finish! If that wasn’t even there, it would have flowed so much better.’

‘Agreed,’ Carmen says. ‘Yep. Totally with Charlie. But also, a nice nod to Marcy.’

‘Actually, that was nice. Thank you,’ Marcy says.

‘Olive branch extended,’ Roy says.

‘But take out the bit about Marcy being annoying,’ Marcy says.

‘And olive branch retracted,’ Roy says.

‘What’s through the portal though?’ Nick asks. ‘We need part five.’

‘Roy, do part five,’ Blowers says.

‘Do it tonight, so we can hear it at breakfast,’ Tappy says.

‘Give him a break!’ Charlie says. ‘He’s literally just finished it.’

‘Yeah, but I want more!’ Tappy says as the lads agree.

‘I’m actually rather enjoying it,’ Henry says quietly, leaning closer to Reginald.

‘It is surprisingly compelling,’ Reginald says before yawning. ‘Right. Well done, chaps. Well done, Roy. Thoroughly enjoyed it, but one must get one’s beauty sleep.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Carmen says, rushing to her feet. ‘It’s dark, and you might trip or something.’

‘Carmen. Honestly, you are too kind to me,’ Reginald says as they head off, and the others start gathering themselves up.

‘Anyone would think she’s got a crush on him,’ Paula says as Blowers smiles to himself.

Cups are gathered and taken up, and rinsed, and the firepit shut down, and the lanterns turned off. Howie and Marcy go up for the first watch, and the others pop in and out of bathrooms to brush teeth and wash faces. The elders heading to their sections between the fence panels. The lads going to tents in their section.

The basement area dark, with only a few string lights glowing.

The mood so much different from this morning when they went for drill. That nasty, hard energy now muted and softened, and once more flowing.

The difference of a day, and they turn in, with Mo having translated Part Four to Bash and now taking the story book into the tent with Danny to read from the start under the light from a torch. Meredith in with them. Her checks completed. From one to the other to the next. She’ll bed down here for a bit, until The Second Watch Biscuit Club starts.

Everyone sleepy.

Everyone tired.

But in a better way than yesterday.

Apart from Charlie, who stands in the small open area in front of their tents and waits for the others to go in and fidget about on their sleeping bags.

She waits for a while. Standing patiently until Maddox comes down the stairs. His keen eyes spotting her quickly. ‘You okay?’ he whispers.

She nods.

He pauses and looks back. ‘He’s just coming, I think.’

She nods again. Maddox goes into his tent, shaking his head at the dynamics as Cookey finally comes out of the toilet and heads down to spot Charlie waiting for him.

‘We need to talk,’ she whispers.

He flounders for a second because there’s no distraction now and no reason to avoid it, and so when she walks off into the shadows, he follows behind.

They find a spot at the far end. Charlie folds her arms. Cookey leans against the wall, then feels weird, and stands up while not quite knowing what to do with himself.

‘What’s going on?’ she asks.

‘With what?’’

‘With us. You’re avoiding me literally all the time. It’s getting weird. Are you a virgin?’

‘What the fuck!’

‘It’s fine if you are.’

‘I’m not! What the hell, Charlie.’

‘What is it then? I thought you were scared of making a move or… Or I don’t know what!’

‘I’m not a virgin. I mean. I’m not like… Roy or something. I don’t even know why I said Roy, but I’ve been with girls. Women. Well. Two. One was only once, and the other wasn’t…’

‘Cookey, stop. You’ll do that thing and distract me. So, what’s going on?’

‘Nothing!’

‘Okay. Then let’s go back to my tent and have sex then.’

‘Eh? What now?’ he asks with a stricken look.

‘Are you gay?’

‘No!’

‘You kissed me, and it was fucking amazing, Alex! I want you. I want more. Marcy nailed it. We might die, and I want to live, and I can’t keep guessing around you. And I didn’t mean that about having sex. No. I meant it. Like wow. I really meant it. But what I mean is… I just… I’m in knots, and I don’t know what you want. You need to tell me.’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘Alex!’

‘Okay! I just thought. Maybe. You know.’

‘What?’

‘Like you and Maddox.’

‘What!?’

‘I thought Maddox would be better for you.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘Shush.’

‘Don’t shush me! You thought Maddox would be better? What are you, my fucking dad?’

‘What? No! It came out wrong. I just meant. I mean. What I mean is that Mads is like really handsome and buff, and he’s really smart.’

‘You’re very handsome and buff.’

‘But I’m not smart.’

‘Says who?’

‘Everyone.’

‘Seriously? Is that where this sense of hesitancy is originating from? Alex, I’m sorry, but this is bullshit.’

‘No. Okay, so like yesterday or the day before. Since we’ve been here, we were chatting about what Reginald said to the boss before we found the puppy, and I asked a question, and you said don’t overthink it, Cookey.’

‘What!? No! I meant-.’

‘But you wouldn’t have said that to Mads. You would have discussed it.’

‘I remember the conversation. But what I meant was… My point was…’ she trails off, feeling a little caught out.

‘I can’t speak French. I got like an E in it at school, and I can’t do maths or play chess, and I can’t quote famous poems or-.’

‘Jesus, Alex.’

‘Or talk to the woman I bloody really like about what’s going on because even she thinks I’m too thick.’

‘I never said you were thick.’

‘You’re better off with Mads.’

‘Do you know how offensive that is? I’m not a bride for sale to be best matched to the right suitor. I choose who I like! Me! That’s misogyny.’

‘I’m not telling you to-.’

‘You don’t tell me to do anything! Nobody does. How fucking dare you! How dare you, Alex! I fell for you. Jesus Christ, I’ve been thinking about you non-stop. Every time you touched me, I felt my knees go. How dare you tell me to go and fuck Maddox.’

‘I never said fuck!’

‘That’s how it’s being received. Jesus. You’ve got insecurities, fine. But don’t you bloody dare project them onto me. Actually. You know what? Whatever. Fuck this. I’m going to bed.’

‘Charlie!’

‘Goodnight, Alex.’

‘Wait!’

‘I can’t. Maddox is waiting for me, or tell you what,’ she says, turning back with an angry expression as the first tear falls down her cheek. ‘Why don’t you go and spoon him if you think that much about him. Prick!’

He winces as she storms off, seeing the rage and tears on her face, and he sinks back into the wall and down to his knees, and if Danny were closer, he’d sense that normally radiant energy withdrawing into a dark and trembling blob, trying to curl up and weep.

Charlie’s energy isn’t much better, although it’s fizzing with righteous anger as she strides back to the tents and passes Maddox as he puts his boots outside.

‘You okay?’ he asks, seeing her wet cheeks. ‘Hey! You okay?’ he asks again, reaching out for her wrist, but she turns fast, moving into him with a sudden surge of something inside taking her in the wrong direction. An urge bursting inside to do something bad and rotten because why not. But Maddox senses the wrongness and the mixed signals, and he steps back, unsure if she was about to try and kiss him. ‘Take it easy. Everything will be okay,’ he says quietly, letting go of her wrist.

She doesn’t reply.

She just goes into her tent and strips off, and gets onto her bag, and clenches her fists into balls, wishing Blinky were here. But even more than that, she meant what she said. The urges are inside because they may well die any second, and she wants to live in what time they have left. She wants intimacy and closeness. She wants that connection. And honestly, right now, if she had an inch more courage or carelessness maybe, or whatever it is, she’d march right into Maddox’s tent buck naked and go at it.

Alex Cooke can piss off.

How dare he say that.

She fidgets and tosses, and turns, and lies on her back, running it all through her mind, and gets so wound up she doesn’t know what to do. She even thinks to masturbate with a surge of defiance, but the energy isn’t right for that. She needs to do something else. Like run in the rain or exercise, but that’s not right either.

An idea.

Her eyes widen.

‘Fuck it,’ she mutters. On her feet and out of the tent in bra and knickers and marching to the stairs that she runs up two at a time and strides to the front office. ‘Marcy? Are you decent?’

‘Charlie? Yeah, sure, what’s up?’ Marcy asks as Charlie leans around the door to make sure they’re not going at it on the sex-desk. Which they aren’t, and so she nods politely at Mr Howie and rushes over to take Marcy’s hand. ‘Need you.’

‘Er, okay,’ Marcy says, pulling a face at Howie as Charlie leads her down the stairs to the dark basement area. ‘Is this a lesbian thing?’

‘What?’ Charlie asks, stopping dead with a look of shock.

‘I’m not saying a firm no, but I’d have to run it past Howie.’

‘What? No!’

‘Er, well, you’re dragging me into the shadows in your undies, and you’ve had that look in your eye for like days now.’

‘What look?’

‘That look,’ Marcy says.

‘No!’ Charlie says, turning away, then turning back. ‘Run it past Howie? Jesus, Marcy.’

‘Well, I don’t know how the inner gay thing works. I’ve never done it.’

‘I’ve never done it!’ Charlie says. ‘Well. No, I kissed a girl once.’

‘Did you like it?’

‘Er, well. It was alright, but no! Just, come with me a second,’ Charlie says, shaking her head and pulling Marcy into the bathroom, and putting the lantern on as she stops in front of the mirror. ‘Okay. I just want to… The whole thing… Something outrageous.’

‘Like a makeover?’

‘God, now I feel stupid you saying it like that. I was all angry and-.’

‘Hey, no. Whoa. This is my area. I’m in… But er, so… You know, not being rude, but the hair doesn’t leave a lot to play with.’

‘Just do something.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know! Something bold and like, fuck you.’

‘What’s going on?’ Tappy asks, pushing in to see them staring at themselves in the mirror and going into a stall to pee with the door half-closed, so she can peer out.

‘I just want something different,’ Charlie says. ‘You said it. We might die. So, stuff it. Let’s live and be bold.’

‘Ooh, I like this game,’ Tappy says, flushing the toilet and coming out to join Marcy staring at Charlie. ‘So what you thinking then?’

‘I don’t know. But imagine there’s an outrage dial, right. And it’s on zero, and ten is the maximum,’ Charlie says, reaching out to turn it all the way over.

‘That was ten,’ Tappy whispers.

‘Ten,’ Charlie whispers.

‘No,’ Marcy whispers with a voice of wisdom and knowledge in such matters.

‘I want ten.’

‘You think you want ten. But ten is pierced cheeks and a forked tongue, and tattoos on your face, Charlie. That’s a ten. What you really want is a five.’

‘Five? Fuck five! That’s not enough.’

‘Trust me. We’re doing a five. You can always go up, but you can’t go down on an outrage dial. You stay right there. I’m going to need my special kit for this one…’

‘Whoa. Big crowd,’ Carmen says, pushing into through the door.

‘BRB,’ Marcy says and rushes out.

‘Charlie wants to go bold,’ Tappy says.

‘Bold or bald?’ Carmen asks.

‘Bold. Like Bold AF,’ Charlie says. ‘I said a ten on the outrage dial, but Marcy said five.’

‘Wow. Yeah. Don’t do a ten. That’s turning teeth into fangs crazy shit,’ Carmen says. ‘So, er, may I ask why?’

‘Cos we might bloody die,’ Charlie says. ‘And I want to live and, you know…’

‘Piss Cookey off?’ Tappy asks.

‘Fuck yes,’ Charlie says as Tappy laughs and the door swings in, with Marcy carrying her beauty kits, and Paula right behind her.

‘Charlie wants to be bold,’ Tappy says.

‘Bold or bald?’ Paula asks.

‘Bold,’ they all say.

‘She wanted a ten,’ Carmen says.

‘On the outrage dial,’ Charlie adds.

‘God, no!’ Paula says.

‘I said a five,’ Marcy says.

‘Five is a lot,’ Paula says as they all stare into the mirror at Charlie in the middle. ‘So, you know what I’m thinking?’

‘What?’ Charlie asks as Paula narrows her eyes and nods with great sagelike wisdom.

‘I think we’re gonna need some wine…’

6

Thursday

Day Thirty-Five

It starts at the Weir Wood Reservoir just a few miles east of Crawley.

The town centre that was reduced to rubble from Howie and his group passing through on their way into Gatwick six days ago. Fires started from hot rounds and hot splinters on a hot day at the end of the hottest, driest spell the country had known for years.

But those rains started at the end of the Battle for Gatwick, and for six days and six nights that rain fell.

Not just here either. But the whole country, and many other places across the world, with an incessant, biblical amount of water coming from the sky, caused by complex weather systems which, in turn, reacted to the sudden cessation of both humanity and their by-products.

Billions of people now not breathing and producing gases. Not driving cars. Not flying planes, or driving trains, or ships. Not burning fossil fuels. Not using fires to cook or heat their homes or burning energy to make their offices cooler.

A change to the cattle numbers too. Billions of them have died from not being fed or milked, or watered.

So now it rains. And it’s a hard rain. Torrential and unrelenting, and because the preceding weather was so hot and dry, it made the ground too hard to soak that water up, which meant it ran and pooled, and the rain kept coming, so more of it ran, and those pools grew.

A lot of them fed into the Weir Wood Reservoir, which on a normal day would hold many thousands of millions of litres of water, now holds many millions more, fed by the hundreds of streams and waterways in the region.

But then the whole area from Crawley to Lewes is one enormous water plain, with many natural and constructed systems in place to keep the land drained, even during the heaviest of rains.

Except these rains are something else, and so the Weir Wood Reservoir grows wider and deeper until the waters pour south through the valleys and lowlands until they reach the five thousand million litres of water held within Ardingly Reservoir four miles away. But that too has swollen to many times its normal size, and with the influx of water coming from the north, it floods and merges with the already many already overflowing lakes and fish ponds just north of Horsted Keynes, and, in turn, those waters become one with the many other rivers and streams still feeding into them until they pour through Haywards Heath. Submerging the town centre and the thousands of homes around it. But even that was built on a flood plain, and so the water surges up through the ground just as much as it pours overground, and the volume increases drastically with every passing minute as it gathers power and momentum, and still it pours south.

Burgess Hill becomes a series of islands like green and lush pacific atolls, adorned with old red brick houses and churches.

Wivelsfield Green disappears. Chailey. Plumpton. Clayton. Hassocks. Old towns with old names that all looked the same to Howie. Now all of them flooded and submerged as the islands form, with only the higher ground standing clear.

Many survivors are killed that stayed hidden in houses and woke to find water crashing in through doors and windows with such power they couldn’t get out.

Animals flee in droves towards higher ground, with primeval instincts giving them a head start.

But the water keeps coming. Taking everything in its path as it follows the course of the River Ouse. A mighty tributary that runs for many miles and takes the waters from hundreds of other waterways, and carries it all south to disgorge out in the port at Newhaven. A small coastal town just a few miles west of Rye.

But it’s high tide on that coast.

In normal times, they’d call it a king tide. Meaning an exceptionally high tide due to the waters of the world responding to the gravitational pull of the moon and the sun along with the Earth’s orbit.

That king tide pushes up the mouth of the River Ouse, thereby preventing the river from releasing her volume, and so the two forces meet, and the river bursts with such force it snaps the moorings on the goliath car ferry docked and ready to run from Newhaven to Dieppe in France. A metallic vessel that floats through the town, smashing through houses and going further inland as the great tidal surge pushes all of the disgorging water back into the floods, running from Weir Wood at the southern side of Crawley all the way down to Lewes.

Those waters meet the Arlington Reservoir, itself already nearly ten times bigger, with the resulting flood surging through Dicker and Upper Dicker and stopping just shy of a small place called Lower Dicker.

A body of water that stretches more than twenty miles south to north as the crow flies and many more miles out to the west.

Which is the thing that greets them when they finally leave the sanctity of The Fat Bee Garden Centre in Lower Dicker and drive the short distance from the access lane and out onto the A22 heading west, intending to scavenge for supplies and visit Tilda Tanners at Christ’s Hospital School south of Horsham, just a short distance from Crawley.

Except they don’t get very far because of the sight that greets them.

Charlie on Jess. Slowing to a stop. The horse happy to be out and moving after days of being cooped up, and so she snorts and fidgets in irritation at stopping so soon. But Charlie can’t move on from seeing such a sight.

The pink beret covering her head, and the rain running over the Mad Max waterproof pink make-up around her eyes and out across her cheeks.

The Saxon pulls to a stop behind her. The Royal Mail van next to it. Doors opening, and everyone dropping out. A sea of pink berets and eyes staring in shock from the road as they look southwest across the lake of grey waters stretching away to the base of the south downs many miles away.

‘What the actual fuck,’ Howie mouths. He clambers up over one of the Saxon’s big wheels onto the bonnet, then onto the roof to see further. The others doing the same.

A new sea formed. An ocean, in fact. A body of water so vast it boggles the mind.

‘It wasn’t like this when I went out,’ Maddox says.

‘We didn’t see any sign of it yesterday,’ Carmen adds, meaning when she and Blowers went for a run.

‘Overnight then,’ Henry says.

‘I would suggest it’s high tide on the coast,’ Reginald says, perched on the bonnet of the Saxon, with one hand clinging onto Carmen to prevent himself from sliding off. ‘This whole region is low on the water table, which formed, I shouldn’t wonder, during the last ice age. In fact, this would all have been ocean at one point.’

‘Will it drain away?’ Cookey asks.

‘In time, I should think,’ Reginald says. ‘But then one cannot really be sure of anything now, Alex.’

‘Anyway,’ Howie says, turning away as they drop down to the road, with Reginald going back into the Royal Mail van. A few folding chairs and beanbags inside being used as rudimentary seats, with Reginald pouring over an Ordnance survey map of the region spread over a low camping table he found in the Garden Centre. ‘Tappy needs a police station.’

‘A big one!’ Tappy calls. ‘One that will have riot vans.’

‘Roy? You’re most familiar with this area,’ Reginald says as Roy peers through the doorway cut in the bulkhead from the front.

‘I’d maybe try Uckfield first,’ Roy says. ‘That’s north ish from here and away from that new lake.’

‘It’s got a big copshop,’ Frank says.

‘Okay. Uckfield then,’ Reginald asks, looking up to Henry.

‘Understood, but I think a large part will be seeing where we can go,’ Henry says. ‘Nick, can we put that drone up?’

‘I mean, it’s working, but she’s not waterproofed, and in this rain?’ he asks with a look that clearly says he doesn’t want to risk it.

‘Understood. We’ll preserve the asset in case we really need her,’ Henry says. ‘Right. Uckfield then. Give the order to move out, please, Mr Howie.’

‘Load up! We’re moving out,’ Howie calls. The dynamics between them now smooth and untroubled. The agreement in place. Reginald sets the objective. Henry gets them there and assesses ahead. Howie leads the fight.

The lads climb into the Saxon. The elders into the new Royal Mail van. All of them drenched through from the rain, but it’s still warm and muggy.

They stay on the A22. The road built higher than the ground either side and, thankfully, just out of reach from the water.

Tappy takes it easy. Staying in the middle of the road, with the others watching out the open back doors or the front. Marvelling at the expanse of water off to the south and east.

‘It’s on the other side too,’ Tappy says, motioning north and west as they look out to see flood waters on both sides. The road only clear of the water by mere inches. ‘What did I say about that snorkel.’

‘Yeah, good call,’ Nick says, reaching over to fist bump.

‘Snorkel?’ Cookey asks. ‘The scuba things?’

‘Tappy’s fitted one to the van,’ Maddox says, pointing out the back doors. ‘See the black tube poking out the engine and going up next to the windscreen. That takes the exhaust fumes up, which means the van can go through much deeper water than before because the risk was water going up the exhaust.’

‘Ah, okay. That’s really smart,’ Cookey says. ‘You know some random shit, mate.’

‘Did a lot of reading in prison.’

‘And stole a lot of cars,’ Mo adds as the laughter erupts again. Charlie catches Cookey’s eye and looks away. She looks so different now with the strip of hair and that pink make-up on her mixed-race skin. She looks beautiful. Striking. Like someone from a movie. It makes Cookey feel weird inside. Like he did something wrong while thinking it was still the right thing to do because he’s thick as fuck. He doesn’t have a clue about cars or vans that can have snorkels. Or how flood water goes away. Charlie is better off without him.

‘Flooded road ahead,’ Tappy calls. ‘Tell Roy to stay close in our wake.’

‘STAY CLOSE IN OUR WAKE!’

‘I KNOW HOW TO BLOODY DRIVE!’

‘He says yes,’ Blowers says to more grins.

Roy stays close. Riding the wake as the waters rise to just below the floor at the back of the Saxon. But the vehicles hold their own and get through the bend and up and out as the road rises once more.

‘Nice!’ Charlie says, leaning over to rub Tappy’s shoulder.

They pass a motorhome dealership on the right side. The tops of the vehicles forming small islands. A fox on one of them that sits up to idly watch them going by.

‘Hang on,’ Carmen says, getting out and unwrapping a snack bar to throw over. Knowing it’s not perfect food for a fox, but hunting must be scarce. The fox flinches, then sniffs, and starts wolfing it down.

‘I’ve got one,’ Blowers says, passing it to Carmen to throw up.

A petrol station a short distance along the road. Birds resting on the tops of the pumps poking out of the water, sheltering underneath the large, flat roof. Birds on houses too. The lower levels underwater. A few rabbits on a shed roof, nibbling at the low hanging branches of a tree.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ Tappy says as they near the Hoathly Bypass. The road submerged under what looks like deep water. She comes to a stop and blasts air through her nose. ‘We’ll need a quick conflab with the elders, sarge.’

She drops out with and Charlie to rush over to the van.

‘Too deep?’ Howie asks.

‘Definitely,’ Tappy says, walking past them all to look at the tyres on the new trailer, then past the front of the vehicle to the land rising higher on the right side. Her keen eyes assessing the gradient while thinking about traction and torque, weight distribution, and capability.

‘What do you think?’ Howie asks, the elders staying quiet, knowing this is Tappy’s area of expertise.

‘I can get us through,’ she says. ‘But we’ll have to go off-road up that hillside then over the crest, then maybe get back down onto the road further along, and we’ll have to get Jess out. The tyres on this are too smooth, but the actual trailer is light, so we can drag her behind if it’s empty.’

‘Understood. Good plan, Tappy. Give whatever orders are necessary,’ Henry says.

‘Cheers. We need someone in front of the Saxon assessing the ground to make sure it can take her. Boss? You know her best after me.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Howie says.

‘I’ll get Jess out,’ Charlie says, kicking the bolt to drop the ramp, with Jess running clear.

‘Thank fuck I changed those tyres,’ Tappy says with a glance to the Royal Mail van’s new wheels. ‘Don’t you let me down now. I vouched for you,’ she says, patting the wing as she goes past, with Howie jogging out front with Dave.

‘You can stay in the dry if you want, mate,’ Howie says, knowing Dave won’t. ‘Here, Tappy?’ he shouts back, crossing a junction to the right leading to more flood water and a fence on the other side. Young sapling trees on the other side rising up, with the swell of the land standing proud like a new island.

‘Yep. Aim for the thinnest trees,’ Tappy shouts, getting back into the Saxon with a quick head rub on Meredith, panting away in the front seat. ‘Everyone, hold on. It’s going to get bumpy.’

‘Do you want us to get out?’ Maddox asks.

‘No! The mighty Saxon’ll chew this shit up easy. It’ll just get bouncy,’ she says with a quick grin over her shoulder as Howie and Dave get over the wooden fence, with Howie picking a route through the thinner looking trees.

He stamps the ground. A bit squelchy, but only from surface water. ‘This is old ground,’ he tells Dave. ‘That’s good. It’ll be full of old roots and stuff. Which is what we want.’

‘Why do we want that, Mr Howie?’

‘It’ll give the wheels something to grip. Pure mud can be like ice for vehicles. You should really learn how to drive, Dave.’

‘We don’t have learner plates, and I haven’t passed my theory test.’

‘We do. Cookey got some for Blowers when he gave him that white stick and blow up parrot. No, hang on, those were disabled badges, not L plates. We’ll get some though, and we can rig a theory test up for you,’ Howie says, now learning the easiest way with Dave is to match his logic.

‘Do we have an accredited driving instructor?’

‘I bet one of us is,’ Howie says with a casual deflection of the truth. ‘But the law states you don’t actually have to be accredited. You’ve just got to be over 21 or something, and had a licence for 3 years? I think that’s right.’

‘How old is Marcy? Can she drive?’

‘Oh god. Mate. I don’t even know how old she is. How bad is that! But she can drive. You want Marcy to do it?’ he asks as Dave nods. ‘You like Marcy now then?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘OKAY, READY!’ Howie bellows, getting a thumbs up from Tappy who guns the engine and shoots forward to slam through the fence and into the first few saplings. Snapping them clean off with a sound like bones breaking.

The others in the back. Whooping with smiles at the Saxon bouncing and jolting. Charlie on Jess, surging her through the broken fence and up the hillside. The horse in glee at being out and going cross-country, and she passes over the ground with ease.

‘Right,’ Roy says, behind the wheel of the van. ‘Here we go… Hold on!’

‘Hold onto what exactly?’ Paula asks as the van shoots off, and they all think that maybe they should have got out, but a second or so later, the van bounces over the kerb and through the fence and hits the hill, and starts rising. Bouncing and jolting, with the trailer pulled easy, and the new big tyres proving their worth.

‘Yes!’ Roy calls, powering on behind the Saxon cutting a path as they crest the hill and going alone the ridge. The elders laughing in the back as they spill over each other. The lads in the Saxon doing the same. Charlie grinning with joy and running through trees on Jess. A slight pause for Howie and Dave to dive into the side of the van, and they shoot off, rising higher to see over the surrounding area. Seeing nothing but water on all sides. A few rooftops and chimney stacks poking up. A few islands formed by mounds of higher ground.

‘Fuck me! This is nuts,’ Howie says, clinging to the side to stare out. ‘The whole world is changing.’

‘I like cooking,’ Dave says, making Howie double-take, with the slow shock hitting them all that Dave just volunteered something about himself without being prompted. And right in the middle of doing something else too.

‘That’s great!’ Howie says, grinning at his friend. Seeing the glint in his eyes. ‘Do you want to do more of it?’

‘Yes,’ Dave says. Words and feelings inside of him that just won’t come out. But he likes cooking. He likes chopping and slicing, and the steps that have to be taken. He liked how Marcy talked to him about what she was making and how she asked him to cut the salmon into equally sized slices, and then said they were the best salmon slices she’d ever seen. He liked tasting the seasoning she made and chopping the garlic and the ginger. He liked how it smelled and felt. He liked being a part of it. ‘Yes,’ he says again because Dave can’t voice those things, and he looks to his very good friend Howie who seems to understand.

‘We’ll make it happen, Dave. I promise,’ Howie says.

‘Thank you, Mr Howie.’

‘You can just call me Howie now if you want, Dave.’

A pause. A second of intense reflection as they all wait, expecting Dave to say Howie. And he smiles and nods as he speaks and says, ‘No.’

A burst of laughter. Dave clapped on the shoulder by Frank as Carmen reaches over to punch his arm. Even Reginald laughing at the play of the joke as Dave feels that glow inside. The glow of love that only ever comes from being with people that love and care for you, and who want the best for you.

It’s a golden moment.

A long, happy, joyous golden moment. There, on the top of that hillside. The people in the two vehicles laughing as they feel that same thing inside. Even Maddox, and even Cookey, despite the woes about Charlie.

A moment they’ll remember later.

When the darkness returns, and the demons come calling to take that happiness away.

7

Uckfield

Thursday

Day Thirty-Five

‘Uckfield’s gone then,’ Howie says.

The two vehicles side by side on the top of a hill to the northern side of what was once the town of Uckfield.

A lake in the wood nearby, aptly called Lake Wood flooded from the rain and poured down to merge with the rising floods coming down from Crawley and up from Newhaven and Lewes – and those waters poured through Uckfield.

Some of the town remains. They can see the buildings on the long, sloping hillside to the north and west, but it’s only a few streets, and they look residential. Which won’t hold the supplies they need. Especially not the police station and a riot van for Tappy to strip for parts.

Something about the view though. A scene of devastation that would surely have news crews scrambling to get footage from; such a big place disappearing underwater, and not just here, but those waters stretch on for what looks like forever.

But it’s also peaceful, with an astonishing sense of tranquillity. Birds call out in the trees around them. Rabbits scatter and hop. A family of badgers glimpsed further along. A few deer shyly peeking through the trees. The hillside seemingly packed with animals born with instincts to flee the waters before it was too late.

‘Seen that,’ Blowers says, motioning Carmen to look over at a nearby fox vixen and her cubs.

‘They’re so close,’ Carmen whispers. ‘Someone, grab Meredith… That vixen has been handfed; she’s not frightened at all.’

They all stare over to the vixen showing wariness, but not fear as Carmen rifles through her bag. Finding another snack bar that she snaps into chunks and goes low and closer to the fox. Taking a knee to allow the fox family to approach.

They do so far quicker than Carmen thought they would, and within a moment, they’re eating from her hand. Crunching honey and nuts cereal bars, with the vixen taking a chest rub without sign of aggression or worry.

A whine from Meredith, and she looks up at Clarence, holding her under his arm to stop her getting at the foxes or the rabbits. An expression on her face. This better not be our new thing.

‘It’s either that or a lead,’ Clarence tells her.

‘Would you hold Jess?’ Charlie says, pressing the reins into his good hand as Jess takes her turn to look at Clarence. Where are the biscuits?

‘I don’t have any. I don’t!’ Clarence says as Charlie edges in next to Carmen and takes a knee. The others joining her. Going in gradually and slowly to rub foxy bellies and foxy heads. ‘Oh, they like you!’ Charlie says when the cubs clamber over Cookey’s legs.

‘It’s that energy Danny said about,’ Carmen says. ‘I swear animals can sense it. Yeah, look, they’re like it with Mo… Oh! And they’re all back to Cookey. You’ve got a gift, Alex.’

‘Yeah,’ he says quietly with a smile that lights up his blue eyes that seem to shine even more with the scar tissue around the one that was injured. That feeling inside of Charlie again. That deep sense of attraction she had for him flaring inside again, responding to the incredible sense of calm that radiates from Cookey when he’s settled and balanced.

‘Yeah, I mean, I think that’s our plan,’ Tappy says, behind the others in a huddle with the elders by the new van. ‘Crawley is northeast of here, which is that way. But we can’t go that way because of that massive lake… But we can go north and maybe slightly northwest towards whatever that hill is we can see over there.’

‘That will be Crowborough,’ Roy says.

‘How big is that hill, Roy?’ Tappy asks. ‘I mean, which way does it run?’

‘Ooh, blimey. Yeah, it does stretch on a way, from memory.’

‘East?’ Tappy asks.

‘I think so,’ Roy says with a grimace, holding his hands out to show he’s not sure.

‘The alternative?’ Henry asks.

‘We go south again and either go way out to the west and then north, probably up towards London and then east,’ Tappy says, biting her bottom lip. ‘But that’s a hell of a journey.’

‘And there a lot more reservoirs around the whole region,’ Roy adds.

Tappy stares at the hills in the distance. ‘We’ve got a relatively clear line from here, and I don’t know; my instinct is telling me that’s the way.’

‘Then that is our route,’ Henry says with a nod. ‘Everyone agreed? Great. We’re in your hands, Tappy.’

After a lengthy goodbye to the foxes, they get back into the vehicles and follow the higher ridge of land snaking between the floods. The Saxon once again out front, snapping smaller trees and bushes away to make a path for the van. Charlie on Jess to the keep the trailer light.

It’s hard work, but in a fun way. Tappy focussing on the ground ahead. Nick up front with her. The dog running alongside Jess.

They veer west towards the small town of Budletts, forced to follow the higher ground, then through another forest, picking a route through an old fire track used by park rangers and forestry workers.

The rain still lashing down with no sign of stopping, but the mood stays high.

‘Oh! There we go!’ Tappy says, driving through a thick hedge and out onto a tarmacked road at the end of a standard cul-de-sac.

A cheer in the back at being on a road. The same in the van, with the two vehicles coming to another stop.

‘Great job, Tappy!’ Henry shouts over at Tappy beaming behind the wheel.

‘Let me put Jess away for a rest,’ Charlie says, with a few moments taken to get Jess into her new trailer; then they’re off again. Driving out of the cul-de-sac and onto a main road past almost normal looking houses that now appear so odd and out of place.

A moment later, they reach the A26 towards Crowborough. The ground rising gradually. The newly formed lakes on both sides still an astonishing sight.

‘Got a bump!’ Tappy says, easing the speed a little on seeing slabs of broken tarmac ahead. A burst sewer or underground pipe, judging from the jets of filthy water spewing out to the side.

A laugh in the back when she goes over, with Bash bouncing into Charlie and almost pushing her out of her seat. She grabs Maddox to anchor herself, laughing at the motion, with Nick, Blowers, and Cookey sitting opposite. Danny and Mo at the back doors.

Cookey laughs too. Grinning with the others while clocking how Charlie slides into Maddox with a laugh and clings onto his muscular arm.

Charlie senses the watchfulness. Suddenly aware of the placement of her hand with a rush of guilt and worry. She pulls it free, then remembers what Cookey said and how her father used to lecture her about only matching with suitable partners and listing what qualities they should have, and how Charlie must never get with anyone beneath their standing.

She hated it then, and she hates it now even more, and that defiance comes back as the Saxon bounces, and she grips Maddox again, and this time she doesn’t remove her hand when Cookey notices.

Which is also something Maddox clocks with a sense of discomfort that he’s getting dragged into something that has nothing to do with him.

Frank shakes his head in the back of the van, staring out the side door. ‘Sussex police HQ was right there,’ he calls, motioning the lake to the east. ‘Would have had firearms, vans…’ he flaps a hand as they realise it’s now all gone.

All they can do is keep going up until they reach Crowborough and get through the mostly devastated town. Signs of fires and structural damage from the storms, but they also see the same broken windows and broken doors.

No survivors though. And no infected.

Tappy leads them east out of the town onto Warren Road, then north. Over rough ground and powering through a few fords and dips. All of them focussed and caught up in the game at hand. Staying on higher ground.

They reach Ashdown Forest on an old track, but ahead is cut off. They head north to Forest Row and a ridge of hills running east to west behind it that takes them towards East Grinstead.

The Weir Wood Reservoir now visible. The source of the flooding to the northern edge. Now it’s the same as everywhere else and just one vast expanse of water being lashed by the pouring rain.

‘This will be evil if it suddenly gets hot,’ Howie says as the others nod.

‘Like a jungle,’ Frank says. ‘Dirty water too. Mosquitoes. Bugs. Any groups of survivors will get dysentery if they’re anywhere near water like that.’

They go north around East Grinstead. The town now like something from a movie with parts of it submerged. Church towers, apartment, and office blocks showing clear.

On they go. Snaking this way and that. Following what roads they can to stay above the floodplains.

Tappy working hard to keep them aiming east. Using placenames and signs to give an indication of where they are.

‘We really need comms!’ Roy calls, frustrated that he can’t radio Tappy and discuss the route.

‘It’s on the list,’ Paula says. Which is all she can really say. They need many things, but first, they need a police van for Tappy, and then to reach Tilda. ‘I’m thinking we might need a stayover for the night,’ she tells the others. ‘By the time we get there and say hi, and chat.’

The others nod. Seeing no reason not to do that. On an old, narrow country road. Hedges to both sides. Snaking left. Veering right. A growing sense within them all that they’ve become lost.

‘Tappy? Do you want to stop, so we can check with the map and the others?’ Blowers calls.

‘Er, excuse me!’ Tappy says, mimicking Marcy’s triggered voice as she follows the road that leads into the back of an industrial complex. Big buildings. Modern construction, and a moment later, she drives out the other side and busts through a fence onto a wide motorway. ‘Ta-da!’

‘What’s that?’ Blowers asks, peering ahead to the big town just in front of them.

‘Duh! That’s Crawley.’

‘Oh, fuck! We did it! We’re here!’

‘We?’ Tappy asks as Blowers moves to the back. ‘CRAWLEY!’ he shouts.

‘I KNOW!’ Roy bellows back at him.

‘We really need comms,’ Charlie says.

‘Oh, shit,’ Tappy says with a wince as she spots a big, blue directions sign and realises exactly where they are.’

‘Ah. Yeah,’ Blowers says. ‘Pull over.’

She slows to a stop, with Blowers jumping out and running to the side of the van.

‘Gatwick,’ Howie says, rubbing his face as Blowers nods. ‘Roy realised the direction.’

‘We really need comms,’ Blowers says.

‘Well. We left them all here,’ Howie says, leaning out to stare ahead to the airport, knowing the remains of their melted radios will be in there somewhere.

‘We going through?’ Blowers asks.

‘There’s a police station here,’ Frank says. ‘They should have vans. Maybe a few more rounds too.’

‘Do that. Go for the airport police station,’ Howie says as Blowers runs off.

‘Fucking look at that,’ Nick says in the Saxon as they cram forward to see out the front to what was Gatwick airport.

The building’s now nearly all gone, and those that remain look broken and skeletal. Everything else destroyed by the detonation wrought by Dave when he blew the silos. Walls. Structures. Fences. Even the buildings further away show signs of the explosions, with not a visible intact pane of glass anywhere. Roofs ripped off mostly, and what structures remain are blackened ruins. Burnt by fire that was only doused when the rains got heavier.

What they also see is that the road has gone, and the land is now an undulating burnt and broken landscape covered with chunks of brick and debris, and parts of aircraft.

‘There?’ Nick says, peering to the left on seeing a flash of bright reflective yellow on something white. Tappy turns in. Bouncing over the broken road. The van behind them. Going slow to avoid bouncing the trailer behind with Jess inside. ‘Yeah, look,’ Nick says. ‘Police car.’

The others see it. The back end of a police car poking out from underneath a mound of rubble. Next to what would have been the police station.

They go closer to the ruins and get out into the rain to see the parts of the building closest to the explosion has been blown apart, but the end walls and even some of the rooms inside still remain. An office on the first floor exposed to the rain but looking serenely intact with a desk and a blue swivel chair. A computer on the desk, and a notice board on the wall pinned with dozens of forms and papers. A weird glimpse of the old world.

‘Tappy!’ Mo calls from the far end. Grinning with Danny as the others join them to see three police vans in a row next to a command-and-control vehicle. The van on the far end destroyed by flying bricks and debris, but it took the brunt and protected the others.

‘Perfect,’ Tappy says.

‘Is that what you need?’ Howie asks.

‘Yeah, deffo! I’ll get some tools.’

‘Or find some keys, and we’ll take them with us,’ Howie says as they all look to the remains of the building. ‘On second thoughts.’

‘Actually,’ Maddox says with a frown, ‘they always put the keys on a board on the wall in the equipment room.’

‘Yes. Yes! They do,’ Carmen says, clicking her fingers at him.

‘Who said a criminal past wasn’t worth it?’ Maddox asks, cracking a rare joke with a smile.

They go closer, peering through gaps in broken walls and venturing into the remains. Old offices. A canteen and kitchen.

‘Where was the armoury, Frank?’ Henry asks.

‘Under that,’ Frank replies, nodding at tonnes of rubble.

‘How do you know about all the police stations?’ Howie asks.

‘Part of our role, nipper. We had to know where we could find weapons in a pinch. Gatwick. Heathrow. Bigger police stations with armouries.’

They stare at the mound, realising there could have been a decent amount of ammunitions and spare weapons as Dave darts forward and grabs something.

‘You got the keys?’ Howie asks with a surge of hope.

‘What keys?’

‘The keys to the vans!’ Howie says.

‘No.’

‘Then what did you just pick up?’

‘This,’ Dave says and shows them the brown chopping board.

‘Why would you want that?’

‘We don’t have a brown one.’

‘Do we need a brown one?’

‘Yes. Red is for raw meat. Blue is for raw fish. Yellow is for cooked meats. Green is for salad and fruit. Brown is for vegetables.’

‘Right. So, can’t we just use the green one?’

‘Yes.’

‘Eh?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Argh, don’t say Mr Howie! I meant…’

‘Fuck’s sake, Howie. How can you not understand him by now?’ Marcy asks. ‘We’re already using the green one for veggies, but I said to Dave we should have a brown one. Because of the list.’

‘What list?’

‘The list on the wall in the kitchen which you’d know if any of you sexist men had actually gone into the kitchen!’ Marcy says as the men all glance at each other.

‘Yeah, fair one actually,’ Howie says.

‘Heard and understood,’ Clarence says. ‘It was an organic transition of events.’

‘Don’t you use that on me!’ Marcy says, trying to sound cross but cutting off with a laugh. ‘Whatever. Good find though, Chef Dave.’

‘Chef Dave! I love it,’ Howie says.

‘I need to gain a food hygiene certificate to work with food,’ Dave says with one of his sudden conversational left turns.

‘Right. Okay,’ Howie says, blinking to keep up.

‘That was on a sign next to the sign detailing the chopping boards,’ Dave adds.

‘Lot of signs then.’

‘I can show you the signs when we return, Mr Howie.’

‘I’d love to see the signs, Dave.’

‘I’d love to see these bloody keys,’ Paula says.

‘Keys!’ Danny says, lifting a board up off the filthy ground to show sets off keys still hanging from hooks stuck in the board alongside whiteboard boxes for writing call signs and allocated officers.

‘Did your aura detect it, Danny?’ Cookey asks. ‘His giant penis is like a dividing rod.’

‘Dividing?’ Blowers asks him.

‘The thingy? That vibrates and finds water,’ Cookey says.

‘Divining, twat,’ Blowers says as the others laugh.

‘Well. I think you’re divine, Sergeant Blowers.’

‘Aw, mate. Good recovery.’

‘I thank you,’ Cookey says with a grin while realising, with an insight into his own character, that he uses humour to deflect a lot of himself, especially when he’s being a bit thick.

‘Er, so… Boss? Can we take one of the vans and the command-and-control vehicle?’ Tappy asks. ‘They’ve both got good parts. The riot shield from the van, and the seats and some of the kit from the other one.’

A crackle. A hiss. A screech of feedback. They all turn to see Bash grinning from further inside the building, holding two radios up. ‘Is working!’

‘Yes!’ Howie says, rushing over to take one as Bashir scours through the debris to kick chunks of masonry away to find another, then another.

‘These are older closed loop sets. They must have kept them for backups,’ Henry says, passing one to Howie, then taking a good few steps away. ‘Henry to Howie, over?’

Cheers break out. Grins on their faces at finding something so simple and seemingly innocuous that was taken for granted in the old world. Now they’re essential, and the mood lifts instantly.

‘How many have we got?’ Howie asks.

‘This manies,’ Bash says, holding seven fingers up and thinking for a second. ‘Seven!’

‘Okay. Hot brief!’ Henry calls, motioning everyone in as he hands the radios out. ‘I suggest one for Tappy and one for Roy as the designated drivers. Then one for Sergeant Blowers. One for corporal Doyle. Mr Howie. Reginald, and the last one for me. Agreed? And going forward. We need two more drivers. One for the van. One for the command centre. Sergeant. Corporal. You have a radio each. You will drive those vehicles. Cookey, I suggest you jump in with Sergeant Blowers and take the police van, and Maddox, you jump in with Charlie and drive the command vehicle. Tappy in the Saxon. Roy in our vehicle. That’s a remarkably good turn of fortune for us. Big well done to Tappy for getting us here.’

Tappy beams a smile at the voices agreeing. Her beret still on her head. Her pink make-up still in place and looking awesome. All of them glowing with their achievement at navigating a flooded landscape to reach somewhere and get something.

‘Short hop to just south of Horsham to Christ’s School Hospital-.’ Henry starts to say.

‘Which is still the most confusing name ever,’ Cookey mutters while trying not to show reaction at Charlie and Maddox being put together.

‘Indeed. It is,’ Henry says with a quick smile. ‘Tappy, think you can navigate us there safely? Then once we are in situ, the plan, as suggested by our XO Paula, is to request a stopover for the night with a return to base in the morning. The base being our garden centre. Questions?’

‘When can I get my food hygiene certificate?’ Dave asks.

‘How about we plan for that when we return to base,’ Henry says.

‘Yes, Mr Henry. How old does someone have to be to supervise a learner driver?’

Henry blinks. Caught out like Howie was at the sudden change in conversation. ‘I think it’s twenty-one, isn’t it?’ Henry asks.

‘Twenty-one,’ Charlie and a few others say.

‘Are you over twenty-one, Marcy?’ Dave asks.

‘I am! Aw, do you want me to teach you how to drive?’

‘Yes, Marcy.’

‘I’d love that!’

‘How long have you held a licence for?’

‘Er, two years, I think?’

‘THREE!’ Howie coughs into his hand as she speaks. ‘Sorry! I think a fly went in my mouth,’ he adds as Dave gives him a very blank look and turns back to Marcy.

‘Three years,’ she says with a smile. ‘Ish,’ she adds, ‘but it’s fine! I’ll teach you.’

‘We need learner plates,’ Dave says, ‘and a dual control vehicle.’

‘Sure. Do we need to discuss this now?’ Henry asks and gets that same blank look from Dave as he remembers just how protective they all are over Dave, and that they need Dave to get into Krakov’s no doubt fortified mansion to pilfer his stockpile of weapons. Which means keeping Howie on side, which, in turn, means not upsetting Dave. ‘Actually. You’re right, Dave. You are so right, and yes, we should discuss this and plan for it,’ Henry says as Carmen shoots him a look that suggests he dials it down a touch.

Except Dave has said all he wants to say, and so he stands in stony-faced silence.

‘Was there anything else, Dave?’ Henry asks.

‘No.’

‘Right! Great! Questions from anyone else?’

‘Can I learn to drive?’ Danny asks.

‘Right. Yes. We’re having a whole discussion on it then, are we? But sure. Yes, Danny. We’ll rig that up. Any more questions?’

‘I can drive,’ Mo says. ‘But can I pass my test?’

‘We need to do a theory test,’ Dave says.

‘Can we study together?’ Danny asks.

‘Yes,’ Dave says.

‘I drive!’ Bash says.

‘Er, is he saying he can drive, or he wants to drive?’ Howie asks as Mo speaks to Bashir in their language.

‘Bash said he can drive, but he’s never driven in England and wants to learn too.’

‘Great! We’ll get on that asap,’ Henry says.

‘Can you drive, Reggie?’ Mo asks.

‘I cannot, Mo.’

‘You’s want to learn with us? We’re doing like a study group thing for the theory.’

‘You know what, Mo? I would enjoy that very much,’ Reginald says.

‘So, yeah, just putting it out there,’ Carmen blurts. ‘I’m also an accredited driver teacher person thing lady and, er, happy to show Reginald the controls and, er, spend time in a car together.’

Smooth, Blowers mouths and gets a discreet middle finger in response. ‘At least mine is alive,’ she mutters.

‘Who is?’ Howie asks.

‘Nobody,’ she replies.

‘Miaow,’ Blowers says.

‘What the fuck,’ Howie says. ‘How many conversations are we having right now? Anyway. Yes, everyone gets to drive cars and do certificates.’

‘Food hygiene certificates,’ Dave says.

‘What you said,’ Howie says.

‘Who will teach that?’ Dave asks as Howie goes to speak, then stops as they look to each other.

‘I think Marcy is also able to do that,’ Howie says.

‘Fuck it. Why not,’ Marcy says.

‘Good,’ Henry says. ‘Good, good, good. Glad that’s all sorted.’

‘Might have been real,’ Blowers mutters.

‘Just a dream,’ Carmen mutters.

‘Sorry?’ Henry asks.

‘Nothing,’ they both say.

‘Do you like my radio?’ Blowers asks, holding it an inch from Carmen’s face. ‘I get one cos I’m awesome.’

‘Still just a dream.’

‘And the briefing is now over,’ Henry says.

‘Use your radio in your dream, Sergeant,’ Carmen says.

‘Use your radio that you don’t have to not say the thing you won’t say,’ Blowers says as everyone looks at him.

‘Such a twat,’ Carmen says, rolling her eyes as she turns to smile at Reginald. ‘But I can’t wait for our driving lessons!’

‘Right, er, move up. We’re loading out!’ Howie calls, then frowns, and shrugs as they share glances and head off, with Cookey casting a look to Maddox and Charlie going towards their van.

‘Come on, cockchops, stop staring at Maddox’s arse,’ Blowers says, barging into his side. ‘Although, I must say he does have a very nice arse.’

‘Cheers!’ Maddox calls as the laughs rolls out.

The energy still high.

The rain still falling.

The floods still growing.

8

Four vehicles in a row.

The Saxon at the front.

Maddox and Charlie in the command-and-control vehicle behind it.

Blowers and Cookey behind them in a police riot van. The inside still stinking of cheeseburgers and stale sweat. The floor littered with broken pens and old forms, cast aside by lazy cops.

The Royal Mail van in the rear.

‘Has that command vehicle got seats in the back?’ Paula asks as she winces at the now soggy beanbags and wet camping chairs in the back of their van.

‘Yes,’ Howie, Henry, Frank, and Clarence all reply at the same time as making the same connection as Paula.

‘Chaps. Change of plan!’ Henry transmits through the old but-new-for-them radios.

A brief interlude of chaos then follows with swapsies taking place, until once more, there are four vehicles in a row. Albeit in slightly different order than the first time.

The Saxon up front. The stinky police van behind it, followed by the command vehicle, now driven by Roy, with the door open to the middle office section fitted with cushioned bench seats around a fold out table. Screens on the walls. Good lighting. Air-con, and even a desk to one side where Reginald spreads his map.

‘Oh, I like this,’ Paula says as the others agree that this is, indeed, much nicer. ‘And look! These bench seats fold up. So much storage. And overhead lockers. And what’s through that back door, Marce?’

‘Toilet!’ Marcy calls. ‘And a big gunrack and storage.’

‘Is it armoured?’ Howie asks.

‘It’s meant to be for small arms fire,’ Frank says. ‘But definitely against teeth and hands.’

‘Hmmm,’ Paula says thoughtfully. ‘Might have to convince Tappy to adapt this one and then use the Royal Mail van to carry our kit and supplies.

‘Do you know what I think will happen?’ Maddox asks, sitting behind them in the driver’s seat of the old Royal Mail van with Charlie behind the wheel. ‘I think Paula will want to keep that command vehicle and then use this one to carry kit and supplies.’

Charlie nods. ‘You’re very intuitive, Maddox.’

‘Cheers. Oh, and don’t drag me into your thing with Cookey.’

Charlie keeps nodding. ‘As I said. You’re very intuitive. And why aren’t we moving?’

‘Why aren’t we moving?’ Paula asks in the command vehicle.

‘I don’t know,’ Roy says from the front.

‘This van fucking stinks,’ Blowers says in the police van in front of them, behind the wheel, with Cookey next to him in the front passenger seat. ‘Didn’t they ever clean them? And why aren’t we moving?’

‘I’m just saying,’ Cookey says again as Blowers rolls his one good eye. ‘I would have put Charlie and me together, and then you and Carmen.’

‘Does it really fucking matter?’

‘No! I’m like. Just saying.’

‘Alright, Roy,’ Blowers says, getting a middle finger in reply from Cookey as he thumbs the radio. ‘Blowers to Tappy? All okay?’

‘Yep.’

‘Great. And we’re sitting still, why?’

‘Ah, nice one, sergeant Blowers,’ Paula says.

‘Blowers is asking her,’ Charlie says as though Maddox can’t hear the radio. Which he can.

‘I’m finking,’ Tappy transmits. ‘Yeah. I think it’ll work.’

‘What will?’ Blowers asks with a touch of trepidation as the others all frown and stare at the radio sets.

‘Okay! Follow me…’

‘She’s moving,’ Cookey says.

‘How did you know? Is it because she’s moving?’ Blowers asks as he pulls out behind the Saxon.

‘They’re moving, Roy,’ Paula says.

‘I know how to drive!’

‘Wow. Touchy.’

‘They’re pulling away,’ Maddox says in the rear as Charlie shoots him a look.

‘Did you want to drive?’

‘Did you want me to drive?’

‘No.’

‘Roger,’ Maddox says, giving a polite nod as Charlie pulls away, and the four vehicles, five including the trailer, set off from Gatwick Airport police station.

‘And I’m not involving you,’ Charlie adds.

‘Don’t want to know. Not my drama.’

‘Good.’

‘Great.’

‘Wasn’t going to tell you anyway.’

‘Great.’

‘Not that there is anything to tell.’

‘Awesome. Cos it’s really not my drama. Do you think we’ll do the strike on Krakov? I hope we do. Frank said if we get the greenlight, it’ll be me and him going out for a covert recce.’

‘Great. So, yeah, the whole Cookey thing,’ Charlie says as Maddox rolls his eyes.

‘I’m just saying,’ Paula says to Henry. ‘That maybe you could have put Cookey and Charlie together, and then Blowers and Carmen, or Maddox.’

‘A high-functioning team must be prepared to work with different people and not form cliques,’ Henry replies.

‘I’m just saying,’ Cookey says for the sixth time in a row.

‘Fuck me. Mate. Do you want talk about Charlie?’ Blowers asks.

‘Eh? No!’ Cookey says.

‘Cos like, er, it seems you do.’

‘Got nothing to say.’

‘Well, then don’t say it.’

‘I’m not! Are you getting it on with Carmen?’ Cookey asks suddenly.

‘Fuck off, am I! She’s a mate. People can be mates without needing to bang each other.’

‘Right. So, what was that about a dream?’

‘Nothing! And we’re talking about you and Charlie.’

‘Nothing to say.’

‘Well, I’ve got nothing to say too.’

Four vehicles in a row, with Tappy at the front, driving past the blackened remains of Gatwick Airport train station. The landscape still covered in debris. Some of it she pushes away with the Saxon to create a path for the other vehicles. Other bigger chunks of fuselages and airplane wheels she goes around, snaking slightly west until she finds a gap on the left and drives over broken ground. The other vehicles following, with the people inside wondering where the hell she is going.

‘Tappy, I can’t pull the trailer over much more of this,’ Charlie transmits.

‘Two mins, then it smooths out,’ Tappy says as they all share looks and shrugs, and two minutes later, they drive out onto the train line. Four sets of tracks forming a wide, clear run ahead, mostly free of obstructions.

A bounce over the lines, and Tappy finds the middle section with the hard, dense gravel used by utility vehicles, forming a perfect base to drive on.

‘Alright, genius!’ Charlie transmits as the others share smiles at Tappy’s smart thinking.

‘This will run all the way to Horsham,’ Tappy transmits and sets off south. Following the tracks. A few bumps. A slight vibration, but it’s smoother and much straighter than any other route.

‘Holy fucking fuck,’ Nick says, wincing at the train derailment ahead at Three Bridges station. The same thing in many stations across the country, with trains stopping to flee the infection, and other trains trying to speed through, only to impact and crash, and slam carriages through buildings.

They manage to get the vehicles around the mangled wreckage. Going slow to see wildlife sheltering inside the broken and twisted carriages. Birds on seats and tables and flying through the inside and plucking foam from seats to use in nests.

Another family of foxes glimpsed in the station. The cubs chasing each other without a care in the world at the rotting corpses around them.

‘Carmen, look left,’ Blowers says into the radio as they pass the end of a carriage lying on its side. ‘There are plants growing up it already.’

A few seconds to slow and marvel at the sight, and what it means.

‘That’s bindweed,’ Carmen transmits to them all. ‘Takes a tiny bit to establish; then it grows like crazy. Two or three months from now, most of that carriage will be covered in it. It flowers too, with white buds. There it is, guys. That’s the brave, new world right there.’

It resonates and means something because within all the death and carnage, there is already new life forming.

It gives power to what Howie said earlier. That they’ve done enough. They’ve killed hundreds of thousands. Maybe millions. Who knows how many? And they’ve gathered survivors together, and although the fort is a stinking place of shit to most of them, they still fought for it and died for it, and it’s only functioning now because of what they did.

They roll on by in near reflective silence and follow the tracks sweeping to the right, heading west and snaking towards Horsham.

The rain lashing down as hard as ever. The daylight low and muted. The heavy, dense, dark grey clouds looking so low it feels like they could reach up and touch them. But even within that miserable rain, there is a sense of something greater happening.

It’s as though the world has reacted to the violence and carnage and turned the taps on to stop them all fighting and clean the diseased bodies away, and douse the fires.

They pass through Crawley’s main station, and thankfully, no derailed carriages. One remains static on the tracks. A long line of carriages that will now stay there forever until they rust away, leaving only the plastic to remain intact for thousands of years.

A few moments later, they’re out of the city and into the countryside, still heading west as they follow the tracks to Horsham. Standing water on the fields to the north. The new great lake visible to the south.

Such is the weather and the scenery, and the days spent within the garden centre that they don’t realise they’ve been through Horsham before until they reach the train station and another derailment.

Tappy frowns, sensing something familiar about it as they round the last bend and spot the carriages slammed through the station buildings. The way they’ve come to rest. The angles. Jarring in a way, but the new angle of approach throws her off until they spot it.

The thing they saw before.

‘Oh, shit!’ Nick says. ‘We’ve been here. Where’s the radio? Boss, we’ve been here!’

‘Have we?’ Howie asks. ‘We can’t see ahead.’

‘Hang on,’ Roy says in the front of the command vehicle. ‘I found a button… Are the screens on?’ he asks as Clarence reaches out to flick the switch on the side of the closest screen which comes to life with an instant high-definition view of the rear.

‘There’s a remote,’ Carmen says, taking one out of a side pocket. She presses an image of two screens, and the monitor switches to a split screen showing dual feeds from the front and rear.

‘Oh god. Yes! We’ve been here,’ Howie says, seeing the same thing that Nick saw. ‘Tappy, pull into the station somewhere.’

They bounce and jolt over tracks and hedges, then over a verge, and get onto the station forecourt to the same spot as last time, with all of them dropping out into the rain with gentle smiles of expectation as they look up to the train carriage poking out the side of the office building.

But they don’t stare at that.

They stare at the big hole in the wall a couple of levels below the train, to an empty swing-back office chair surrounded by potted plants. A sudden need in all of them. A sudden worry forming because he’s not there.

‘Maybe he left,’ Paula says as they all glance, then spot the grin forming on Howie’s face and spin back to see Train Guy coming into view with a big smile of his own showing clear. His trouser legs still rolled up, and wearing a bright pink Hawaiian shirt, with that same aura of utter calm radiating from his core.

He stops near the edge and stares down at them. A big man with Friar Tuck hair and a hand that lifts to offer a very cool greeting.

‘Rainy day,’ he says casually.

‘Very rainy,’ Howie says. ‘Er, did you know you had a train stuck in your building?’

‘I did,’ Train Guy says with another smile as he sits down on his office chair. ‘Mr Howie,’ he adds with a nod.

‘Mr Train Guy,’ Howie says. ‘Nice pink shirt.’

‘May the pink be with you. But let me ask you the same question you asked me when I said I was on that train,’ Train Guy says. ‘How the hell did you survive that?’

‘Gatwick?’ Howie asks. Train Guy nods once, and Howie rubs his chin. ‘I don’t know. Did you see it?’

‘Everyone saw it. And felt it. Even the fort. And I am sorry for the loss of Joan.’

Howie frowns. Thrown off by his knowledge.

‘Tilda passed through on her return,’ Train Guy says to explain. His tone, his aura, his energy, his very being so absolutely calm.

‘Can you see his energy?’ Charlie whispers to Danny who nods with a face of awe.

‘Not see, not like… With my eyes, but yeah,’ Danny whispers. ‘It’s like… Like green. Soft and gentle, but full, and dense.’

‘My aura?’ Train Guy asks with a smile at Danny.

‘You’ve got the hearing of a bat too then,’ Howie says.

‘I do now. I didn’t before. And my aura was not green before which meant I was unable to listen. But then we never listened, did we? Now though. Now I think we do. But I can’t help notice you’re missing another one.’

‘He died,’ Howie says.

Train Guy nods quietly as just that alone is enough for him to understand more than anything being said with words. ‘I’m sure there were reasons. Clarence. Your hand.’

‘It fell off.’

Train Guy smiles. ‘And Reginald, your fingers. Danny too. Mo, your ear. Tappy, you broke your nose? You have all been through the wars. But yet… And yet…’ he adds with that enigmatic smile as he leans forward slightly. ‘Here you are.’

‘Here we are,’ Howie says, unable, like the others, to take his eyes off the man in the building. ‘Have you got a name yet?’

‘Nope. Have you released the Panacea yet?’

‘Nope. How do you know?’

‘They released the information in the fort to quell an uprising from the travellers and to give reason for the immunes being gathered there. Word is, it’s giving people hope, Mr Howie. Not just in the fort either.’

‘An uprising?’ Paula asks. ‘Are they all okay?’

‘It was dealt with by Captain George Shaw and young Lilly. Forgive me passing this on in this way. I know you lost comms during the battle for Gatwick, as it has now come to be known, and I am assuming this is your first foray since that fight.’

‘Yeah. First day out. So, people tell you these things when they pass through?’ Howie asks.

‘People are following the tracks to reach places,’ Train Guy says with a nod to the station. ‘Like I said. People did not listen before. Now they do, and they share what they know too. Tilda also checks in now and then. There is a small train station, more just a platform really, alongside Christ’s Hospital School, which survivors pass by and share information, and I see Heather and Paco time to time.’

‘They’re okay?’ Paula asks quickly.

Train Guy shrugs and thinks for a moment. ‘I am sure Heather will impart anything of herself when she feels such a need. She is a very private person, but also wholly resilient. One of yours, I would say, Mr Howie.’

‘Do you have any usable intel for us?’ Henry asks.

‘Major,’ Train Guy says, dipping his head with greeting. ‘Yes, you need to be aware of a massing around Winchester. There is a commune of survivors there.’

‘We’re going for the Panacea,’ Howie says. ‘After we’ve visited Tilda.’

‘Do you have intel on the numbers?’ Reginald asks.

‘I would suggest a lot. Infected have been seen heading there for days now.’

‘I saw them. When I went after Booker,’ Maddox says. ‘I reported it to Henry.’

‘They were heading to Winchester then,’ Henry says.

‘Will you give aid?’ Train Guy asks, staring down to Howie with a level gaze.

‘And if we do, then where next? And where after that? And after that? When do we stop and get the Panacea out?’ Howie asks, an edge to his voice, a sudden change to the energy in the air.

‘It is a judgment call only you can make, Mr Howie. But you must make the right one. Each battle risks your death, and if your small team dies, who else can reach that Panacea? And yet… But yet… Word has spread, and people lie in hope that they will see you coming to their rescue. The Saxon. The giant. The archer. The horse, and her rider. The valiant soldiers under the command of Sergeant Blowers. They pray Reginald will plan a way to reach them, and they pray Major Henry will find a way to get there, and they pray Mr Howie and Dave will come during the darkest moments. Hope is a powerful thing, Mr Howie. It’s giving people a reason to endure. They are already speaking of Frank and Carmen. They already know the name of Bashir. You saved thousands at Gatwick, and many more on the way there.’

‘We can’t do both! We can’t fight in every fucking town and get the Panacea? Henry said that. We did Gatwick and almost died. And the people we are saving just fucking moan.’

‘Not to me, they don’t. You don’t see you. The lamp can see everything in the room from the glow it gives, apart from itself because it can never not be the lamp. But without it, nothing in the room can be seen because everything will be in darkness.’

‘And when do we stop?’ Howie demands as though this man alone has the answer. ‘We go to Winchester. And then where? When do we stop and get the Panacea?’

‘When it is right to do that, but only when it is right. Which is that judgement call only you can make, and not because of a few entitled, miserable souls. Fuck those souls, Mr Howie!’ he says with a great boom in his voice that makes most of them laugh. ‘If you focus only on the miserable, you will see only the miserable. But more importantly. Much more importantly,’ he says while leaning forward with a great sense of focus pouring from his very being. ‘You’ve done an excellent job on your hair, Charlie. You look radiant!’

‘Thank you,’ she says with genuine feeling.

‘And the makeup,’ he adds, smiling from Charlie to Tappy, then to Carmen, and Marcy, and finally, to Paula. ‘You don’t see you the way others do. The message you bring to others while wearing pink, with outrageous hair while all around there is nothing but death and darkness. That’s bold. That’s courage. That’s the hope. Right! Now, bugger off if you please. I am a man of leisure, and my animals are waiting.’

A flick of his head, and they all turn with mutters of surprise to see hundreds of birds on every ledge and roof watching and waiting in silence. Foxes too, and badgers further along. A weasel poking her nose out from a hedge. A great sense from them all for this trespassing group to go, so they can come and eat the food thrown down.

‘Do you need anything?’ Howie asks as Train Guy smiles.

‘Only you and Tilda, and Heather ever ask me that. Speaks volumes. Does it not? But I am fine. Although, perhaps, in time if you source a reliable form of long-range radio communication, you can leave one here.’

‘Leave it with me,’ Paula says. ‘I’ll see it gets done.’

‘And that is word one can trust,’ Train Guy says. ‘I’ll see you again soon.’

Howie nods and turns away, but pauses with a glance back. ‘Do you think you’ll ever choose a new name?’

‘Do you think you’ll ever bugger off? Oh, and Howie? May the pink be with you.’

‘Alright, mate,’ Howie says with a laugh and a wave.

Then they’re off.

Four vehicles in a row, five with the horsebox.

Four vehicles heading back onto the tracks to reach the Christ’s Hospital School Station.

Train Guy watches them leave.

A feeling inside that they are all at a fork in the road.

One way leads to victory.

The other to darkness.

9

‘Interesting,’ Henry says in the rear of the command vehicle while drumming his fingers on the desk.

‘A good asset, I believe you call such things,’ Reginal says.

‘Absolutely,’ Henry says, watching the CCTV feeds on the screens as they bounce gently along the gravel strip to the side of the train tracks.

‘Do you think he’s infected?’ Paula asks, getting looks from the others. ‘I don’t know. I just get a vibe now. I mean. I thought for ages Maddox wasn’t immune but infected, and that was right. Howie, give me your radio… Tappy, it’s Paula. Ask Danny if Train Guy is infected.’

‘Danny can’t possibly know that,’ Henry says.

‘Er, yeah, Danny says yes,’ Tappy says.

‘Ask him how he knows,’ Paula transmits.

‘Hang on... So, he said he doesn’t know how he knows. And now he’s on the spot, he’s worried he’s wrong, but, like, his instinct back then was that Train Guy is infected. Or at least he is projecting his energy aura thingy like we all do.’

‘Okay. Thank you, Tappy. And thank you, Danny!’ Paula says.

‘Well. That’s about as scientific as my arse,’ Frank says as the others shrug and flap hands out because it’s about all they’ve got to go on. ‘Saying that. He’s probably right,’ Frank adds as the non-verbal body language changes to nods and expressions of agreement.

‘Winchester then, eh?’ Henry says.

‘Sizeable massing,’ Reginald says.

‘Panacea,’ Howie says.

‘You two have switched roles,’ Carmen says, motioning Henry and Howie. ‘Now Henry’s all up for it, and Howie just wants it done.’

‘No, you’re right. You are very right. We go for the Panacea,’ Henry says with a nod at Howie. ‘We stick to the plan. Bed down for the night here. Get back to HQ tomorrow and get Tappy to make whatever mods she needs while I deploy Frank and Maddox to recce Krakov’s location. Then we strike. Get weapons and head to London.’

‘Ahem,’ Marcy says.

‘And hold a dinner party,’ Henry says with a smile and a gentle, comical eyeroll. ‘As if we could forget.’

‘Can I help cook please, Marcy?’ Dave asks.

‘Help? You’ll be the main chef!’ she says.

‘Do kitchen personnel have ranks?’ Dave asks.

‘They do actually. So, I’m the Executive Chef. That means the planner, and then you’re the head chef, so that means you’re in charge of the actual kitchen.’

‘I am not sufficiently trained. What is the bottom rank?’

‘Er, so I guess the KP? Like the kitchen porter? They wash the dishes and do basic tasks. And you’ve done a lot of that which means you’ve gone past that rank. So then, the next would be a Commis Chef, I guess. Like a junior chef in training, sort of, ish.’

‘I am a commis chef,’ Dave says with a hint of pride.

‘Okay,’ Marcy says thoughtfully. ‘So, like, I’m guessing you want to actually work up through the ranks? Like properly.’

‘Yes.’

‘Alright! Sure,’ Marcy says, giving him her real slightly lopsided smile. ‘You remind me so much of Davey… But then you don’t. I mean. I don’t know. You do, and you don’t.’

‘Davey had autism then?’ Paula asks.

‘Yeah, but er, way more than Dave. And learning difficulties. He couldn’t survive independently or like, ever get a job or anything. We took turns with him in the family because they kept cutting the funding in the homes he went to during the day. Anyway! Anyway, anyway, anyway. Life moves on. This rain, eh? Hot though. Very muggy.’

Tears in her eyes as she smiles and shakes the memories away, prompting Paula to pull Marcy over to kiss her head as even Frank gives her a wink. ‘There’s more to you than those looks, eh, Busty McGoo. And we need to get Dave an apron with his name on it. And a chef’s hat.’

The smiles show on all of them as Dave feels that thing inside again. The fuzzy sensation that he could never put into words or even show with an expression. Memories of childhood. Foster homes. School. Being called a spas and a retard. Memories that are neither good nor bad because to Dave they are factual, but even so, the emotional impact is still there, it’s just deeper inside. Another memory surges up from when he underwent SAS training and excelled at marches over distance. Survival training, and escape and evasion. Weapons handling. Physical combat. He excelled at everything. Every instructor reported back that Dave was, by far, the most outstanding candidate they had ever known. Until the interrogation training. Which Dave did not excel at. It was too nuanced. It was too grey. He could either not tell them anything, no matter what they did to him, or he’d tell them everything. There was no in-between. They told him to lie and even told him what lies to tell to try and get him through it, but even that coaching made him so confused he didn’t know what to do.

The instructors were good. They said it wasn’t his fault, and if it was up to them, they’d put him through.

But then Dave was never intended to be an SAS trooper. He was destined for something else, and he went straight to it because, to George, the fact that Dave’s autism meant he would take any information to his death no matter what torture he was subjected to, might not have made him the best SAS candidate, but it made Dave the best operative by far.

Now here he is. In another team, and although he can’t express it, Dave wouldn’t change it for anything. This feeling. Being with these people.

Neither would Clarence. Sitting on the bench seat and taking up the space of three normal sized people.

His upper body wrapped in leather straps, and his heavy metal spike resting on the desk. His eyes moving to each person as they speak. Taking it all in. Smiling and showing emotions and reactions. Being here. Being a part of them all.

He smiles at Paula with a long second of eye contact as Marcy cracks a joke, and he laughs at the idea of Dave in an apron and a chef’s hat, and they roll along the gravel section next to the tracks. The seconds ticking by that form minutes.

A nice day. A good day.

The end is in sight.

A night here in Horsham with Tilda.

A day or two back at the Garden Centre.

Then London.

Then it’s done. Over.

And so the four vehicles move along the tracks, holding the people Howie loves. The people that he drew together to do this thing.

This thing that is nearly over, because Howie no longer wishes to fight.

You will fight. Or I will take what you love.

Words spoken in a dream now forgotten. And even if Howie did remember, the threat is so vague it could mean anything.

I will take what you love

Take what?

Take who?

Dave feeling a glow inside?

Clarence feeling centred and balanced?

Reginald thinking fast?

Paula mentally making lists about what they need?

Marcy tutting at her gaffer taped finger.

Blowers and Cookey bantering in the police van.

Nick in the Saxon.

Charlie driving the back-up van.

Tappy at the front.

Mo and Danny joking together.

Roy with his bow.

Each one of them a force within their own right, who together form a collective energy that cannot see itself.

They are the lamp.

But it’s nearly over.

And surely nothing can happen today. Not in this rain, and anyway, the infected have all been killed in this area.

But then, as Howie always says, something seems to happen every half an hour.

And there hasn’t been anything for a while now.

Which means it can all change.

In an instant.

10

Christ’s Hospital Train Station

Horsham

Day Thirty-Five

‘We’re here!’ Tappy transmits, slowing the Saxon on seeing a wall of sandbags ahead around the base of a scaffolding tower. A sentry at the top wearing a NATO helmet and waving at the approaching vehicles. A teenage girl in waterproof clothing.

Another teenage soldier appears. Waving them towards a ramp on the left side, with Tappy taking the lead. Bumping the Saxon over the tracks into the station car park. A place now fortified with metal fencing and chest high sandbags, but in the style of World War Two. No doubt from the Netflix production being shot here just as the outbreak hit.

They come to a stop and open doors to drop out as a young man with spotty cheeks rushes over with a salute to the elders coming out of the command vehicle. ‘Corporal Rogers!’ Henry says, remembering the lad from the previous visit, which, in turn, makes the corporal glow with pride. ‘At ease, corporal.’

‘Sirs! So good! So good, Sirs!’ Rogers says, unable to hide the grin as Henry and the others spot the thin, pink ribbon tied to his arm. ‘Sirs, if you follow me, Sirs. I can lead you to HQ.’

‘Of course, Corporal. Be glad to follow,’ Henry says as Corporal Rogers salutes again while grinning and runs off with excited looks to the lads and the vehicles. The sentry in the tower waving a piece of pink fabric as Rogers gets into a small Mini and pulls ahead onto the road, and waits for them to load back up and set off behind him.

A moment later, they’re on The Avenue, heading towards the quadrant of school buildings. The same ones they came charging towards a week ago when it was under attack. Solid metal fencing still surrounds it. Electrified and fed by powerful generators.

Sentry points fortified by sandbags. An air of military, but clean and ordered, and a set of fortified heavy solid metal gates ahead giving access to the inner courtyard of the quadrant of buildings.

‘It would appear Corporal Rogers has radioed ahead,’ Henry remarks as they see children pouring out from different places, and the big security gates swinging open.

They head through and come to a gradual stop, with children running from the buildings. Younger ones, and plenty of older teenagers in combat fatigues.

But the reaction is palpable and electric, bringing forth a very strange feeling as the lads drop out of the Saxon. Blowers and Cookey. Charlie and Maddox. Meredith dropping out. The mighty Saxon. The new command vehicle. Roy and Bashir, and the elders. The giant. Dave. Major Henry. Frank. Carmen. Paula. Marcy. Reginald.

All of them in pink berets. The women in wild, pink make-up that was worn as a private joke within their own tribe but now, here, in this place, it becomes an instant thing of wonder as the teenagers and children run forward to gather around them with looks of absolute awe.

The soldier students saw them in Gatwick when they went to give aid.

When they went to war, to give battle.

Heroes within their own tribes that came back having scored kills, but they spoke of what they saw.

The devastation.

The tens of thousands of bodies.

The fires.

The destruction.

The injuries they had, and how they walked out of that battle with their heads high.

And now they’re back.

And it’s true.

They’re wearing pink!

‘The make-up!’ Ali says, staring at Charlie. A young Asian student. Seventeen and in a soldier’s uniform. But she’s never seen such a sight. Never in her life has she seen women presenting in this way in real life, with such bold and striking make-up. Especially with the hats. ‘Tam, look! Charlie and Tappy, and that’s Carmen… And Paula… Oh my god, Marcy’s so beautiful.’

‘But Charlie though, Ali,’ Tamara says. Seventeen and Ali’s best friend. ‘Oh god. She’s got a mohawk. Her hair! She has! And Tappy’s shaved hers.’

‘They all have,’ Ali says excitedly as she grips her friend’s arm. ‘Look, look, look! Danny and Mo!’

‘Eh?’ Mo says, looking over at Danny.

‘What?’ Danny asks.

‘I thought you called me.’

‘No,’ Danny says as he brings his rifle up to rest in the crook of his arms in the same way Mo does, that Nick does, that Blowers and Cookey, and Tappy, and the others all do. The way they stand. The way they look. The way they’re dressed. The energy they give off. An aura of absolute competence. That nothing is beyond them. That nothing could ever defeat them because the student soldiers saw what they did at Gatwick.

Especially now, with the giant form of Clarence towering over everyone, with thick leather straps across his chest and back and a big metal spike fitted to his right arm.

But as the teenagers and children look to them, so the lads and the elders look to the children and teenagers with quizzical shared looks because they’re all wearing pink ribbons around their arms. Some thick like armbands. Others thinner from whatever they could find. T-shirts and shorts torn into rags to be shared out and tied off.

Every single one of them.

‘May the pink be with you,’ Howie mutters, thinking back to what Train Guy said in his bright pink Hawaiian shirt while smiling a knowing smile. ‘What the actual fuck…’

A thump from the back. A loud and angry thump from Jess kicking her trailer. She can smell people. She can hear them. She’s been here before. She wants to see it. Why is she still locked in? Why? Why? Why?

‘Alright!’ Charlie says, kicking the bolt out, with the ramp dropping as Jess thunders out, and the collective gasp goes up at the sight of the magnificent horse running free along the line of students gathered in a circle, flicking her legs up high, her flanks shining, and her mane bouncing, and she turns in the middle to rear and kick the air with a loud snort. ‘She is such a show off,’ Charlie calls, earning ripples of laughter because Charlie spoke to them and made a joke.

‘Attention!’ Corporal Rogers shouts, running back from parking his vehicle, and the students snap to it. Standing upright and giving smart salutes. ‘Welcome back, Sirs!’ Rogers says, offering yet another salute of his own.

‘Thank you, Corporal Rogers. At ease, everyone!’ Henry calls.

‘SIX BLOODY DAYS!’ a loud female voice shouts from the back as a gap forms in the children gathered around them, with Tilda Tanners striding through. ‘Six days! Six days without a word, Frank McGill!’

‘Don’t blame me!’ Frank says.

‘I will blame you!’ she says, coming to a stop to offer a salute as the smile spreads. ‘Major Henry. Mr Howie. Welcome back.’

‘Major Tanners,’ Henry says, striding over to shake her hand as she offers the same to Howie.

‘We’ve gone past handshakes, Tilda,’ Paula says, pulling her into a hug. ‘It’s good to see you. And I am sorry about not contacting you. I should have thought about it.’

‘Nonsense. The state of you when it finished,’ Tilda says, clearly meaning Gatwick. ‘And I am sorry for the loss of Joan, but I can see you’re missing another?’

‘We’ll fill you in later,’ Paula says quietly before smiling out at the gathered children. ‘Who are the ones that came to our aid?’

‘Number One Regiment! Front and centre, form two lines!’ Tilda orders as a dozen or so older teenagers in combat fatigues run forward into two ranks, with Corporal Rogers rushing next to a stocky, young Asian man with sergeant’s stripes.

‘All present, Major!’ the sergeant reports in clear English with a trace accent.

‘Thank you, Sergeant Thapa.’

‘Thapa?’ Frank asks as he and Henry look to the young sergeant. ‘Namaste, nips. Gurkha?’

‘Namaste,’ the Asian sergeant says formally, bringing his hands together. ‘I am not, Sir. My father was.’

‘He was,’ Frank says, striding over to clasp the lad’s hand. ‘Served with him. Sergeant Gurratan Thapa.’

‘I knew Gury,’ Henry says, taking his turn to shake the lad’s hand. ‘He was an outstanding soldier. What’s your name?’

‘Bibek Thapa, Sir.’

‘Good to meet you, Sergeant. You have a fine unit.’

‘Thank you, Major.’

‘They’re all the older children here?’ Howie asks Tilda.

‘They are, and they don’t like the word children,’ Tilda says. ‘They’re all aged sixteen to eighteen. Our Number One Regiment. Then we have Number Two Regiment, which are aged thirteen to fifteen, then number three and so on. It was Number One Regiment that deployed after Marcy came here.’

‘I didn’t ask for them to come, Howie,’ Marcy says quickly. ‘I only came here for the old soldiers.’

‘That is correct. We self-deployed,’ Tilda says. ‘Which, I might add, I had to do because Number One Regiment wanted to get stuck in, and I don’t think I could have stopped them. Bibi was outstanding,’ she adds with a look to her sergeant.

Howie nods. Stepping forward to look at them all. Seeing people the same age as Danny and Mo, but different because they look so much younger.

He glances over to the two lads. Shorn off fingers, and missing chunks of ears. Scars on their faces and arms. Hardened by battles, and both sharing smiles with two young women in the front rank, who quickly look back to Howie, as the others do. All of them staring at the man with dark, curly hair and dark eyes. An intensity about him. Dark and brooding, and the pink beret only seems to magnify it. Like it’s worn in defiance. Like he’s taunting the infected because he is that unafraid. That’s what they say about him. Those are the stories told at night about Howie and Dave. That they have no fear. Stories retold by people travelling along the tracks. People that Howie and his team rescued in towns and villages all over the south. People that went to the fort and then came back out to seek loved ones. People who heard the train lines are the secret links to be used quietly. People who stop and share words with Train Guy, who tells others to spread that hope.

Howie sees all of that in an instant, but then, as Reginald always said, it’s easy to forget how quick Howie’s mind is, and in that second, Howie realises the berets they wore in Rye, for a bet, for a laugh, to break the tension, were seen by the survivors they rescued, who they sent to the fort. Who would have told them what they saw, and so the word spread.

‘We’ve become a cult,’ he whispers to Henry and the others around him. ‘But er, thank you,’ he calls to the two ranks of young people standing proud.

‘More,’ Henry whispers into his hand.

‘And it’s important to add,’ Howie blurts. ‘That… Er… Fuck me, do you know how hard it is to not swear around children?’ he asks with that self-effacing grin as the energy softens, and the laughs rolls out. ‘Yeah, listen. What you did. Jesus. You got us out of the shit big time. That’s bravery, that is. That’s courage. You must have seen the explosions, and you still came to help us. We’ll never forget that. Thank you,’ he says with real meaning.

‘Thank you,’ Henry adds.

‘Thank you,’ Clarence’s deep voice rumbles out with Paula and Marcy. Carmen and Frank. Bashir and Roy, all repeating it.

‘Yeah. They were alright,’ Sergeant Blowers says with a casual shrug, making the Number One Regiment laugh. ‘Well done. Good skills.’

They visibly swell from that praise coming from the Sergeant Blowers in his eye-patch.

‘Urgh, too formal for me,’ Paula says, breaking rank to hug Corporal Rogers. ‘I’m a hugger.’

‘She is. Anyone not into hugging better run,’ Clarence says, breaking rank to join Paula in patting shoulders and backs, with Meredith running around legs. Sniffing hands and getting strokes, with Jess barging in to get some attention. The energy relaxing and flowing organically.

‘Hi, Danny!’ Ali says, smiling shyly.

‘Hi!’ Tamara says. ‘Hi, Mo, is it okay to call you Mo?’

‘Is Mo Mo, innit,’ Mo says, sharing a quick smile with Danny. ‘So, what’s your names then?’

‘I’m Tam. Tamara. And this is Ali.’

‘It’s just Ali,’ Ali says. ‘Charlie’s so beautiful! And her makeup.’

‘And her hair,’ Tamara says.

‘You’s want to say hello?’ Mo asks. ‘Charlie? Come and say hi to Tam and Ali.’

‘Hello,’ Charlie says, exuding refined confidence with her striking looks and cultured voice. She shakes their hands. Smiling at each of them.

‘Is that a mohawk?’ Ali asks, still feeling in a state of shocked awe.

‘My hair?’ Charlie asks with a laugh as she pulls the hat off.

‘So cool,’ Ali says.

‘I want one,’ Tam whispers. ‘And your eyes.’

‘We were just having some fun last night, and Marcy came up with the idea,’ Charlie says. ‘She might show you how if you ask her.’

‘I couldn’t even speak to her,’ Ali whispers with a wide-eyed look. ‘Noooo.’

‘Marcy!’ Charlie calls, nodding for her to come over. ‘Meet Ali and Tam. They were just saying how much they like our makeup.’

‘Hi!’ Marcy says, beaming her big movie star smile. ‘What gorgeous names. And how pretty are you two! I bet the boys here are going weak at the knees! You know what you need? You need two hench bodyguards,’ she says with a wink and a nod at Danny and Mo.

Tam and Ali don’t speak. They can’t. They saw Marcy the first time when Howie brought his team here, and then, when she came back during the battle. But she was different then. Powerful. Darker. And she was in and out, and they deployed fast. But now she’s right in front of them, and everything everyone ever said about her is true. The aura she has that projects a captivating radiance that seems to make the air around her shine brighter. The infection within enhancing the skills already possessed by the host. Strength. Speed. Beauty. Whatever they have is made better.

‘So?’ Marcy asks gently, playfully, detecting their nerves. ‘Did you want some makeup on?’

‘Seriously?’ Ali says, darting a look from Marcy’s to Charlie’s eyes, then over to Tappy. ‘Like. Like the same as yours?’

‘Sure! It’s in my bag. Only takes a minute,’ Marcy says as Tamara thinks to say it might not work on her black skin as Carmen walks past. Darker skinned, and still with the same pink make-up showing clear, and so Tam stays silent and follows Marcy to the command vehicle, heading behind Howie and the others talking to Tilda.

‘So yes, if that’s okay, we’d love to spend the night,’ Paula says. ‘If you’ve got space, that is.’

‘Of course! Glad to have you.’

‘Chaps!’ Mr Leeson shouts as he rushes over, already holding his hand out. ‘My apologies! I was on the far side. Major Henry! Mr Howie. Good show! Glad to see you back on your feet. Heard all about it. May the pink be with you!’

‘Fuck off!’ Howie says in shock.

‘Language!’ Mr Leeson says.

‘No, but is that an actual thing now? Train Guy said it.’

‘Train Guy?’ Tilda asks, thinking for a second. ‘Oh, Guru Tuck! That’s what we call him. Cos of the hair. But yes. I think it has caught on. The whole pink thing has actually.’

‘We are. We’re an actual cult,’ Howie says.

‘Language!’

‘I said cult not cunt,’ Howie says as someone shouts from the gate they came through.

‘Major Tanners!’ a teenage girl in fatigues calls as she pushes through the other children and young people.

‘Gildy. What is it?’ Tilda asks, showing instant concern at the girl’s tone.

‘Report from the station, Major. Family passing through said there is a big flood heading south.’

‘Flood? Where from? Which direction?’ Tilda asks, motioning for everyone to be quiet with a single wave of her hand.

‘I wrote it down,’ Gildy says, unfolding a piece of paper. ‘The Queen Mother Reservoir? And that’s gone into the, er, The Wrays… something Reservoir?’

‘The Wraysbury,’ Henry says.

‘They’re very big reservoirs,’ Roy adds. ‘Close to the Thames too.’

‘And we’re south of that location,’ Henry says.

‘Well. Southeast,’ Roy says. ‘But yeah. That much water is a worry.’

‘How long ago was this, Gildy?’ Henry asks. ‘Ah, my apologies, Tilda. Stepping on your toes. Terrible habit.’

‘Ask away, Major Henry. You have rank here.’

‘Too kind. Gildy? How long?’

‘I think they said recently, Major.’

‘And is this family still at the station?’ Henry asks.

‘I think so. The sentry radioed down. Er, should I ask?’

‘I’ll do it,’ Tilda says, taking the radio from the young soldier. ‘Station, this is HQ. Come in, over.’

‘Station, receiving, over.’

‘Do we have a family there reporting floods?’

‘Answer yes. Affirmative.’

‘Put them on,’ Tilda orders into the radio.

‘Er, hello?’

‘Major Tanners here. Second in command at Christ’s Hospital. Our sentry should have briefed that we can provide basic medical aid and rations. But just quickly, these floods? What do you know?’

‘Er, we were in Guildford. Like,’ a male voice replies with a Birmingham accent. ‘That’s where we’re from. Though not originally cos I’m from Tamworth like. But yeah, we hid like for weeks. It was bad. You know. Like really bad, and someone said about the fort, and someone else said there’s people at Winchester. But we were alright. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Sorry. Cutting in. The floods?’ Tilda asks.

‘Right! Sorry. Bit shocked. So, er, yeah, Guildford was hit. But we got some food from the local Aldi like when it first happened, and so we were alright. Do you know what I mean?’

‘And the floods?’

‘The floods! Sorry. Yeah, so, like I say, we’re from Guildford, and we were doing alright. And someone said you can go to the fort. But we were alright.’

‘If he says that one more bloody time,’ Howie mutters.

‘Sir! The floods.’ Tilda says in a firmer voice.

‘Alright! Jesus. I’m not a soldier! We’re doing our best. God. That’s so rude. Are you in charge?’

‘Give me that radio!’ Howie says.

‘Stop it!’ Paula says, slapping his hand away as Mr Leeson takes the radio from Tilda.

‘Hello, sir. Mr Leeson here. Headteacher. And of course, we are happy to hear you, but we really must press you on these floods. Are they dangerous?’

‘God, yeah! They’re massive. So, like I was saying, we’re from Guildford, and we were doing alright… And then it went tits up. The infected zombie things were all there, but they weren’t before, and then they came back and went through, and they killed loads. Or like bit them anyway. And we hid. Cos we had that food from Aldi. In Guildford. Which is where we’re from… And then this morning, we saw the floods right at the edge on the northern side. That’s where we’re from. Near the Aldi. And so we scarpered.’

‘Hold,’ Henry says before Mr Leeson can reply. ‘May I?’ he asks, taking the radio. ‘Sir. Major Campbell Dillington. Two questions. Straight answers only. What direction were the infected moving in?’

‘Er. So. Like I said. We’re from Guildford.’

‘I will actually shoot him,’ Howie says.

‘Gladly,’ Paula says.

‘And er, they went past our Aldi towards Winchester.’

‘Panacea. Don’t care,’ Howie says. ‘The floods?’

‘I’m asking him about the floods,’ Henry says.

‘Good. And if he bloody says he’s from Guildford again, I want Blowers and Cookey up there, doing a day five petrol station on him.’

‘What was that?’ Paula asks.

‘Annoying bloke,’ Blowers says.

‘We convinced him to strip, then tied his trousers to the Saxon, and drove off,’ Cookey adds.

‘The floods?’ Henry asks into the radio.

‘Er, yeah, so, as I said, we’re from Guildford…’

‘Give me that fucking radio,’ Howie says.

‘You know what. Have it. He’s got this coming,’ Henry says, passing it over.

‘Right, you listen to me, you seething sack of festering fuckwittedness. If you say you’re from Guildford one more bloody time, I will come up there and bloody punch you! Do you read me? Do you copy? Do. You. Mr Fucking Guildford. Grasp what the shit I am saying?’

A crackle. A hiss. A woman’s voice comes on the radio. ‘Er, excuse me?! I’m Tracy. That was Ed. My husband. He gets anxiety and depression, and he’s now crying. So yeah. Thanks for that.’

‘The fucking floods!’ Howie says.

‘Well. I don’t know if we should say now,’ Tracy says in an offended tone as Marcy winces in the command vehicle, applying make-up to Tam while Ali stares in awe at her own amazing pink eyes and cheeks.

‘Mind if I have a go?’ Frank asks, plucking the radio from Howie’s tensed and clawed hand. ‘Alright, love. I’m Frank. I’m a special agent. I’ve got a big bucket and a special gun that shoots floods. Where is it?’

‘Finally! Oh my god, I don’t even know who those call takers were.’

‘Yeah, wankers,’ Frank says.

‘Right! Total wankers. But you sound lovely, Frank. So, the floods. Right. Yeah. You know Guildford? They were coming in from the north like really fast and heading south.’

‘How fast?’

‘Er, well, we’re in a car, and we did about thirty, and we were getting away from them. So, maybe like ten miles an hour? I dunno. It’s hard to say.’

‘That’s still bloody fast,’ Roy says.

‘How fast is that?’ Paula asks. ‘I mean, for water. How fast does a tide come in?’

‘Averages around two miles an hour,’ Reginald says.

‘Okay. Wow, that’s fast then,’ Paula says.

‘How big was it?’ Frank asks into the radio.

‘Big! Like really big. And on all sides too.’

‘Here isn’t at risk from that direction though,’ Roy says. ‘Tappy? Guildford to Horsham. Big flood?’

‘Bloody hell. That would have to be a tsunami to reach here,’ Tappy says.

‘What about Hindhead?’ Tilda asks.

‘Hindhead?’ Roy asks.

‘Yeah, that’s much closer to Guildford,’ Tappy says. ‘But it’s got a big hill. The famous one. The Devil’s Punchbowl.’

‘The tunnel isn’t though,’ Tilda says.

‘Tunnel?’ Paula asks. ‘Hindhead tunnel? Are people living there?’

‘A tunnel is easy to defend,’ Frank says. ‘Makes sense if someone’s put it to use.’

‘Someone has. Big commune,’ Tilda says. ‘Frank, how long ago did they leave Guildford?’

‘How long ago did you leave, Tracey?

‘Soon as we saw it. Like… Fifteen minutes ago?’

‘Tilda? Do you have maps?’ Henry asks.

‘Of course. Sergeant Thapa?’

‘Yes, Major,’ Bibek says, turning to one of his team to relay the order to get the maps.

‘At speed if you please,’ Henry calls as one of the teenagers sets off running.

‘Er, shouldn’t we do something?’ Tamara asks as Marcy applies her makeup in the command vehicle.

‘Nah. This shit happens literally every half an hour,’ Marcy says. ‘And hey, beauty demands her own sacrifice. So. You two have boyfriends then? Or girlfriends. No judgements here. I thought I was going to have an experience recently actually. Turns out she just wanted a makeover though. And that’s it!’ she adds, pulling back to look at Tamara, then at Ali. ‘Oh, wow. You both look amazing!’

‘Let’s see,’ Tappy says as the two girls turn with a worried look, expecting to get told off by Major Henry or Mr Howie. ‘You look so cool!’ Tappy says.

‘One of us!’ Charlie says with a smile at them.

‘Very nice!’ Henry says. ‘May the pink be with you,’ he adds with a wink.

‘You look great,’ Howie says as they drop out.

‘Bless you two!’ Paula says as they feel like they’re floating out of the vehicle.

‘I have maps!’ the teenager sent off shouts as he runs back.

‘Well done,’ Henry says, passing them over to Reginald to spread over the desk inside the command vehicle.

‘Okay. So, this is Guildford,’ Reginald says after a moment and passes the map for Marcy to hold up as he uses his battle swatter as a pointing device. ‘And here is Hindhead. Which is a south-westerly direction from Guildford. But just north of Guildford, less than a dozen miles, in fact, we have these series of reservoirs. The Queen Mother. The Wraysbury. The King George The Sixth. The Staines. The Bedfont. The Queen Mary, then the aqua parks at Thorpe Park, and these lakes at Littleton… And that’s before The River Thames. And seeing as we had the king tide, she’ll be full, with nowhere to disgorge, and given the rain, The Thames will most likely already be overflowing. And if all those reservoirs pour into her, and then all of that water then goes into The Knight Reservoir, and then The Bessborough and The Queen Elizabeth the Second… Well. I am sure you can appreciate the sheer volume of water that will create.’

‘How about the likely route it will take, Reggie?’ Henry asks.

‘Well. Water always follows the path of least resistance, which means it will be funnelled by the gradient of the land. That said, that area is remarkably devoid of any significant gradients, meaning hills or risings in the land. And we know from that family that the floods are already reaching Guildford and heading south, and there are not any sizable ranges of hills or anything of note to stop the waters continuing. In fact, studying these contours, I would suggest The Devil’s Punchbowl hills at Hindhead are the breakpoint or, at least, the biggest rise in the land of that region. Ah yes, I should think the water will flow southwards and hit Hindhead. The higher ground on the top of the hills is probably safest, but one can expect Haselmere to be flooded. That’s directly next to Hindhead… But it does have The Black Downs on the far side. Which are high hills. So, my estimation is the waters will come to rest between Hindhead hills and The Black Downs. As we have seen with the new lake stretching from Crawley to the South Downs.’

‘So, the tunnels are at risk?’ Howie asks.

‘Most definitely,’ Reginald says.

‘How long until it reaches Hindhead?’ Tilda asks.

‘Impossible to say without further data, but soon,’ Reginald says. ‘Within an hour.’

‘Understood. We’ll mount a rescue,’ Tilda says. ‘I’ll take Number One Regiment. And I’m sure Major Henry and Mr Howie can provide some assistance.’

‘Well. We are technically on mission,’ Henry says.

‘Ah yes. Of course. Yes, yes. The Panacea. Which is of much greater importance,’ Tilda says.

‘Is it?’ Mr Leeson asks with a frown.

‘The Panacea is vital, Gerry,’ Tilda says in a quieter tone.

‘Of course, it is, but Hindhead has taken in dozens of children, Tilda.’

‘And we will reach them, Gerry.’

‘Children?’ Howie asks as the focus spikes from one of his trigger words being used. ‘How many children?’

‘I was there last week. They had dozens,’ Tilda says. ‘But the Panacea is your mission. We can do this. We’ve got three buses, and Hindhead have vehicles we can use. We’ll be in and out.’

Howie nods. Knowing it makes sense. They’ve done enough, and they have a mission.

But still.

Children.

The little boy on day two in his teddy bear pyjamas.

The little girl screaming in the square on day eighteen.

‘We need to deploy,’ Clarence says, giving voice to the instinct surging within all of them. ‘I won’t stand here and send children to rescue other children.’

‘No, of course,’ Henry says, getting the nod from Howie, then from Paula, and Reginald. ‘We’ll deploy, Tilda. My team! Listen in for a hot brief.’

‘Regiments! Form up for briefing!’ Tilda orders as the teenagers and children race to gather around.

‘Rescue mission. In and out,’ Henry calls. ‘The objective is to reach Hindhead tunnels and extract as many survivors as we can taking refuge within. The priority, as ever, will be given to children. Our method will be to deploy from here using the buses provided by Major Tanners. Tilda, jump in the command vehicle with us. We’ll plan an egress route as we move towards. Tappy, you will drive the lead vehicle and get us there, then you will lead us out. Frank, find something fast and get to Guildford. Find the edge of the flood and report back. Tilda, your comms? Do they work at range?’

‘Negative, Major. Short range only.’

‘Do what you can, Frank.’

‘On it,’ Frank says as calm as ever.

‘We will leave our other vehicles here in safe custody,’ Henry continues.

‘Can I leave Jess here, Major Tanners?’ Charlie asks.

‘Of course! We have stables. Where’s Gavin? Tam? Ali? Find Gavin and tell him to look after Jess.’

‘Gav’s amazing with horses,’ Tamara tells Charlie as they rush off.

‘Okay!’ Tilda calls. ‘Sergeant Thapa. Get four of your best from Number One Regiment ready to deploy in two minutes. The remaining Number One Regiment will stand to ready for aid and incoming casualties. Number two and number three regiments will backfill into guard roles.’

An explosion of motion, with teenagers and children running to their tasks.

‘Sergeant Blowers!’ Henry calls. ‘I suggest our team stay light on our feet. Rifles and bags only.’

Everyone moves. Ditching axes and machetes in the Saxon, with Charlie passing the reins to a young man called Gavin with some trepidation. ‘Just be careful. She can be really aggressive,’ Charlie warns.

‘S’okay,’ Gavin says in a quiet voice, reaching a hand to gently rest on Jess’s nose as she lowers her head into his with a gentle nudge and closes her eyes.

‘Okay. Wow. Never seen her do that before, and also, a bit jealous,’ Charlie says. ‘Bye then, Jess? Jess? Whatever,’ Charlie says, turning to walk off with a glance back to see Jess still nuzzling the teenager. ‘My own horse doesn’t even want me.’

‘Not my drama,’ Maddox says, rushing past.

‘I was just saying. I wasn’t actually telling you! I’m going now, Jess! BYE! Seriously? She’s worse than you!’ she mutters, striding past Cookey.

‘What did I do?’ Cookey asks, getting a middle finger from Charlie over her shoulder as she walks off.

A few minutes of chaos with shouts and orders, and Sergeant Thapa choosing his best, with more than a few disappointed faces at not being selected, then they’re out the gates on the other side and striding to three long buses. One of them the armoured bus that came to their aid at Gatwick.

‘Have you got another one?’ Tappy asks. ‘That’s gonna be very heavy. We need speed over weight.’

‘We have another older one,’ Sergeant Thapa says, striding out. ‘GET THE YELLOW ONE OUT!’

11

A convoy of vehicles sets out from Christ’s Hospital School.

A bright yellow school bus driven by Tappy. The lads on board along with Sergeant Thapa and his best four. Corporal Rogers. Tam, and Ali, and another lad. All of them with assault rifles and small rucksacks only. The two girls now with the same bold, pink makeup as the other women. All of them wearing strips of pink around their arms. And all of them trying ever so hard to act cool and casual. While also mainly still in awe.

The command vehicle behind. Roy driving with the elders, and Tilda in the back.

Two more buses driven by staff.

Mr Leeson’s own SUV, a BMW X5, commandeered by Frank in the lead as they head out onto Christ’s Hospital Road. The BMW driving off at speed, with Frank offering a wave out the window as Tappy flashes the lights.

She builds the speed up, turning on Weston’s Hill to navigate twisty, turny country roads to reach the wider A264 to head south. Frank on the same road. Taking the same junction ahead of them but going north to blast around Horsham towards Guildford.

The mood high. The energy flowing. This is a flood, not a fight. This isn’t a battle. There’s some water going towards a tunnel, and they need to get the people out. Which makes it an easy mission, so very different to their normal days of carnage and death.

The Number One Regiment feel that same energy. The casualness of it while still coupled with professionalism.

‘I hope you’ve got your regulation army issue inflatable armbands,’ Blowers says with a serious look to the younger soldiers, who stare back with a second’s worth of worry that they’ve done something wrong before Blowers grins and winks.

‘That’s a wink, by the way,’ Cookey explains. ‘He still thinks he’s got two eyes… And ten fingers. He can only count to five now,’ he adds in stage whisper. ‘So, come on. Names? I’m Cookey, that’s…’

‘We know,’ Tamara cuts in with a laugh. ‘Everyone knows. You’re Cookey, that’s Nick, that’s Danny, and Mo. That’s Maddox. Charlie. Tappy. Bashir.’

‘We are literally famous,’ Cookey says with a manly sigh as he leans back with his hands behind his head. ‘And as the most famous of them all, I welcome you to our intrepid troupe of troublesome toerags daring to do derring-do against our dastardly feral and fetid foes, but today, however, we shall not be waging war with our weapons but shall, instead, be saving souls submerged within a sunken tunnel…’

‘Sunken?’ Blowers asks with Cookey giving him a middle finger while not breaking stride as the others laugh.

‘And by doing so, we shall show our backbone with our bravery and boldness, and our brazen bravado… Quick, I need another letter,’ he whispers to the younger group.

‘C!’ Ali says.

‘Jesus,’ Cookey says with a comical eyeroll. ‘Pick a harder letter, whydontcha… But yes! My cavalier friends! Show confidence in your characters and chivalry in your certainty while having conviction and creativity, and massive cojones to carefully save the blighters.’

‘P!’ Tam says while laughing hard with everyone else.

‘Piss off,’ Cookey quips. ‘P? What perfectly positive pronouns can anyone muster with a P? And not that sort of pee. We mean a P! A prime P all pragmatic and pretty, and perhaps perky, and always proud.’

‘D… Do D!’ Tappy calls from the front, wiping tears from her eyes.

‘D? I have no D. Marcy does. She has double D’s. But what a daft, dilly-dally of a deuce to determine and decide when I am all adaze. I defy your D! It is too daunting, and so I dare deny and double defy, so take that, you dick!’

‘H!’ Ali says.

‘I can’t do H,’ Cookey says with a sudden serious expression and tone. ‘It’s too hard. Boom! And I am too haggard! Woohoo! Hapless even and hazed with the hefty… Er… Haggis? And Michael Bublé.’

‘What the fudge?’ Tam says, laughing hard enough to cry while holding her belly.

‘Fudge?’ Cookey asks. ‘Did you say fudge? Oh, I say! Such rotters,’ he says in a posh voice. ‘Charlie, they’re from your world and the Big Book Of Mystery, and The Adventure Of The Missing Shoes by Enid Blasted Blyton, starring Tam, Charlie, and Ali. What the fudge, Charlie! They’ve stolen our shoes! Our shoes, Tam? Why yes! Our shoes, Charlie. Did you hear that, Ali? Those rotten fudgers have pilfered our shoes away. I did bally well hear that. And I say we give them a jolly good talking to. Yeah, but I’s fuck ‘em up, bro. Is Mo Mo, innit,’ Cookey says, sliding into a deep mimicry of Mo.

‘We’re not… We’re not allowed to swear,’ Ali says between laughing.

‘Not allowed to swear? Have you actually met Mr Howie? I’m gonna fucking fuck those fuckers up the fucking fuckheaded fucksticks!’

The laughs keep going. The nervous energy within the younger ones taken and turned into humour by an expert as Cookey jokes and quips, and smiles while playing to his audience. His aura shining the brightest of all yellows. Pure warmth. Like the sun. Danny can see it in his mind, and how it dances out around everyone else, touching them all in turn, bringing them all into the play. Even Maddox, who is now smiling and laughing more than scowling.

Charlie feels it too, and every word sets her off again until she’s laughing so much, she thinks she might pee.

Twenty-five miles from Horsham to Hindhead. Without the rain, it would be done quickly. But the roads are slick and flooded in places, and the rain is still lashing, and the buses are heavy, so the going isn’t fast.

Even Frank has to ease the speed off as he reaches Cranleigh. Floods and wet surfaces making him slow and take corners with greater care. He heads on the Horsham Road, taking the path ahead that sweeps through the town centre, but he brakes hard on the High Street running through the middle.

Two roads running alongside of each other. A supermarket on the far left. Houses to the far right. But it’s the middle section that catches his eyes. A long section of flat ground given over to grassy fields adorned with benches and gardens.

He gets out in the pouring rain. Knowing he’s on an important task, but he can’t ignore the sight of the wide path carved over the gardens. A great, muddy track made by a column of people several metres wide. Which means a lot people went through here. Recently too, because of the way the ground is churned.

That family said the infected were heading south from Guildford. And this muddy track direction is running west.

Winchester is west from here.

He nods to himself. Logging the intel, then getting back in the car to drive on. Building the speed up to get through the town and out the other side towards Guildford.

‘We’re not far off!’ Roy calls from the front of the command vehicle.

‘Thank you, Roy,’ Henry says. ‘Okay. We have an egress route. Agreed? I’ll transmit it to the others now. Henry to Sergeant Blowers.’

‘Standby, Major. Okay, guys. Work time now. Shush it down. We need to focus,’ laughter in the background that makes Paula and the others smile. ‘Sorry, Major. Go ahead.’

‘The planned egress route from Hindhead is to head south on the A3 to Liphook. That should put us on the far side of the Black Downs and out of reach of the floods. We can then work back towards Horsham. Copy?’

‘Understood.’

‘We’re aiming to arrive at the south entrance to the tunnel. We make contact, and we sweep through as fast as possible. Don’t cause a panic, but no delays. Gather essentials only. Medicines and immediate belongings, and then we get them out into the buses. Calm efficiency. With hope the floods will never reach them, so I am sure they will be able to return in due course.’

‘Copy that,’ Blowers says. ‘Okay, listen in. You heard the Major. We get in. We get them out. No shouting at them. No yelling. It’ll spread panic. Calm. Polite but firm.’

‘What if they won’t go?’ Ali asks.

‘Then we leave them,’ Blowers says. ‘We try and persuade, but we don’t use force. That’s down to them. Unless it’s a child.’

‘What age is a child?’ Ali asks. ‘I mean. Like. A big fifteen-year-old is a child.’

‘Mads puts them over his shoulder,’ Blowers says to a few more chuckles.

‘Hench, bro,’ Cookey quips.

‘Haselmere ahead!’ Tappy calls, bringing forth a buzz of excitement. Six days for the lads cooped up in the garden centre. Now they’re out and doing something fun and different, and positive. It’s not that different for the younger soldiers. Weeks of being inside the grounds, with a few patrols out into the local area, and it’s weird too because they’re all the top performers within Number One Regiment and seen as the aces and stars within their own world, and now they’re out with people they look at in the same way. And they’re doing a mission together.

They blast through Haselmere. The plan set. The mission underway. Tappy leads them north from the town to get onto the road proper. The road that leads straight to the tunnel.

A long, straight finish. The speed builds up. The buses in convoy, spraying water from their big wheels while the wipers swing left to right in a frenzy to clear the rain away.

The rain still lashing down as it has for six days and six nights.

A torrential, biblical rain that caused the water within the ground to rise and surge up through sewers and pipes and into the many rivers and streams, and waterways that fed the many reservoirs to the north of Guildford. The reservoirs that grew in size and volume at incredible rates until they started to merge and flow, and pour south, following the contours of the land until a new, great body of water was formed, and one kept growing and moving until it reached the Thames. The mighty river that had already burst her banks in many places. Flooding homes and villages, and roads, and Reginald was right; a combination of excess water coming in from all directions and the king tide meant the water couldn’t go out. And water has to go somewhere.

And so, it poured south and hit Camberley and Farnborough, and Aldershot, and Farnham. Big towns lost to rising waters funnelled into raging rapids by the lie of the land. Slamming doors off hinges and smashing through plate glass windows.

It hit Guildford and surged through the many streets. Wrenching flimsy sheds and log cabins away. Picking up cars and vans, and trucks. Tearing trees out of the ground and buildings from their foundations. Industrial units made of sheet metal stood no chance. Nothing did, and it flooded metres deep in many places. Submerging big houses, and still it grows with an ever-increasing power. Flooding south into Godalming and down into Milford.

Over farmland. Through forests. Flooding valleys, with small hills forming islands, and such is the depth, even they slowly disappear.

On it goes. Growing and moving. A great surge of rising water that, at first glance, almost looks calm and slow. Like a fast-moving tide coming in over a beach. But looks are deceiving, and it moves fast with purpose, and nothing made by man can stop it.

Frank reaches Wormley. A small hamlet that he blasts through on the A283 heading north. Through a bend. Along a straight. The BMW strong and capable. The rain lashing the window.

The road partially submerged ahead. He views the sides. Seeing it’s not too deep and risks driving through. He grips the wheel, feeling the car aquaplane and veer sharply to the left. He grunts and braces as it grinds along the crash barrier and comes to a stop. He gives a blast of air, knowing he’s lucky the airbags didn’t go off, which would have immobilised the engine.

‘Lucky Franky,’ he mutters and starts reversing to face the right direction, and stops at the sight coming towards him.

He even winds the window down. Staring for a full few seconds at the surging water heading his direction. A most surreal sight for sure. The width of it from far left to far right and back as far as he can see. Like a big surging tide, but he soon spots the debris within it. Broken sheds and trees rolling dangerously. Then the top of cars, picked up and carried by the sheer power of the water.

It changes everything. The danger of it. The risk it poses.

He stays calm. His heartrate still low as he powers on to turn fast and drive away. Adjusting the rear-view mirror to see behind to the raging waters.

He heads west towards Sandhills and onto Brook, craning to see the floods surging across the land towards him and grabs the radio.

‘Command. Come in. Come in, over…’

A crackle and nothing more. The distance too great. He keeps driving. Seeing the floods closing fast. Only a few kilometres away and covering ground far faster than even he thought it would.

‘It’s Frank. Anyone receiving me… If you can hear this, get them out. Repeat. Get them out. Floods closing in fast. Repeat. Floods coming in fast.’

‘There,’ Tappy says from the front of the yellow bus. Seeing the mouths to the tunnels ahead. Two of them. One northbound. One southbound. She knows the tunnels well from driving through many times. Just over a mile in length, and it runs deep beneath the hills of the Devil’s Punch Bowl.

She also knows the tunnel has escape doors every hundred metres or so. Doors that link the two tunnels together.

Now she sees trucks parked across the entrances and more vehicles parked up neatly, and people with firearms on top of the blocker trucks waving them to stop.

She starts slowing as the radio blasts with static. Someone trying to transmit, but not coming through.

The convoy comes to a stop. The doors opening, and everyone dropping out into the rain. The dog running free with the lads. Excited to be out and meeting new people.

Henry and Howie with Tilda. Walking towards the trucks blocking the tunnels with Paula.

‘Tilda?’ a guard yells. ‘What you doing here in this bloody weather!’

‘Jason! Get the trucks pulled back. We need to evacuate you. Call Miranda down. There’s a flood coming.’

‘Eh? A flood? Where from?’

‘Guildford.’

‘Guildford’s miles away.’

‘I know, but it’s heading this way, and best to be safe,’ Tilda says as the guy nods and slides down a ladder on the other side as the radio bursts again. But the voice still not coming through.

‘That could be Frank,’ Paula says, knowing there isn’t a great deal they can do about it. ‘Why aren’t they moving those trucks?’

‘We don’t move anything unless Miranda authorises it,’ a voice on the other side shouts.

‘Miranda’s in charge here,’ Tilda says.

‘Hang on! We’ve called Miranda,’ the man inside shouts. The tunnels blocked off completely. Sandbag walls several thick sealing gaps. No way through. The radio still crackling.

‘Frank? Is that you?’ Carmen transmits.

‘Tilda? What’s going on?’ a woman inside the tunnel shouts.

‘Miranda! There’s a flood coming your way from Guildford. We’ve come to get you out.’

‘Hang on!’

Another delay. Someone getting into the truck to start the engine.

‘Frank? You’re not coming through,’ Carmen calls into her radio as they all wait for the truck to slowly inch out of the way.

‘Sorry!’ Miranda calls, a black woman in jeans and a shirt, with a pistol on a belt. Greying hair cropped close to her head, and she strides out with a double take at the pink berets. ‘Well now. I wasn’t actually convinced you were real!’

‘We are very real, and very wet,’ Paula says with a smile, holding her hand out. ‘Paula. Nice to meet you.’

‘Miranda. Hi. Hello.’

‘That’s Howie. Henry. Carmen. Clarence. Reginald’s in his van. He’s not fond of the rain,’ Paula adds.

‘Great to see you all. And what you’re doing. Honestly. People mention you all the time now, and we heard Gatwick. Wow. I mean. Everyone heard Gatwick; then Tilda popped over a day or so after to explain what the explosions were.’

A smart woman. Older, but lean and fit, with intelligent eyes. ‘They say you’re going from town to town on the way to finding the Panacea. And that’s got everyone buzzing. We were struggling. Emotionally. I mean. Everyone was at rock bottom; then these stories started coming out. Not that we can do anything, but if you ever need a place to stay, food, clothing.’

‘Thank you. That really means a lot,’ Paula says. ‘But actually. We’re here to get you out,’ she adds with an apologetic wince. ‘There’s a big flood heading your way from the reservoirs north of Guildford.’

‘Right! Tony mentioned floods when he called me down. Okay. Er, best we take some action then? Is that what you’re suggesting?’

‘Hi, Miranda? Major Henry Campbell-Dillington. Great to meet. We’re rather suggesting a full evacuation, actually.’

‘Seriously? We’ve got over three hundred people here.’

‘Which is why we should be acting swiftly,’ Henry says. ‘We’ve got vehicles we can use, and I understand you have vehicles here? I can see several minibuses parked up on this side, and more on the other side of the other tunnel.’

‘Okay, but. I mean. We’re right in the middle of the tunnel,’ Miranda says, waving behind her. ‘That’s where I situated everyone. It’s over a mile long. That puts it half a mile from either entrance. I know it’s raining, but… We can cope with it.’

‘The reservoirs and the Thames have burst,’ Henry says.

‘Miranda. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t think it was important,’ Tilda adds. ‘Shall we get them out? I think that’s the right thing to do, and with some urgency too.’

‘The reservoirs are miles away.’

‘Yes, but we had intel the floods are already pouring through Guildford,’ Tilda says.

‘I say. Hello?’ Reginald says, coming into view around the goliath form of Clarence while squinting at the rain and wearing a pink beret in entirely the wrong way. ‘Forgive me interrupting, but why aren’t we getting these people out?’

‘But we’re established here,’ Miranda says with a frown. ‘They’ve been through enough as it is.’

‘Right, and what part of there being a flood confuses you exactly?’ Reginald asks, giving her such an intense look that she blanches, and for a second, Howie groans inwardly, expecting the triggered er excuse me to come from her mouth, but to her credit, she pauses and seems to realise it’s the Reginald she is talking to.

‘No. Yes. Of course. Sorry. I shouldn’t have hesitated. Yes. We’ll do as you say.’

‘And if we’re wrong, then we’ll get everyone straight back,’ Paula says as Miranda nods with more certainty. ‘Right. What’s the best way to do this?’ Paula asks. ‘I suggest we get the buses into the tunnels and load up, and get them out.’

‘Well. We don’t really allow combustion engines in because the air circulation fans don’t work now, so the fumes build up. We use electric cars. Well. No. We did until the sun stopped shining. Now we can’t get a full charge from our solar panels. Er, so, we’ve got a Tannoy rigged up. I could request people pack and start making their way to the southern entrance.’

‘I really think time is more pressing than that,’ Paula says.

Again, Miranda hesitates. Disliking someone else trying to tell her how to run the commune she established on the first night and fought so hard to keep safe since. But again, common sense tells her these people wouldn’t be here unless it was genuinely urgent. ‘Yes, of course,’ she says as Henry nods, about to assume command and order his team into the tunnels.

‘Great stuff. It’s the right decision,’ he tells Miranda. ‘Shall we give the order then and get them all out?’

‘Tappy!’ Howie calls, thumbing the tunnel. ‘I’ll jump in with you. Henry, you might as well stay here. No need for us both to go inside.’

‘You sure, Howie?’ Henry asks, not wanting to mention out loud about Howie’s increasingly low tolerance towards other people.

‘Howie will get them moving,’ Paula says quietly. ‘Or cause a riot. Either could happen. Actually, yeah. I’ll go with him. Hold on, Howie! Marcy, you too. Come and smile at people and make sure Howie doesn’t punch anyone.’

‘As if I would!’ Howie says with an eyeroll to Dave, who just stares at him. Devoid of expression but with a knowing glint in his eyes that Howie translates to you definitely would do that. ‘Don’t you ever get irritated by people?’ Howie asks him, suddenly captivated by the idea of what annoys Dave as the lads bundle onto the lead bus with the others before Tappy starts an umpteen point turn to reverse into the tunnel. One of the other bus drivers does the same. The third doesn’t but rolls his eyes, figuring he can turn around inside the tunnel, and he shoots past them to be the first one inside.

‘Reverse in. Drive out, bellend,’ Tappy mutters, heaving the wheel around to start reversing into the tunnel while Dave thinks about the question.

Does he ever get irritated by people?

Dave isn’t sure. He rarely gets angry. But then, he rarely feels surges of happiness either. His emotions don’t swing up and down like that. Things are factual; therefore, they lack emotional impact.

But then, he remembers something and nods. ‘Yes, Mr Howie. At work. When we finished, and the shelves were all stocked and presented, and the customers would come in and take things. It would leave gaps. I didn’t like that.’

Howie smiles. Figuring something like that would be like kryptonite to someone as neat and precise as Dave. ‘Yeah, that’s fair enough. Anything else?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie. When houses aren’t symmetrical.’

‘What are we discussing?’ Paula asks. ‘And seriously. Do not get shitty with anyone. I mean it, Howie. Just stay to the side or something and look all broody and dark.’

‘Good plan,’ Marcy says. ‘Blowers! Howie is going to do his strong, silent thing and not speak to anyone.’

‘Roger that.’

‘Ticking clocks,’ Dave says as they all turn to look at him, with even Tappy glancing over while driving.

‘Dave is telling me about things that irritate him,’ Howie says.

‘Davey hated those,’ Marcy says quietly. ‘And the metronome things. God. He hated them.’

‘Chewing loudly,’ Dave adds. ‘And when people talk to me about things that have no purpose.’

‘Small talk?’ Howie asks. ‘So, like now then.’

‘And I don’t like being touched. Or people breaking rules. Or birthday surprises. Or balloons.’

‘Balloons?’

‘They’re unpredictable,’ Marcy says.

‘And when people say I must be good at maths,’ Dave says.

‘But you’re awesome at maths,’ Howie says. ‘And I suddenly see how that can come across.’

Dave stares at Howie. Seemingly blank, but they know him now, and they know something else might come out, so they wait, quietly, without prompting him while the engine whines from reversing, with Tappy using the wing mirrors to guide her path through the gently curving tunnel.

‘I don’t like the word retarded,’ Dave says eventually. That memory in his head again. His father calling him names. ‘Or spas. Or spastic. I’m not retarded. I have autism. I can read and write. I had a good job.’

‘Your dad was wrong for saying that to you, Dave,’ Howie says. ‘And you’ve proved him wrong. You’re amazing guy.’

‘The best guy ever!’ Tappy calls as the lads all give voice. Saying the same thing. The kindness reflected within them all that makes Sergeant Thapa and his team watch on with interest. Seeing the inner workings and how they interact. The obvious support and care, and even the way Howie and Paula, and Dave talk so openly in front of them.

‘So? You must be good at maths then?’ Howie asks, earning laughs as Dave’s eyes gleam in the darkened light.

‘Davey hated being touched by people he didn’t know,’ Marcy says. ‘But if he liked someone, he was really touchy, like taciturn? Is that the right word, Charlie.’

‘I think you mean tactile,’ Charlie says.

‘Tactile! Like super affectionate. You should be like that, Dave.’

‘No,’ he says in his deadpan way, making them all laugh.

‘Aw, come on. Pucker up for a kiss,’ Marcy says, forming her mouth and pulling a face, but she smiles as the gentle laughs roll out, and Dave thinks for a second, then suddenly purses his lips, and pushes them out, and the cheers go up at the sight of him actually doing it. ‘Right here,’ Marcy says, offering her cheek as Dave darts in with a peck, then immediately pulls back, and wipes his lips.

‘You are not the same Dave I met in Tesco,’ Howie says, with them all laughing as the big bus reverses along the tunnel.

‘And that engine just isn’t annoying enough,’ Marcy says.

‘Soz!’ Tappy says. ‘But at least we’re facing the right way out.’

‘True that,’ Marcy says, holding onto a ceiling bar as the bus drives on, and she looks to the others. Smiling at the new soldiers. ‘So, you’re Bibek Thapa?’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘Bless! I like him. But it’s just Marcy. What do you like being called?’

‘Bibi,’ he says with a surprisingly deep voice for his age.

‘How old are you?’ Marcy asks him.

‘Eighteen, Ma’am. Marcy.’

‘Where you from?’

‘From the UK.’

‘No, I mean… Ah shit. You know what? I’m so sorry! I saw that on a show once when they did this job interview with a black woman in America, and they’re like, so, where you from? And she was like, New York. And they were like, No! We mean where you from from…’

‘I’m not from New York,’ Bibi says as the others laugh.

‘Nice!’ Mo says, reaching over to fist bump him.

‘My family are from Nepal.’

‘Okay. Gotcha. And then we’ve got Tam and Ali. And Corporal Rogers… And who are you?’

‘J… J…’ the other lad says, then pauses to swallow. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Stocky build, with powerful shoulders. The stutter obvious and clear. ‘J… fuck me.’ he mutters, earning smiles. ‘J… Johnny.’

‘Hi, Johnny,’ Marcy says as the others offer greeting. ‘That stutter you have. Do you hate it when people try and guess what you’re going to say?’

‘N… N…’ he says, pulling a face. ‘N… Yes,’ he blurts with a grin. The laughs rolling out.

‘Johnny’s the UK under eighteen’s Judo champion,’ Bibi says proudly as Johnny smiles.

‘That’s amazing,’ Charlie says.

‘He got gold in the Commonwealth games,’ Bibi adds. ‘Which he would tell you about, but it’d take a week.’

‘F… Fuck you,’ Johnny says, grinning at his mate. ‘Bi… Bi… Bibi gotgold in… In the… Twatgames!’

A good energy between the two lads. A good energy between them all.

‘Fuck me. Are we there yet?’ Marcy asks.

‘Tappy? Are we there yet?’ Cookey calls.

‘Tappy? Are we there yet?’ Nick asks as the others join in. ‘Oh shit, we actually are,’ Nick adds, seeing lights ahead out the back windows. A glow in the darkness that gets stronger as they near the living section.

The buses stop with the first driver already out and shouting. ‘Right, come on! We need you out!’

The reaction is swift, with people emerging from tents and living areas between hanging blankets and cardboard walls. Wooden pallets in use everywhere. Sheet fencing and wood. String lights and battery powered lanterns. It looks cosy and clean, and packed with people.

Cooking areas set to one side. Big hobs fed by gas bottles. Stacks of food and bottled waters. Camping showers rigged up behind plastic sheeting, with the wastewater funnelled towards the drainage points.

It’s a good set-up. Miranda and her team have done well. Howie can see that, but it’s still very dark, and no place to live for any length of time.

‘No daylight,’ Marcy says.

‘They go up top,’ Miranda says, making them turn to see her and Henry, and Tilda coming off the last bus with Reginald.

‘We figured we’d come in and help,’ Tilda explains.

‘Up top?’ Howie asks.

‘The emergency doors,’ Miranda says, motioning a big set of double doors set into a recess in the tunnel wall. ‘They link the tunnels and give access to the stairwells going up.’ It’s a hell of a trek, but good exercise.’

‘I said come on!’ the first driver shouts. A big guy with old, faded tattoos on his arms.

‘Terry, I don’t think that’s going to help,’ Tilda says, waving at him to cool it as Miranda heads over to a microphone on a desk.

‘Listen in, please! This is Miranda. We need everyone to come into tunnel number one. There is a flood approaching. We are evacuating. Please, do not panic! Grab your immediate belongings and any medications and board the buses.’

Cue a rush of people talking at once as they stream out of their sections and through the double doors from the other tunnel. All of them surrounding Miranda with a great hubbub of chatter.

‘Guys! You just need to get your things and start moving!’ Miranda shouts, having little effect.

‘Excuse me, what’s going on?’ a woman asks, breaking away from the crowd while holding a baby.

‘We need to get out of here,’ Paula says.

‘What now? But I need my baby bag and the… It’s all in my little space.’

‘Miss? I’ll help you,’ Charlie says. ‘But we need to be quick. Lads? Shall we?’

‘Let’s get in,’ Blowers says, leading into the crowd, with reactions slowly spreading out as the people realise who they are. Seeing the pink berets and the pink ribbons on the younger ones.

‘It’s them!’

‘Why are they here? Are we being attacked?’

‘Is that Mr Howie? Where’s Dave?’

‘Look! That’s Clarence!’

‘I can’t see the horse though. Where’s the horse?’

‘Okay. This is chaos,’ Paula says, taking the initiative to rush over and grab the microphone. ‘Hello! Everyone, be quiet, please. Listen in! My name is Paula. I’m part of Mr Howie’s and Major Henry’s team. There is a flood coming right at you. Get on the buses, please. We are here to evacuate you. No questions right now! Get on the buses quickly…’

Some break away to rush and grab belongings, but many don’t. Floods aren’t that dangerous. This is the UK. The weather is a bit shit sometimes, but it’s not like this country gets raging torrents or anything. And it’s dry inside here. And warm, and so they quickly surround Howie and the others. Asking questions about places and things they’ve heard.

‘Have you done Basingstoke? Can we go home yet?’

‘What about Sidcup?’

‘When are we getting the Pannysea thing?’

‘Mr Howie! Hi. Let me shake your hand. What you’re doing is amazing.’

‘Oh my god, are you Dave? Can I take a selfie with you?’

‘Hey! Please don’t put your arm around him,’ Marcy says, gently pulling the young woman away. ‘And who is still using a phone?’

‘Jesus! I just want a picture with him! Don’t be famous if you don’t want the attention. I’ve literally been wearing pink for days now!’

‘Fuck me,’ Howie says, blinking at the sight as he and the others become aware of people wearing pink. Pink tops and shorts, and shirts, and more with pink rags or fabric tied around arms or used as belts.

‘Look at their make-up!’ the young lady who wanted a selfie with Dave says with a double take at Marcy, then to Carmen, and Tappy. ‘OH. EM. GEEEE!’

‘Who are you then?’ someone else asks, getting in front of Tamara as she tries to work through with the lads.

‘I’m Tamara. Please get your things and evacuate.’

‘Are you with Mr Howie’s lot now then?’

‘No, we’re from Christ’s Hospital. Please. Get your things and evacuate.’

‘Hey, so are you Mads then?’ a teenage lad asks while grinning at Bibi.

‘Bibek Thapa. Please, evacuate.’

‘GUYS!’ Nick yells. ‘YOU NEED TO EVACUATE!’

‘This is nuts,’ Blowers mutters, shaking his head through the crowd to Howie who nods darkly. Getting the problem and the complete lack of pace or sense of danger. He thinks to ask Dave to shout but holds off. Not wanting to cause a mass panic while being mindful of how everyone sees him now. Grumpy and mean, and hating people.

But fuck though. Why won’t they move?

‘They can’t see it,’ Carmen says, seeing the same issue. ‘The threat doesn’t exist.’

But the threat does exist, and Frank can see it.

He slams through a fence and bounces onto the A3 heading south towards the tunnels north entrance. The floods coming in fast. Shaped and funnelled by the lie of the land, with hills and gradients creating faster riptides within the mass that causes the whole thing to start frothing and churning. Building pace and power, and strength.

He speeds up. Pushing his foot down. His eyes flicking to his rear-view mirror, so he can watch the waters in the distance. The thumb of his left hand pressing the talk button on the radio.

‘Command. This is Frank. Come in, over.’

Nothing.

But these are weak radios. And the others are in a very deep tunnel, surrounded by rock and dense earth.

A burst comes back. No voice, but it sounded like a transmission.

He thinks calmly. Picking the radio up to press the talk button three times quickly.

Three short. Three long. Three short.

SOS.

Carmen hears the crackle on Howie’s radio and takes it from him. ‘Frank! Is that you? Twice for yes? Repeat. Twice for yes.’

Burst transmissions. On and off. But cheap radios and a deep tunnel mean it could be anything. Chaos around her. Some of the people moaning and whining. Others treating the lads like celebrities. Engulfing them and bombarding them all with questions about places and this, and that. Paula doing her best. Marcy too. Dave staying between Howie and Carmen as they make sure nobody else tries to touch him.

Henry’s voice comes out of the speakers as he takes a turn on the microphone, but with everyone talking, his voice drowns out, and still the radio bursts on and off.

Frank tuts mildly. Allowing himself that tiny show of annoyance as he figures a new plan and pushes the speed ever faster. The BMW powering on. Four-wheel drive with wide tyres and a beast of an engine. She handles well. Coping with the surface water. Which is why Frank chose her.

Another glance back. A long straight behind, but the ground is also higher on either side of the wide motorway leading to the tunnels. Which means the water will get funnelled and move with even greater power and speed, effectively forming white-water rapids as it approaches the tunnel mouths.

He has to get there.

He has to warn them.

The tunnels ahead. Big trucks block the mouths. Each one laden with heavy metal containers.

‘That’s why the radio isn’t working,’ he says mildly, increasing the speed.

On the final approach. Figures on top of the trucks. He brakes hard. Slewing to a stop and kicking the door open as it comes to rest. ‘You’ve got an almighty flood coming! Sound the alarm!’

‘WEAPON!’ the figure on the truck shouts, seeing Frank’s pistol as he brings his rifle up to aim.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Frank says.

‘Put that gun down!’ the guy yells.

‘It’s holstered! There is a flood. Mr Howie and Major Henry are in your tunnel evacuating people. Tell them on your radio!’

‘After you’d disarmed!’

‘RADIO THEM!’

‘We don’t have radios! They don’t work in the tunnels. We have a phone line. Which I will use when you have disarmed.’

‘Nips. Know I am sorry for this,’ Frank says.

‘For what?’ the guy asks as Frank darts left while drawing with a blur of speed and putting rounds into the guy’s centre of mass. Sending him flying back off the truck.

‘FUCK!’ the guard on the truck outside the other tunnel yells and fumbles with his rifle to snatch a couple of shots, but Frank runs fast. Crossing the distance to get up into the truck cabin, figuring the keys will be left in the ignition. They are. He guns the engine. Sliding the truck back into a dense sandbag wall and into the other lorry with a loud bang.

Then he’s out and running for the BMW. Cursing at the other guard still trying to shoot him. Into the front. The engine still running. He pulls away as the windscreen cracks from the incoming rounds. The side’s hit. The fuel tank ruptured.

Frank speeds on, grinding through the gap he left between the truck and sandbag wall until he’s into the tunnel. The ground dry. The tyres gripping, and the engine growls as he floors the accelerator and starts hitting the horn over and over.

Three short. Three long. Three short.

SOS.

‘What is wrong with these people?’ Howie asks, shaking his head. The annoyance there. The irritation showing. But no panic because this is a flood, not a fight. It’s not a battle. ‘Dave, you might have to start shouting in a minute.’

‘What’s that?’ Carmen asks, hearing a noise. Something from further up the tunnel. ‘What is that?’ she asks in a harder tone. ‘Dave! Shout for them to be quiet.’

‘BE QUIET!’ Dave roars in such a voice to bring an instant silence as the approaching horn is heard. Beeping over and over.

Johnny gets it first. ‘S…’ he blurts, then tenses, hating himself for the stutter. He takes a breath. Calming his centre. ‘O,’ he says and visualises the next letter. ‘S.’

Nick frowns at the lad. Hearing the beeps. ‘Fuck! SOS! It’s SOS!’

‘That’s Frank!’ Carmen yells, looking over to a stack of pallets as she pulls her sidearm and puts a round into the wood to sharpen everyone’s focus. The gunshot deafening and making people flinch and cry out. ‘MOVE, NOW! ONTO THE BUSES! GO, GO, GO!’

‘GET THE CHILDREN!’ Paula shouts.

An instant change, with Howie’s team grabbing any children close enough, and they start running for Tappy’s bus. Passing them over to Tappy by the door, who pushes them inside. They start crying in fear and terror. Bursting into tears. ‘GET INSIDE!’ Tappy shouts and takes the next, then the next, pushing them into the bus.

‘MOVE!’ Maddox says, grabbing a woman holding a baby by the arm to propel her across the road towards the bus. Cookey doing the same. Blowers, and Nick, and Charlie, and suddenly the people in pink berets aren’t so friendly, but snarling and shouting. Gripping arms and using brute strength.

‘Shout for them to move, Dave!’ Howie orders.

‘MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!’ Dave roars, driving panic into them, but sometimes panic is needed, and so they run. They scream and cry. They shout in terror. But they finally run.

‘Frank!’ Carmen shouts, seeing the BMW driving at speed towards them. Frank hitting the brakes, with the car’s ABS kicking in to prevent the wheels locking out.

‘We’ve got incoming!’ he calls the second he gets out. ‘Big. BIG!’

‘ETA?’ Henry asks.

‘Less than three.’

A shocked reaction, with every head wearing a pink beret snapping over. Bibi and his team the same. Miranda. Tilda. All of them looking at Frank, who said they’ve got less than three minutes.

We think. We plan. We succeed.

Words to live by.

Henry pauses. Looking quickly from the buses to the tunnel Frank just came down, then over to Reginald shaking his head.

‘We won’t make it, Henry. We go up,’ Reginald says. As calm as ever.

‘Understood. Give the order, please, Mr Howie,’ Henry says, matching that calmness with a show of complete control in the face of near death.

‘LISTEN IN!’ Howie yells. ‘WE GO UP! MY TEAM. EACH OF YOU TAKE A CHILD. CLARENCE, ON THOSE DOORS. CHILDREN FIRST!’

They burst to motion. Running once more to the bus to grab the children. Heaving them out, with Blowers swinging one onto his back, then taking another in his arms. Cookey does the same. Nick too. Tappy and Charlie. Telling the kids to hold on. Frank grabs one. Carmen. Bibi. Tam. Ali. Johnny. Screaming children and crying babies. Meredith in amongst them. Sensing the danger. Feeling it beneath her paws. Barking at the tunnel. Telling them all that something is coming. The hairs rise on the back of Howie’s neck as he grabs a boy and swings him up. ‘Hold my neck!’ he yells and lifts a girl into his arms. Marcy grabbing one. Paula. Miranda. Henry too as they usher and cajole, and urge the other children on. Making them run across the road towards the doors and past the crowd of adults screaming and pushing to get through.

Clarence on the doors again. Back to being a bouncer, but it’s different now, and he holds them back to keep it clear as the first of his team get to the doors and start ushering the children onto the metal stairs leading up.

‘WAIT!’ Clarence shouts as a guy chances his luck and barges Tam aside, knocking her over to get through the doors. Clarence doesn’t hesitate, and the guy flies off his feet with a bone-crunching punch knocking him clean out, and the big man holds the line, his arms outstretched to keep it clear.

‘Get on the bus!’ Tony, the other driver who drove in first, yells, with people breaking away and knocking each other down to get on the bus.

‘You won’t make it!’ Henry shouts. Some turn back. Others pay no heed and run in panic while yet more set off on foot. Running along the tunnel.

‘Jesus!’ Nick mutters, gripping the handrail to start going up and feeling the vibration coming through the metal. His engineering mind determining the metal staircase is bolted to the tunnel, which in turn forms part of the hill, which means the whole bloody hill is trembling from the force generated by the incoming waters. ‘WE NEED TO GO!’ he yells. ‘FASTER! GO, GO, GO!’

A surge of energy. Blowers in the lead. Racing up the stairs with two children. The others tight behind him. Each of them carrying two kids. Legs burning within seconds. Lungs working hard, and they all feel it. The growing vibration.

The vibrations coming from the sheer volume of water charging along the A3. Funnelled exactly as Frank predicted by the higher ground either side of the road, and so it churns and froths, and gathers pace. Surging along as the guard on the second truck holds the dying body of the man Frank shot. Trying to stem the bleeding, and he looks up, with his mouth dropping open and dread showing in his eyes as the waters charge towards him.

‘God, forgive us,’ he whispers and clamps his eyes shut, and cradles his dying brother as the waters reach him. Picking him up in a low tide for the first few seconds but gathering power and pace until the great wave slams into the side of the hill, slowing the mass, with the force of the water behind driving it into the tunnels like two jets, and those two men become ragdolls. Picked up and carried like twigs. Slammed into the walls and sent tumbling over and over. Hit by trees and debris. Stabbed by spikes and cut by fencing. They die in agony. Lungs filled with dirty water in the pitch dark.

They feel it on the staircase. The wobble within the metallic stairs from the impact of the water, and so they surge even faster.

Clarence still on the doors. Grabbing the people carrying children to yank them through. Dave behind Howie. The last two left. Clarence grabs a baby and pushes it into Dave’s hands, then yanks the mother up onto his own back, and snatches two more children as the first waters hit the bend in the tunnel. Frothing into view. A churning mass coming towards them.

‘GO!’ Clarence roars, mounting the steps behind Dave. Howie in front, going as fast as he can behind Marcy. The others all ahead of them. People behind Clarence. Scrambling to get up the stairs as the bus pulls away. Screeching off along the tunnel, with people falling out of the doors, and one going under the wheels. Dragged for metres until she becomes a bloody slick.

A great scream. A great cry. The waters hit and grab anyone still left. Taking them off their feet with a great surge. Some try and cling to the walls or posts, but they stand no chance and get ripped along as the waters grow in volume and power. Tearing the shacks apart. Lifting gas bottles and pallets that slam into legs and arms. Breaking limbs and skulls, and necks.

The bus builds speed. Tony the driver screaming out in panic while seeing the white waters behind. Churning and racing and coming closer. Lifting the back end. Lifting the bus. The traction gone. Tony grips the wheel. The people inside scream. Some hold on. Some clamp their eyes closed, and the bus starts spinning over and over, tumbling, with the bodies inside slamming into seats and railings, and each other.

The windows smash. The water pours in, and the bus disappears into the waters as it goes sideways and wedges into the wall with such force it comes to a stop. Things slam into it. Cars. People. A garden shed. Everyone inside seeing their lives flash through their minds as they drown in the near pitch dark.

The water hits the stairs too. Finding every gap and hole. Pouring through the doors and filling the middle escape area in seconds.

Clarence glances back. Seeing it below him and how the battery-operated lanterns blink and cut out as the water comes up the stairs.

Still, they charge up. Still, they race. Gasping for air. Legs burning like hell. Children clinging to their necks so tight, they can hardly breathe.

Up and up through flights of never-ending stairs, with the roar of water sloshing below them.

A woman at the back slips and falls back down the flight she went up. She tries to rise and screams out from the pain in her ankle as the waters rise up past her knees. She tries again, using the rails, but the waters hit her waist, then her chest and lift her body to slam into the sides. Banging her head, and she disappears. Sucking in water and drowning as the next man along clutches his chest from the sudden pain. Sixty years old. Too much smoking. No exercise. His heart gives out. He freezes. Unable to breathe. The waters take him.

His wife in front glances back. Seeing her husband gone. She hesitates but growls, and runs on. Determined to live and be with her grandson being carried by Clarence.

Blowers still in the lead. Powering up the stairs. Seeing a grey smudge. Locking his eyes on it. Gaining closer. The kid on his back nearly strangling him. The other one in his arms like a dead weight.

Onto a corridor. Still inside. But at least it’s flat. He keeps running. Knowing he has to make space for the others. It goes on for a while. Leading to the designated exit spot somewhere on the hill. Other doors leading onto it from other stairwells. The others all behind him. He can hear the gasps and ragged breathing, and the cries of children. Meredith surges past his legs. Bounding ahead to seek the route.

Light! Daylight. Grey and awful, but glorious, and he speeds up. Gritting his teeth and running out into the lashing, pelting rain. A concrete entrance, long and wide. Green further away. Grass. Bushes. He runs for it to see Meredith barking while facing to the side. He reaches her position and cries out at the sight of the waters surging below him around the hill. He staggers back. Dropping the children to the ground. ‘Stay with them!’ he shouts to the dog and runs back to help Cookey.

‘I’m fine. I think Tam is struggling,’ Cookey says, lowering the children to leave with Meredith as he and Blowers sprint past the others to reach Ali and Tam. Both red-faced and struggling. They grab the children to help. Nick putting his down and running back to help Paula. Charlie next. Leaving them with Meredith and running back to take a child from Miranda.

All of them exiting the corridor. Howie. Dave. Clarence in the rear. People behind him being helped by the lads and Carmen. Gasping for air. Parents crying as they find their children. Holding them close. The grandmother sobbing as she takes her infant grandson in her arms.

Howie bent double. Clarence heaving for air. The rain pelting them. A hundred or more saved. ‘How many?’ Howie gasps.

Dave glances. Not knowing how he knows. Only that he does. ‘One hundred and thirty-four.’

Too many dead. Too many lost. Howie’s hands curl to fists.

‘Seen this?’ Blowers says, nodding nearby. They go over. All of them go closer and mutter, and swear, and curse at the sight of the great flood pouring around the hilltop of the Devil’s Punch Bowl.

Like something from a movie. Like something that could never actually be real. They’re cut off too. On top of an island.

Dave stares at it too. Feeling a rare surge of terror inside at the sight of so much water all around him. It wasn’t a real thing when they were just talking about it. And even on the way here and seeing the flooded lake south of Crawley, although horrible to see, it didn’t fill him with dread because it was calm, and they were safe.

But this. This is something else. The way it’s moving like it’s alive. Seething and frothing, and he can see eddies and whirlpools, and evil looking currents. Cars and trucks floating on the surface. Tumbling over and over. They’re high up and safe, but it’s still too close for him. It makes him freeze and not want to move. Like he doesn’t know which way to go.

‘Why is she still barking?’ Howie asks, looking at Meredith going nuts, barking at the ground ahead of them.

Nick frowns and drops to a knee to place his hands flat on the wet, soggy mud. ‘It’s trembling… She can feel it.’

‘What’s causing that?’ Paula asks.

‘The water going through the tunnels?’ Nick suggests.

‘Are we safe here?’ Marcy asks. ‘Can we move the children higher?’

‘That water can’t reach this high,’ Nick says, looking around at the floods on all sides as the ground trembles again, and Meredith stops barking. Her head cocked over. Her tail between her legs, and she starts whining as she backs up.

‘Why is she doing that?’ Marcy asks to a great grinding vibration felt beneath their feet. Noises sound out , making them all spin to face out towards the south entrance of the tunnels and the ground crumbling away. Falling down in great chunks.

‘FUCK!’ Howie yells. Seeing it’s like Camber all over. The ground so wet, and the floods so violent, it’s tearing the earth apart and pulling hills down.

And that earth keeps crumbling, with a new edge racing towards them. Great swathes falling away at once. Disappearing into the waters below. The waters still surging south. The edge comes closer and closer. Moving at several metres per second as they all stagger back and away, suddenly fearful of going down.

But then it stops fifteen metres away.

Dave stares at it.

Unable to move. Frozen to the spot in terror at the chasm giving way to the waters, swirling around the hillsides and out from the tunnels right beneath him. The waters churning and swirling, with the things in it being pulled south by the incredible speed generated within the mass.

The rain lashing down. Striking Dave’s impassive face. Pouring over his nose and jaw. His top clinging to his hard, muscled body. His pistols. His knives. A man of such power and speed that to everyone else he’s something more than human. A thing that cannot be killed. A thing that comes out of every battle nearly as clean as he went in, and the only blood they ever saw on him was from Marcy in the kitchen.

But everyone has a fear. Everyone. Including Dave, and he stares at the waters, unable to move or speak, or do anything as the others all run back to the children and look to get them further along the top of the hill.

And time seems to slow.

Howie turning around to see Dave still at the edge.

Clarence mid-shout, telling everyone to move away.

Paula stretching her arms out to start ushering them. The lads all in motion. The rain lashing down. Pelting all of their faces. Sergeant Thapa and his team reeling with the speed of events.

The roar of the water, and Dave staring at it. Alone. Motionless. Trapped.

Frightened.

Another tremble in the earth.

Howie turns, but it’s like his body is stuck in mud, and his eyes widen, seeing Dave out on his own. Not moving. Not running. His mouth opens. The ground starts to give way again. The others turn. All of their faces twisted in sudden shock at seeing Dave metres away, staring at the earth dropping out of sight, and that edge coming towards him. Alone. Motionless. Trapped.

His head turns. His face showing the first look of fear any of them have ever truly seen. Howie twists to run. The words screaming from his mouth for Dave to get back.

Blowers the same. Nick. Cookey. Charlie. Mo. Danny. Tappy. Paula. Marcy. Clarence. Roy. Bash. Reginald. All of them moving as one, and it’s like they can see every raindrop falling from the sky and see every detail on every thing in perfect clarity.

But Dave doesn’t move.

He can’t.

His feet won’t do what his brain is urging because his mind is rendered helpless. and that great yawing edge races towards him. Metres. Feet. Inches.

‘DAVE!’ Howie screams as Dave turns, and the ground gives way, and he drops out of sight.

The earth crumbling.

Taking him down.

His arms flail in the air. His legs cycle. But there’s nothing to grab and nowhere to go other than down. Down. Down.

Down into the waters, and he lands hard, dropping like a stone and going deep. Feeling his body being twisted and turned, and tumbling over and over. Panic in his mind. Raw intense panic that he’s never felt before. He screams and thrashes. Not knowing what to do. Not knowing which way is up or down.

On the cliff top there is no hesitation.

There is no doubt.

Everything seen in a split-second. The meaning of it. The consequences.

So there is no hesitation.

And there is no doubt.

Howie runs. Throwing his rifle to the side and sliding his bag off, and tugging his beret off to fling aside, and he runs through the rain, with his boots gripping the mud, and his face a mask of pure determination. His eyes blazing with dark fury. His speed building as he charges to the edge and launches out, bringing his arms up and over his head and angling his body to dive down, down, down.

Down through the air.

Down into the waters because without Dave, there is no world.

Without Dave, there is no tomorrow.

A split-second. A fraction of time, and the rest follow.

Blowers. Cookey. Nick. Charlie. Mo. Danny. Clarence. Paula. Marcy.

The blink of an eye. The beat of a heart.

They all run. They all ditch their rifles and bags, and berets, and they all run after Howie. All of them screaming out from seeing the same thing. From seeing Dave drop, and without Dave, there is no tomorrow.

And so there is no doubt, and there is no hesitation, and as one, a second after Howie, they launch from the edge and dive out and down, down, down.

Down through the air.

Down into the waters.

Because without Dave, this ends here. The whole of it. The all of it. The battle. The war. The everything. Dave is all. Dave won Gatwick. Dave saved Howie that day the heart was pushed into his mouth. Dave won every battle in every town. Unrelenting. Unstoppable.

All they ever needed to win was Dave.

Reginald runs too.

Yelling in great fear, and he launches himself off the edge to dive down, down, down.

Down through the air.

Down into the waters.

He hits hard. Sinking deep.

The same as Dave. The waters snatching his body and making him tumble and turn as he remembers, at that second, that he can’t swim.

‘Carmen, no!’ Henry shouts.

‘He can’t swim!’ Carmen yells, breaking free to run through the rain. Ditching her rifle, bag, and beret and launching out to angle down, and she drops gracefully, sailing down to dive deep, and angles her body to start rising. Feeling the power of the water trying to take her form, but she kicks and powers, and slams into the body of the man she adores and rises to break the surface.

Henry holds back. Frank too. Tilda’s soldiers ditching rifles and bags. ‘No!’ Henry orders. Knowing he needs them. Pointing at Maddox to hold him back too. Knowing there is every chance the bloody idiots will drown and die, and the mission must go on.

Meredith doesn’t go either.

A pulse in her mind.

An urge driven into her.

Stay here.

Little ones.

Protect them.

The will of the pack leader pushed into her mind. She runs to the edge but doesn’t jump, and she watches Howie swimming arm over arm. Going as fast as he can. His eyes blurred. His mouth filling with water. His boots waterlogged and heavy. A quick glimpse at Dave ahead, being dragged by the churning, white-topped waters.

Dave doesn’t see Howie. He doesn’t see anything. Only snatches of air and water. Air and water. His body thrown over and under. Things hitting him. He tries to grab them but fails. His boots are heavy. His bag too. His rifle is gone. That’s bad. A good soldier never loses their rifle. He’ll need a new one. He’ll have to ask George.

He doesn’t work for George now.

He’s not in the army.

He works for Tesco.

Dave hates working for Tesco.

They left him there.

‘You stay close to my son. You stay close to Howie.’

Howard told him that.

But he left Tesco. Didn’t he? Where does he work now?

Confusion. Water in his mouth. Going down his throat. He retches and pukes. More goes in.

Mr Howie! He works for Mr Howie. He remembers it all in a blur of images racing through his mind. Working with Howie at Tesco. Meeting Howie again when he came back after it started. Being in the Tesco van. That first battle when they got into the DIY store. The commune in Portsmouth. ‘Yes, not yeah!’ Howie said that to the scruffy lad. Howie took Dave with him. He never left him alone. ‘Have you eaten, Dave? Are you hungry? Do you need anything? Can I help you?’ Kindness. Decency. Care. Love. Support. Friendship. Emotions and feelings, and images, and words.

‘If you had a cup, Dave, and it was half-filled, would you say it was half-full or half-empty?’

That’s when Dave really learnt to tease Howie. It became their thing. Dave enjoyed it. It was like banter and play, and Howie did it all the time, which means that Howie liked it, and Dave liked it very much.

He likes the lads. He likes Paula. He likes the dog and the horse. He likes Marcy a lot; he even likes Clarence. Sometimes. He likes Roy, and he likes Roy’s stories, and he likes being with them. His family. His friends. He never had that. He never knew that. In the bus when Marcy told him to pucker up. Dave did it. He never did that before. Nobody ever wanted him to kiss them. Jamie! Blinky. The ones they lost. Their faces in his mind. More and more, and many more images and memories all at once in a great stream as the water flows into his mouth and down into his lungs. He tries to shout for help, but he has no air. He has nothing left. He thrashes again with a sudden burst of pure violent energy. Detonating the hive mind as he inwardly screams for help. Feeling them all coming. Feeling Howie reaching out. Feeling every single one of them. Calling them. Help me! Help me! Their energies. Their auras. All of them coming, but there’s no air to give, and he starts choking and sliding down. Something hits his ankle. Snagging his trousers, and he twists and turns, dragged deeper by something heavy, and the thrashing eases. The wild, violent motion simply stops, and his eyes blink in the filthy waters, becoming lifeless and still. His body becoming lifeless and still.

They feel it.

They feel the severance.

And it drives such fear it makes them swim and swim, and swim like nothing else matters, and Howie slams into Dave’s body and clamps a strong hand over Dave’s mouth and nose, and tries to kick off to surface. Something snagged. He tries again. Dave’s leg caught on fence wire attached to posts being dragged under the water. Howie pulls his knife and cuts at the material, and fights, and yanks.

Howie moves up to get in front of Dave’s face. Glaring into his open eyes, and he pulls his hand away and pushes his mouth to Dave’s mouth to exhale as hard as he can. Giving what air he has for Dave to breath.

Someone else grabs at them. Blowers tugging at the leg. Cookey. Nick. Charlie. All of them under the water, being dragged and pulled, and twisted, and turned while kicking at the wires and posts snagged around Dave’s leg as they get dragged along. Clarence’s bulk suddenly there. His one good hand gripping the post to lift it up, and he kicks hard, dragging them all to the surface. Heads break the top. Gasping for air.

Carmen nearby. On her back, holding Reginald’s head above water.

‘DAVE!’ Reginald screams as the others break the surface, but the wire still snags Dave’s leg, trying to pull him down.

They fight and work to free it. No words given. No words spoken. Water pouring into mouths. Making them retch and puke.

‘He’s not breathing!’ Charlie gasps, fighting to stay near Dave’s head. Seeing his eyes are open and lifeless. She pushes a hand into his neck. Trying to feel for a pulse, but it’s impossible in the maelstrom. ‘Roy!’

‘I’m here,’ Roy cries, swimming through the mess of debris and churning water as they get dragged along by the great flood taking them south.

‘Dave!’ Howie screams, swimming on his back, with his hand cupped under Dave’s chin, and his body holding Dave’s up. ‘DAVE!’

‘He needs air,’ Charlie says, pushing up to get her mouth to Dave’s. Pushing her air into his before she slides off. Roy takes over. Reaching their side and seeing Dave is unconscious. He gets a breath in. Then another. Then breaks off to gasp for air himself as the post underwater snags something else, and Howie and Dave get yanked under.

They all dive with them. Reginald tries too, but Carmen fights to keep him up.

The others go deep. All of them fighting to grab the post and Dave to get him away and up. Howie’s hands over Dave’s mouth and nose. Stopping him from inhaling water. His own lungs bursting. He needs air, or he will die. But without Dave, they’ll all die anyway.

All of them.

Everything.

They can’t do this without Dave.

They can’t get weapons from Krakov.

They can’t get through London.

They can’t reach the Panacea.

The other side wins.

Everything dies.

There are no tomorrows.

But that’s just the war, and Dave is more than that.

Dave is one of them. He is family.

He is pack.

And so Howie takes the pain. His eyes bulging. Clarence kicking down at the post. Cookey, Blowers, Danny, Mo, and Bash all yanking at the wires. Trying to break it. Tappy surfaces. Fumbling for her multitool on her belt. A set of wire cutters. Small, but that’s all they have. She gulps air and dives, and cuts at the wires. Pinging them free as Charlie surfaces, draws air, and dives again to push her mouth onto Howie’s. Giving him her air. She surfaces again. Marcy doing the same. Paula seeing it and taking air, and diving to push hers into Dave. Working to get Howie’s hand off, then back on again.

Clarence grips the log. His mind slipping into that dark place as the berserker fury detonates like a volcano, and he holds one end with his hand, stabs the spike into the other end, and brings it down over his knee. Snapping it in two and allowing the wires to be tugged free. It finally frees from Dave’s leg, with all of them surging to lift him and Howie up to the surface. Reginald crying out. Howie choking. Getting air in from Marcy. Roy on Dave. Mouth to mouth in the wild frothing waters dragging them on. None of them paying any heed. Focussing only on Dave. His body limp. His eyes lifeless.

Roy breathes into him and hits his chest. Howie holds him from below. Refusing to let go. Refusing to stop, and the waters slide over the hills into Haselmere and through the town until they’re passing roof tops and churches. Things all around them. Cars and trucks. They cling to each other. Spinning and tumbling.

‘Ahead!’ Danny yells with a sputter, seeing a large, slanted tiled roof coming at them fast. The waters moving at a rate of knots, with a real risk they’ll get pulled past it and keep going until they drown. A surge of effort from all of them. A sudden pulse of energy as they kick and aim for the roof jutting up out of the waters. Roy still trying to get air into Dave’s lungs. Howie gasping and holding Dave’s body up with his own. His mouth and throat taking water in. Making his brain think he is dying while the infection within refuses to yield and purges the water. ‘Grab it!’ he yells, seeing the roof coming at them.

A roar from Clarence as he crashes into it and punches the spike through the tiles while planting his feet to make himself the anchor for all the others. His other arm out to the side, with his great wingspan.

Blowers and Cookey, and Nick hold Roy, so he can keep pushing air into Dave’s lungs. The others around them. Bashir gripping Nick. Carmen holding Reginald. Tappy and Charlie holding Cookey. Howie in the middle, still trying to push Dave up and keep him clear of the water, and the floods roar around them. Spilling over the edge of the rooftop. Frothing and churning with a never-ending power and frenzy, and to the last, they think it will never end.

Then it lowers.

And it lowers.

The power reducing.

The volume lowering until more of their bodies are on the tiles, and less is being held by the water, and by degrees, over seconds, they sink and feel their own weight until gravity takes them down, making them slide down the roof and spill over the edge onto the large balcony below. The waters still deep but shallow enough to stand, and they flail and get upright, with Howie still holding Dave up. All of them tripping and slipping as the waters lower to just below the edge of the balcony.

‘Get him down!’ Roy gasps, helping to lower Dave to the floor, and he works fast, turning to puke filthy water, then going back to checking Dave’s airwaves are clear. His mouth. His throat. He pushes his fingers into Dave’s neck. ‘Come on, Dave… Give me a pulse…’

‘Dave!’ Howie says, cradling his head. The sodden beret somehow still on Dave’s skull. The small man now inert. His body limp. His head lolling. ‘DAVE!’ Howie yells as Roy curses and starts mouth to mouth again. Pushing air into Dave’s lungs.

‘I’ll do compressions,’ Carmen says, finding the spot to start pushing down on Dave’s chest. Fifteen pushes. Two breaths.

‘Dave… Come on…’ Howie urges, knowing in his heart this isn’t over. Knowing with every ounce of his being that there is no way on this planet that Dave will die here today. A belief. A fact. A thing of such certainty it gives life to the hive mind that touches them all. Making them all crowd in on their knees. Clenching fists and willing Dave to cough and open his eyes. It has to happen. It must happen.

‘Look!’ Reginald says, seeing a sign on the wall inside the big plate glass windows. ‘We’re in a clinic!

‘Find a defib!’ Roy calls before pushing air into Dave once more. His body being shunted by Carmen working the compressions. Mo and Danny run off. Smashing through the glass to get inside. Howie still staring fixed at Dave. Knowing he’ll open his eyes and say something. It’ll be funny. Howie will swear at him, and Dave will do his thing when he pretends he isn’t getting something. They’ll dry out. They’ll get coffee. They’ll go to London. They’ll get the Panacea. They’ll kill whoever started it, and they’ll win.

Because they have Dave.

And this journey has been too far for Dave to die now.

They’ve all come too far.

So, it’s not right. It can’t happen. It won’t happen. Dave cannot die. Of all of them, Dave cannot die.

‘Fuck,’ Carmen says, sagging from the exertion as Howie scrabbles to take her place. Finding the spot. Starting the compressions.

‘Got this,’ Mo says, rushing back with Danny.

A plastic case.

A big cross on the outside.

Roy lifts the lid.

Instructions inside.

He turns it on.

The machine whines. Charging up.

Howie works the chest.

Marcy breathes into Dave.

The panic starts touching them all.

Roy strips the sticky covers from the pads and uses his knife to cut Dave’s shirt away.

The panic increases.

The sense of dread.

The utter horror of it.

‘Come on, Dave,’ Howie urges as Roy pushes the sticky pads to Dave’s chest. One higher. One slightly lower. The contact not great on the damp skin, but holding enough, and Roy flicks the switch.

‘Detecting…’ the automated voice says, and that dread gets worse. Growing heavier within them all. ‘No heart rate detected. Stand clear. Charging. CLEAR!’

‘Clear!’ Roy says, pulling Howie’s hands away, and the first zap comes. The shock delivered by the machine making Dave’s body tense and then drop.

Howie blinks. Not accepting that this is happening.

Not Dave.

It’s wrong.

‘Do it again,’ Howie says, going back to compressions. ‘Marcy! Get air into him. Roy! Zap him again.’

‘Wait, Howie,’ Roy says, pulling Howie’s hands off. ‘Let the machine work.’

‘Detecting…. Detecting… No heart rate detected. Stand clear. Charging. CLEAR!’

‘Clear!’ Roy calls, and the second zap comes. Dave tenses. Dave drops, but he doesn’t wake up, and his heart does not start.

‘What the fuck,’ Howie whispers. ‘No… NO! Dave? DAVE! Wake up… Wake up!’ he yells out, with his voice breaking off into a sob. Tappy already crying. The others starting to do the same. Hands going to mouths and faces. Eyes filling with absolute horror. Mo weeping openly. Danny numb and frozen. ‘Dave… No…’ Howie whispers, doing chest compressions. ‘Breathe into him, Marcy!’

She does it again. Two more breaths. Howie does more compressions.

‘Wait,’ Roy says, his own voice cracking. ‘I said wait, Howie!’

Howie pulls clear. His world crumbling. His heart breaking into a million pieces. The tears pouring down his cheeks. His whole body trembling with fear and disbelief.

‘Detecting… Detecting…’

‘Please, God,’ Howie whispers. Closing his eyes. ‘Please. Not Dave… Please.’

‘Please, God,’ Mo sobs.

‘Please, God,’ Charlie says as the words roll around them all. Each of them praying with everything they have for this one man to live. Because without him. Without Dave. Without this man. There is nothing left.

There are no tomorrows.

And the machine whirs, and that second becomes an age that stretches out, and the hope spikes. The realisation hitting all of them that this is the point when the machine tells them Dave is alive, and he’ll wake up.

‘No heart rate detected. Stand clear. Charging. CLEAR!’

‘Clear,’ Roy says in a sob, with tears streaming down his face, and the machine delivers the shock that sends electricity into Dave’s heart that makes every muscle tense, and his back arches. But he does not wake up, and Roy’s head drops as the realisation hits them all.

The thing none of them thought could ever happen. The thing none of them thought possible because all they ever needed to win was Dave.

But that dream is gone, and there are no tomorrows.

Because Dave is dead.

ALSO BY RR HAYWOOD

Washington Post, Wall Street Journal, Amazon & Audible bestselling author, RR Haywood. One of the most downloaded indie authors in the UK with nearly four million books sold and over 25 Kindle bestsellers.

DELIO. PHASE ONE

*WINNER OF “BEST NEW BOOK” DISCOVER SCI-FI 2023

#1 Amazon & Audible bestseller

A single bed in a small room.

The centre of Piccadilly Circus.

A street in New York city outside of a 7-Eleven.

A young woman taken from her country.

A drug dealer who paid his debt.

A suicidal, washed-up cop.

The rest of the world now frozen.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

"Brilliant."

"A gripping story. Harrowing, and often hysterical."

"This book is very different to anything else out there - and brilliantly so."

"You'll fall so hard for these characters, you'll wish the world would freeze just so you could stay with them forever."

*

FICTION LAND

*Nominated for Best Audio Book at the British Book Awards 2023

*Narrated by Gethin Anthony

*The #1 Most Requested Audio Book in the UK 2023

*Now Optioned For A TV Series

*#1 Amazon bestseller

#1 Audible bestseller

“Imagine John Wick wakes up in a city full of characters from novels – that’s Fiction Land.”

Not many men get to start over.

John Croker did and left his old life behind – until crooks stole his delivery van. No van means no pay, which means his niece doesn’t get the life-saving operation she needs, and so in desperation, John uses the skills of his former life one last time… That is until he dies and wakes up in Fiction Land. A city occupied by characters from unfinished novels.

But the world around him doesn’t feel right, and when he starts asking questions, the authorities soon take extreme measures to stop him finding the truth about Fiction Land.

*

EXTRACTED SERIES

EXTRACTED

EXECUTED

EXTINCT

Blockbuster Time-Travel

#1 Amazon US

#1 Amazon UK

#1 Audible US & UK

Washington Post & Wall Street Journal Bestseller

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?

*

THE CODE SERIES

The Worldship Humility

The Elfor Drop

The Elfor One

#1 Audible bestselling smash hit narrated by Colin Morgan

#1 Amazon bestselling Science-Fiction

“A rollicking, action packed space adventure…”

“Best read of the year!”

“An original and exceptionally entertaining book.”

“A beautifully written and humorous adventure.”

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.

*

THE UNDEAD SERIES

THE UK’s #1 Horror Series

Available on Amazon & Audible

“The Best Series Ever…”

The Undead. The First Seven Days

The Undead. The Second Week.

The Undead Day Fifteen.

The Undead Day Sixteen.

The Undead Day Seventeen

The Undead Day Eighteen

The Undead Day Nineteen

The Undead Day Twenty

The Undead Day Twenty-One

The Undead Twenty-Two

The Undead Twenty-Three: The Fort

The Undead Twenty-Four: Equilibrium

The Undead Twenty-Five: The Heat

The Undead Twenty-Six: Rye

Blood on the Floor

An Undead novel

Blood at the Premiere

An Undead novel

The Camping Shop

An Undead novella

*

A Town Called Discovery

The #1 Amazon & Audible Time Travel Thriller

A man falls from the sky. He has no memory.

What lies ahead are a series of tests. Each more brutal than the last, and if he gets through them all, he might just reach A Town Called Discovery.

*

THE FOUR WORLDS OF BERTIE CAVENDISH

A rip-roaring multiverse time-travel crossover starring:

The Undead

Extracted.

A Town Called Discovery
and featuring

The Worldship Humility

*
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