Day Thirty-Three - One True Race (Season 5: The Rain)
Author: R R Haywood
Date: 2024-07-15 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Zombie Apocalypse
Description: THE ICONIC BRITISH SERIES THAT HAS REDEFINED A GENRE AND BECOME FAR MORE THAN A ZOMBIE STORY. This is a tale of loyalty, friendship, and the sacrifices we make for love. The Undead is a gripping, and often laugh-out-loud exploration of how far we’ll go to protect those we care about.⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “One of the most original voices of our time.” - Richard Moriarty, The Sun. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “RR Haywood delivers in style.” - Chris Riches, The Express. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Exceptional” - The London Economic. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Gripping authenticity from ex-cop Haywood” John Ward, Deputy Editor, Daily Star Sunday ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “It can only be a matter
Publisher: 1899 Inc Ltd

THE UNDEAD

THIRTY-THREE

SEASON FIVE -THE RAIN

RR HAYWOOD

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

Foreword

The One True Race

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Also by RR Haywood

FOREWORD

Dear Reader,

I’m writing this note to include in the front end of The Undead 33, which is due out in a few days, and it struck me just how much of a journey you and I have been on together, and all of us collectively.

I create and write The Undead, and I am fiercely protective over it, but the funny thing is that protective energy only exerts towards other industry professionals. Editors. Publishers. Even TV and movie producers that have shown interest. I’ve sat in meetings with high-end execs as they’ve discussed adapting The Undead and turning it into a thing about technology and replacing the infected with teenagers all staring at phones. I couldn’t hide my reaction. It was written all over my face.

And yet… And yet… I don’t get that reaction when I see discussions and comments from my readers. I get the opposite reaction and feel a sense of pleasure. I care about what you think and what works for you and what doesn’t work, because I know that you care as much about this series as I do.

I love adapting the series as we go along, firstly to bring you as much enjoyment and escapism as I can, but also to try and thwart your expectations (mwahahahaha!)

Balancing the needs of so many readers is hard. Some readers love the battle scenes. Others skim read those and enjoy the relationships and dialogue scenes. Some love humour. Others want more drama. It’s a good challenge to try and match those expectations with each story.

You’ve certainly made me a better writer, and becoming one of the top ten most downloaded indie authors in the UK is an astonishing achievement considering this series started out with just a handful of readers.

Anywho. I shan’t get too mushy. Stiff upper lip wot wot! But honestly though – thank you forever for the support and love you give to me and The Undead, and my other books.

The reviews you leave. The comments you put online. The engagement you give me on social media. The awards you put me forward for – I can’t begin to explain how that feels, only that there is this sense that, like Howie and Paula and the pack, we are all in it to the end.

I hope you have enjoyed season five, and I truly hope you love The Undead 33. I am taking baby steps towards a TV series. I’ve written it up as I’d want it. Now is a case of trying to identify the best people to work with. One strong option is to self-fund a pilot so I can retain full creative control. We’ll see what happens. For now though – I hope you enjoy the last instalment in season five.

I’m already conjuring storylines for season six in my head.

One final BIG thank you is owed to my pre-readers, HB, PE, MF, and PB who are willing to read the unproofed early versions.

Much love

Rich

Season Five: The Rain

The One True Race

“I’m your princess, sweetie.”

CHAPTER ONE

Day Twenty-Nine

Cassie Appleton comes awake in the old cottage in the bumfucknowhere north of England. Sweat glistens on her forehead from the oppressive heat and humidity. A clatter from downstairs as Gregori fixes breakfast for the boy.

If someone had asked Cassie what her notion of family was more than a month ago, she would have immediately thought of manipulation and emotional leverage, and how her own family used and abused her because Cassie was an expert at victimising herself, with an ever-sustaining internal voice telling her she was hard done-by.

That sense of entitlement was a need that could never be fed. Cassie was rich and spent her life trying to fill a void with shit that glittered and superficial friends that air-kissed her cheeks when she met them for organic soya coffee and avocado salad.

She slept in super king-sized beds, under sheets of silk while clothed in the finest nightwear.

She dated playboys and players. They wined and dined her, and then fumbled, and fucked her like boys, more in love with themselves and the mirror. Then she’d go back for organic soya coffee and avocado salad to air-kiss the cheeks of women as sad and lonely as she was and tell them the lurid stories of whatever moron she was currently having sex with.

Now she sleeps naked in a creaky double bed in a tiny cottage filled with shitty, old furniture and fucks like mad several times a day with a man that used to kill people for a living.

She eats carbs at every meal and drinks fizzy soda. She wears jeans or shorts, and vests, and t-shirts and chases around after a weird child that doesn’t have a name, and the air-kissing, avocado dumbfuck, pretentious bitches she used to call friends can all kiss her much-slapped backside because they’re probably all dead, and Cassie is having the best time of her life.

The old world is over. Long live the new world, where you can keep what you can take, and Cassie wants to take it all. She wants the world and all that is in it.

Except, there are three problems currently standing in her way.

The first is that she doesn’t have enough hosts to even consider trying to tackle Howie and his bunch of misfit arseholes.

The second is that her hosts are currently spread about all over the place, which in itself presents a logistical nightmare.

The third and perhaps biggest problem is Gregori. Who openly detests the hosts, the infection, or anything that even remotely looks like it might have red eyes.

He almost shot a squirrel in the garden yesterday before Cassie told him it was an albino and the red eyes were from a pre-existing genetic condition.

‘How it get here?’ Gregori asked, viewing the squirrel with even greater suspicion.

‘How would I know? It probably jumped from tree to tree.’

‘Is too far. No jump trees from Albania.’

‘I said albino, not Albanian. Can you please put the gun down?’

‘I shoot the skweral.’

‘You do that. Then you can sleep outside with it instead of with me in the bed. With my vagina.’

Gregori pondered this for a long second. ‘I no shoot skweral.’

She smiles at the memory and stretches out with a groan at the endorphins racing around her body. She’s never felt so good. No aches or pains anywhere, but more than that, she doesn’t wake up full of hatred and bitterness now.

Now it’s all so different. She has purpose and a sense of belonging, and even a sense of duty now.

But then she is in the true state of being.

Which she now gets.

She even nods to herself at how much she gets it. She felt loyalty to the hosts and the infection before yesterday, but that’s because she was being manipulated to think that way.

But since waking yesterday with the infection existing within her mind, it’s taken everything to a whole new level of existence.

She isn’t just infected now. She is part of it. It exists within her in a way it doesn’t within all of the other hosts.

She felt disgust at it when it first entered her mind. She could sense the demonic nature of the thing. A beast of darkness and evil prowling her mind and pushing at her to attack right now and kill Howie. She told it to wait and sensed the frustration coming from that. It lashed out. It nagged and urged, and said she had broken the deal.

‘I get it,’ she told it later in the morning when it perceived her actions as being passive and not doing what she promised. ‘I was literally the most impatient bitch in London. But we need to play the long game. No! Listen to me! My father was a selfish, greedy, vile man, but he was smart at this stuff. He said play the long game because fools rush in where winners fear to tread.’

You said you will kill Howie.

‘Yes. I did. But doing it your way doesn’t work! Does it? How many times have you tried it? How many has he killed?’

Two hundred and nineteen thousand, three hundred and nine.

‘Wow. Really? I was thinking it would be like… Well, I don’t know. But not that many. Good grief, that boy’s got some repressed issues going on.’

He must be stopped.

‘Not with a few mouldy, old bloody zombies, he won’t be. If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it properly. Which means I need time to think and plan, and I’ve got to navigate Gregori. He hates your kind. Our kind. What we are. You remember he killed them all when you made them come to that other cottage? Do you remember that? It’s not just as simple as charging at Howie. Okay?’

She sensed the frustration within the beast, but it did pull back within her mind, and she spent the day getting used to it while they sweated around the cottage and the garden in the astonishing heat.

But now another day has passed, and in truth, nothing has been gained. There is no clear path forward. Gregori is even thinking about finding other people to live with. He said as much yesterday.

‘Boy needs people,’ he said without warning as is his way.

‘What people?’ Cassie asked, jerked from her inward conversations with the infection after telling it to make sure the hosts found shade.

‘Is not healthy,’ Gregori said.

Cassie was going to ask what he meant, but she knew what he meant. Gregori was referring to the boy living alone in a cottage with two adults and no other children.

But she disagreed and told him so. ‘No. No way. People are bad. Look what happened at that place we went to when the boy passed out. Remember? They were rapey and weird. You ended up shooting half of them, my darling. And it got overrun.’

Gregori just grunted and went outside to exercise, and strip, and clean guns, but she knew Gregori well enough to know he’d keep thinking it over.

‘How many?’ she whispers while lying in bed. Not that she needs to speak out loud, but it feels right when she’s alone, and it helps keep the thing inside separate from who she is.

Nine thousand, four hundred and six.

She tuts with frustration. ‘Please tell me how on earth we lost another fifty-four overnight.’

Fifteen were shot. Twelve drowned in a flood. Three were set on fire. Four were run over by a tractor. Two were trampled by a raging bull, and another four were killed by the herd of cows running away from the raging bull. One was attacked by a goose and fell in a lake. Three fell down a cliff. Two jumped out of windows and were impaled on railings. One fell down a sewer. Three were eaten by lions near a safari park. Two were electrocuted, and one more died from choking on a clove of garlic in a fruit orchard before being stabbed in the heart with a wooden stake.

‘I think there may be some confusion about vampires. But we’re meant to be gaining, not losing.

And another host was strangled by the hose it was trying to drink from.

‘Oh, dear. We are literally the worst horde ever. Honestly. If there were league tables, we’d be at the bottom with Accrington Stanley.

Accrington Stanley? Who are they?

‘Exactly. Wow. That’s really made me want to drink milk now.’

Do you want the hosts to drink milk?

‘How are they going to drink milk? Suck it from a cow? That was sarcastic! Do not make any hosts start sucking cows off.’

When will you kill Howie? He is killing hosts.

‘Yes, but not our hosts. And we’ve only got nine thousand, so until I come up with an idea, do nothing.’

She thinks to ask it to show her Daudi so she can connect and see the world through his eyes. She did it lots of times yesterday. It brought on intense motion sickness the first couple of times, but the infection did its job and soon removed that side-effect until she was able to connect without any negative responses.

It was addictive too. Being able to switch the view within her mind and be somewhere else. Somewhere she could hear and smell.

But she doesn’t ask the thing inside to connect. Instead, this time, she tries searching for a way to do it herself, but it’s akin to looking for a control panel that doesn’t exist.

How then?

She thinks of Daudi and the field he is in and creates an urge to be there, and the vision comes as simply as that. From her own will exerted into the hive mind, and she gasps as her mind expands to take in the world in another place.

She inhales, scenting both the room around her and the world around Daudi. Manure mainly, and she makes him look down to see him standing in a pile of cow shit.

She wills Daudi to walk, and he does so, stepping forward in a way that prompts instant motion sickness because her actual body is stationary, but then the infection inside of her works its magic, and the nausea passes quickly.

What a mesmerising thing to do, though. To see through another’s eyes and hear, and smell, and yet be here at the same time. She spots bodies lying on the grass in the shade of a broad oak tree and goes closer to stare down at them.

Men and women of all ages and sizes, and at first, she sees them for what they were. Fat. Ugly. Attractive. Skinny. Toned. Short. Tall. Old. Young. And in so doing and from the years of her life and the society within which she grew up, she forms instant judgements of each.

That man looks like a fat benefits waster with missing teeth and nicotine-stained fingers.

That woman looks educated and smart. Like a lawyer or a doctor. The sort of woman that Cassie hated because they were always so up themselves.

That man looks like a creepy child molester.

That woman looks like she had too many children from too many different fathers.

He looks seedy.

She looks like a bitch.

But that was the superficial way the old Cassie looked at people, and truth be told, she would probably look at people like it now, but these aren’t people at all, and so the fat benefits waster or the guy who looks like a child molester, or the bitchy woman should not ever be judged for the sins of their old lives – because this is the new world, and they have been reborn into the true state of being.

Now she feels nothing but love for them. They bring depth and meaning in a way life never had before.

Cassie is also aware, being that she has her own mind, that it is very likely the infection is making her feel that way by secreting chemicals and hormones to manipulate her. But that’s what life is. Every living creature, either by design or by the need to survive, has instincts or is hard-wired to act and react in certain ways, and isn’t that manipulation? And isn’t manipulation simply the meaning of altering things to suit the self. Which means the very act of manipulation doesn’t have to be evil or cruel. That’s how they were all told to think in the old world. That all forms of manipulation were bad.

But now she sees that isn’t the case at all.

What if Gregori insists they live with other people? Cassie knows that is dangerous because of what she and the boy are, so manipulating Gregori not to do that is necessary for her own and the child’s survival, and the duty of all living things is to survive.

How did she not think like this before? With this awareness of the connectivity within the world and the cause and effect all things have.

Whoa. Look at that guy, though, lying on the grass in the shade nearby. Ripped abs and huge muscles like a professional bodybuilder. She makes Daudi go closer and stares down in awe at the symmetry and shape of the muscles, and wonders if it’s true about steroids making willies and testicles get smaller, and that thought projects a will that is instantly complied with as the body builder stands up and pulls his gym shorts down to show his flaccid penis.

‘Wow. Okay. Wasn’t expecting that,’ she mutters, which, in turn, makes Daudi say those words to the body builder. She almost tells him to pack it in and pull his shorts up, but she can’t help but bend closer to stare at it, or rather, Daudi does, in a field, under a tree, bent over staring at a willy, surrounded by cowpats and infected people.

‘You know, I actually think that it is normal size. It’s just that your body is like, you know, all weirdly pumped up,’ Daudi tells the bodybuilder and then reaches out to lift the man’s penis up. ‘Ooh, but look at your balls, though! They’re like all shrivelled up. They’re tiny! Oh, my god. It is true then.’

She reaches a finger out to poke at one while jabbing the air in the bedroom of the bumfucknowhere cottage while Daudi pokes and cups the bodybuilder’s balls in the field of cow pats.

‘Did that not bother you?’ she asks, as though expecting an answer and wondering why anyone would willingly make their own balls shrivel up just to have big muscles.

That said, she did tell the infection to give her bigger breasts and a smaller bum without any consideration to side-effects.

But then this is all so new. So wonderfully, gloriously new. She walks on through her avatar Daudi and looks at the many dozens of infected taking shade from the sun under the tree. More trees throughout this field. Bodies under all of them seen through the heat shimmers of an already blistering day.

Is that water she can hear?

She heads towards the sound. To a thicket of trees at the edge of the field to see a stream meandering through the wooded copse. The ground higher at one end and sloping down, which creates the small waterfalls and pools, and that lovely sound of a babbling brook.

She makes Daudi drop to his knees and cup water to drink. Expecting to taste it or at least feel the sensation, but she doesn’t. Which means there is a limit to the depth of connection she has with her hosts.

She wills the infection to make all the hosts move to this copse to stay within the shade and drink this water, and she can’t help but smile when they all do as bid. She wills them to drink and watches in fascination as they get into the stream and go low to put their mouths to the surface to drink water.

They bump into one another and knock, and brush shoulders, but without any flashes of anger or issue about invasion of personal space. No bickering. No arguing. No tribes forming within tribes that could become toxic and turn on each other.

Once they each consume water, they go out to the sides and lay down in silence.

What a thing it is to see. What a feeling inside too. The way the sun dapples through the treetops. The sound of the water. A bird chirps and flutters past her head, and lands on a rock poking out of the stream. It looks at her for a second, then hops into the shallows to clean itself without any fear of the hosts around it, but of course, they are all silent and so therefore don’t project any threat.

A sudden glimpse into the future, where the one true race lives in harmony alongside all other creatures. Not hunting them. Not killing them for sport. Not feeling the need to crush and kill, and dominate, and ruin it all.

And Howie wants to stop that?

What the hell is wrong with him?

But something inside tells Cassie that Howie isn’t so sure himself. She doesn’t know how she knows that, only that she does, nor what she should do about it.

But Howie is a problem.

They had one host in the south, west of the fort and Southampton that saw Howie’s vehicles go past towards Hinchley Point, or Little Italy as Cassie knew it.

She told the host to go closer but to stay hidden. That took time, but by the evening, while Gregori watched Rain Man on DVD, and while the boy drew more incredible pictures of the very place Howie was at, she saw it through the eyes of the host.

The white-washed walls and red-topped villas. The twisty, turny lanes and narrow streets, and all of it on the plateau next to the cliff edge looking out over the calm, blue seas.

Except by then, it was no longer that idyllic place famous throughout the world. It was a scene of war and destruction, and those villas were either on fire or blown apart, and the those twisty, turny lanes were full of broken and mangled bodies.

Her host watched Howie and the others leave, and once the broken town fell silent, she walked in to stare in awe at the destruction. Seeing thousands of hosts gunned down or blown apart, or killed by blades and axes. Hacked apart. Bludgeoned. Bones showing. Flies everywhere. The stench made her gag. Gregori paused the movie. She panicked and coughed, and said her wine went down her windpipe. Then she glanced over to the boy drawing the same famous mosque she was seeing in real life through the eyes of her host.

Cassie didn’t know what to make of it all.

She felt confused and conflicted because while it was bad seeing so many hosts of the one true race being slaughtered, they weren’t hosts from her version of the one true race.

They weren’t her hosts.

She didn’t even know if it was possible to take hosts that already been taken. Was that a thing? If she bit or got fluids into an infected host, would her version take over the body?

She didn’t think it would.

This thing is a panacea; therefore it overrides all other viruses, and her version is just another strand of the same thing.

What did that mean?

Would the different factions of the one true race all end up in war with one another once humans were eradicated?

And what would that achieve?

How would that be any different to the old world?

But that was also when she made another realisation because someone spoke to her. Or rather, they spoke to her host.

‘Are you staying too?’

She almost jumped out of her skin when she heard the voice and initially thought someone else was in the cottage with them, and turned to stare at the door. Which again made Gregori pause the movie and look at the door in that steely-eyed way of his.

‘You hear something?’ he asked.

‘No!’ she said, without realising that’s what her host also said to the other survivor at Hinchley Point. Without also realising that because she flinched, the host did too, which humanised it entirely, and which therefore meant the other survivor didn’t suspect for one second that the woman she was talking to was another infected. ‘I need a wee,’ she told Gregori and rushed out of the room.

‘It made me almost wet myself too,’ the other survivor said as the woman she was talking to ran around in a weird way like she was going upstairs and closing an invisible door, then pulling her knickers down to piddle on the ground. The survivor put it down to shock. ‘What’s your name?’ the woman asked.

Cassie blinked at her and in that moment realised the woman was watching her host urinate, which brought about a whole new question of whether hosts could actually pee. Which prompted Cassie to look down, which, obviously, the host did too and watched itself pee.

Which the other woman also put down to shock.

‘So, you thought you’d stay too?’ the woman asked, then looked around at the carnage with a strange expression and an odd smile.

Cassie didn’t reply because the whole thing had somewhat flummoxed her, and so she pulled her knickers and joggers up, which the host also did, despite only having underwear on and no joggers.

‘Why don’t you come with me. We’ll get you some clothes. Yes?’ the woman asked and came closer to take Cassie’s arm. ‘That smoke has irritated your eyes. They’re really red. Are they sore? Did you hear it all going off? We did. Gunshots and bombs, and all that screaming, but then, we knew it was coming. We all knew,’ she said in that weird way.

Cassie didn’t know what to think of it all.

It was her first time being an infected host and using an avatar in such a way, and so she stumbled along next to the other woman to a small, detached house left mostly intact by the war that swept through.

‘But we prayed, and we got through,’ the woman said as Cassie went into the sparsely furnished home to see two older teenagers and a thin, middle-aged man all in plain clothes the same as the woman. Bibles open on the plain, wooden table all to the same page, as though they’d been reading it aloud while the carnage erupted outside. ‘And we knew it would happen. The end of days. Well. It was foretold, wasn’t it?’ the woman asked in that fervent way that always made Cassie cringe.

‘Oh, good grief, are you all religious nutjobs?’ she asked.

‘We are witnesses,’ the woman said in a proud way that really did make Cassie cringe. ‘And outside the world shall end, and the righteous shall remain and thrive in the space left by the sinners…’ she cut off and blinked as the glob of saliva rolled down her cheek. ‘Okay. So, I know you’re in shock, but please don’t spit on me.’

‘Apologies. I missed your mouth,’ Cassie said. ‘It’s my first time.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I was aiming for your mouth. The spit; it went on your cheek. You need to put it on your lips.’

‘Er no, can you not do that, please. No. Don’t touch me.’

‘Just put it on your lips.’

‘I said please don’t touch me!’

‘For the love of God, just stand still and swallow my spit before Gregori hears. Stop turning away.’

‘Don’t touch me!’

‘You do it, then! No, don’t rub it off. That’s God’s spit, you heathen non-believer. What are you anyway? Mormons or something?’

‘We’re witnesses! Why are you spitting in your hand?’

‘To rub it in your eyes. Witnesses to what? Oh! I get it. Witnesses. The Jehovah people. Oh, they’re so annoying. Are you going to stand still or not?’

‘No! Jeremy! Ask this woman to leave, please.’

‘Jeremy needs to fuck off before I dick punch him,’ Cassie said, which her host said as it chased the woman around her confused children and husband in their plain clothes in their barren house and tried to rub spit in her eyes.

‘Jeremy!’ the woman snapped, and the man finally sprung to action, albeit weakly and only because his wife told him to.

‘Fine!’ Cassie said in the bathroom of the cottage.

‘What fine?’ Gregori called from downstairs.

‘I’m fine!’ Cassie shouted as her host shouted as Jeremy came closer and tried not to look at the woman’s naked bum cheeks, seeing as she was only wearing what appeared to be a very thin piece of material as her underwear, which was nothing at all like the gigantic shapeless knickers his wife wore. But he couldn’t help himself and glanced down, which Cassie saw.

‘Hello, sailor!’ she said with a smile.

‘I am not a sailor. I work in accounting.’

‘You don’t say,’ Cassie said because never in her life had she seen anyone look more like an accountant. ‘With those big muscles?’ she said at his thin and reedy arms.

Jeremy, however, couldn’t grasp sarcasm, and so he took the compliment for real and puffed up. Which Cassie thought was very pathetic, and she thought about spitting on his face, but then figured she’d give him a thrill for the final moments of his life and kissed him on the lips instead. Which made him flinch in wide-eyed panic.

‘You slut!’ his wife then shouted and picked up a bible to throw at Cassie’s host. ‘You jezebel whore!’

‘Best kiss he’s ever had,’ Cassie said and darted over to grab and kiss the oldest teenage boy, who didn’t pull away or resist at all and stepped in to push his groin into her as his father grunted from the pain in his stomach and bent double.

‘You’ve given him AIDS!’ the woman yelled and threw another bible as Cassie grabbed and kissed the other teenager. A young woman, who froze in fright and pulled back, but one touch was all it took, and by then, Jeremy was on the floor, clutching his stomach, and the boy was bending over, and the mother was screaming about AIDS and grabbing bibles to throw.

Two minutes after the kiss, Jeremy died on the floor of his barren house, having survived the apocalyptic war raging outside – but his heart re-started, and he came back in the true state of being and wasted no time in surging to his feet with his son and daughter, and together they grabbed and pinned their mother down on the plain, wooden table.

Cassie wanted to say something cool and witty about the end of days and how fucking annoying it was when pious Jehovah Witnesses came knocking on the door, and how every one of them she ever met was just as batshit crazy as everyone else, but the boy was knocking on the door and said he needed a poo-poo, and so she spat in the woman’s shouting mouth and snapped back to her own world.

At which point, she realised the boy had opened the bathroom door, and she’d spat in his face.

Which was all a bit weird. But at least he couldn’t get infected.

‘That was rather messed up,’ she says to herself in the bedroom of the cottage, and because she’s still connected, so Daudi says the same thing in the dappled copse next to the babbling brook.

The bodybuilder walks past to go into the stream to drink, and it’s only then that Cassie realises how tall Daudi is. The bodybuilder is a big guy, very wide, but from the position, she can see Daudi is taller.

She then lifts Daudi’s hands to inspect them with sudden interest in her host. Dark skin, but not black. Maybe Arabic.

Strong hands, though, and thick wrists. And why does she go into Daudi’s head whenever she wills herself into the horde.

Hang on. Marcy was infected, and she bit and infected loads of people. Didn’t she infect Reginald? Cassie thinks she learnt that along the way somewhere. But Reginald is no longer a host under Marcy’s control.

Which means Reginald must also have had a certain genetic type.

That’s what the beast said in her mind. That Cassie was not the right genetic type or structure. So that means Marcy was, which must then mean that Reginald was also of another certain type.

Does Daudi have that?

She tries to examine inwardly, but again, she doesn’t really know what to look for or how.

She looks at the bodybuilder and wills the view to change, and in the blink of an eye, she’s staring straight at Daudi. Oh, god, yes! She saw him before. She remembers now. He’s still got his name badge on his shirt. That’s how she knew he’s called Daudi. Didn’t they meet in a supermarket? Oh, and the Krye! The Albanian gangsters that started to beat Gregori in the luxury spa place they went to. Daudi led the rescue and smashed in through the windows.

And Daudi did that without her in control.

Which, again, suggests some form of autonomy within Daudi. And now she’s looking at him, she can see a difference.

He’s got red eyes, but he isn’t slack-jawed or vacant like the others. There’s something else going on within his mind, and now she’s looking properly, she can see that Daudi looks tough. Not all gym pumped like the bodybuilder, but thickset, and strong, and mean, and capable. A tattoo on his upper arm. Some kind of elite military symbol maybe.

A sudden awareness blossoms inside of Cassie at the same time as the sound of a herd of elephants thunders up the stairs in the cottage, and the bedroom door slams open. ‘Cassseeeee!’ the boy calls. ‘Wakey-wakey!’

‘I’m awake. So bugger off,’ she says, making the boy laugh in delight at the rude word.

‘Gregoreee said what do you do this day.’

‘No. What are we doing today. Say it back to me properly.’

‘What are we doing today!’

‘We’re going out in the car. We’ll find a bigger pool for you and steal a fire engine to fill it up. Ha! Look at your face. Go and get dressed. Your blue shorts and top are out. And brush your teeth!’

‘Okay, Casseeeee!’ the boy yells, thundering off into the bathroom.

‘And don’t pee on the seat. It’s rather disgusting!’

‘Boy! No wee-wee on seat!’ Gregori shouts from downstairs as Cassie drops her head and goes back to looking at Daudi and his military bearing, and his tattoo.

She thinks for a second and motions for Daudi to follow her, making the bodybuilder do the same as they walk slowly through the copse. Looking down at all the other hosts.

‘You,’ Cassie says (the bodybuilder says), and another man gets to his feet. Tall and fit, with that same military bearing. Upright posture. Close-cropped hair. ‘Come with us,’ she says and walks on, passing old men and old women, and obese children. She stops again. Staring down. ‘You,’ the bodybuilder says, and a woman stands up. Mid-twenties and packed with muscle like a pro CrossFit athlete. Big legs and shoulders. A defined six pack. A military tattoo on her shoulder. She joins the small group walking on, and they all stop at the next guy Cassie spots. Thirties. Fit. Another military tattoo on his arm. A thick beard.

She works through the copse. Seeking fit, strong, and healthy-looking hosts marked with military tattoos.

Nine men. Two women. All of them of a type. Hard and strong. The types of people that would be elite even in the old world.

Another idea in mind. A smile touches her face. She searches for two more. Finding them within minutes.

Two women of an altogether different type. Stunning looks and great curves.

‘Thirteen,’ she murmurs, or rather, the bodybuilder does as they all stare on through red eyes.

But she needs something else.

She looks at Daudi and searches for something without knowing what it is. She wills the change and finds herself in Daudi’s mind, but again, she doesn’t know what to search for.

An instinct perhaps. A thing that was already there. The thing that made Daudi know when and how to attack at the luxury hotel and spa when the Krye and his men were beating Gregori.

What was that?

How did Daudi know to do that?

She grunts in irritation and switches over to the female cross-fit athlete, and stares up at Daudi. ‘Look at me,’ she says, and Daudi looks down at her. ‘How did you do it?’

He doesn’t reply. He just stares at her without blinking.

‘We don’t have enough to send at Howie. Nine thousand isn’t enough, and it’ll take time to get more,’ she speaks to the infection inside all of them. To the thing inside of her own mind. ‘Daudi has instincts that you used. You need to pull back somehow or give him some power like you did with me. Like Marcy did with Reginald. Like that. So he’s under control, but so he can think or act independently. Jesus. I sound so stupid. Is this even possible? I mean, can you even hear me?’

‘Yes,’ Daudi says as she blinks in shock.

A shout from downstairs. Frustration in Gregori’s voice coming closer as he mounts the stairs.

‘I must go,’ Cassie whispers urgently, stunned at what just happened, and she breaks as Gregori comes into the room.

‘You get up now,’ he says as she smiles slowly and pushes the sheet down to show her naked body.

‘And what if I refuse to comply?’

CHAPTER TWO

Day Twenty-Nine

‘I spy with my little eye something beginning with T!’

‘Oh, good grief,’ Cassie says, sagging in the front passenger seat of the Range Rover. ‘Is it tree again?’

‘Yes!’ he cries out, having done the same thing three times in a row as Cassie laughs at something that a few weeks ago would have driven her mad. Now it’s just mildly irritating.

She squirms at the sweat soaking through her clothes and again checks the air con. ‘This is meant to be coming out cold. Why is it not cold?’ she asks at the warm air blasting from the vents.

‘Is too hot,’ Gregori says, nodding at the world beyond the windows as Cassie opens her window in search of breeze but just gets hit by hot, charged air rushing past instead.

‘Have you ever known it this hot?’ she asks him.

He shakes his head and thinks about the countries he’s killed in. Tropical places. Desert places. But nothing like this.

‘What’s the temp?’ she asks, leaning over to see the dashboard. ‘Oh, wow! Is that forty degrees? It’s not even midday. It’s that humidity, though. Could you imagine fighting a battle in this heat? I bet Howie’s hating it.’

‘This name again,’ Gregori says, shooting her a look as she inwardly winces at slipping up again and talking about them. It’s bad enough that the boy keeps drawing such life-like pictures of Howie and his lot. ‘Who is this man?’

‘I’m not entirely sure, darling. It’s the pictures,’ she says casually. Too casually. ‘The boy draws those people and their axes, and what have you. And you know, they probably do battles or whatever, and it’s hot, and I thought… God! Whatever. Don’t interrogate me for making chitty-chat. You pick a conversation then. No! Go on, controller of all conversations. What should we talk about?’

A crass deflection. She can see he’s not really buying into it, but then maybe her delivery isn’t what it once was. The old Cassie would have given a much harder reaction and laid it on thick. Is he seeing through it?

Mind you, it could just be the heat.

He shoots her sideways look, though, and one that sends a warning through her to remember who he is and what he can do. ‘I spies with little eyes the tree.’

She stares for a second, then bursts out laughing at the glint of mischief in his eye that suggests there was never really any threat at all. ‘You don’t say the actual thing we are meant to be spying on,’ she tells him and swats his arm. ‘Just what it begins with.’

‘Is teaching,’ he tells her. ‘Boy! The tree. What this begins with?’

The boy frowns for a second before realising what he means. ‘T!’

‘See. I teach,’ Gregori says proudly.

‘Well done, Socrates.’

‘Who this man?’

‘Socrates? He was a Greek philosopher. Come on. You must have heard of Socrates. He literally founded Western philosophy and the ethical tradition of thought. No? Oh, wow. So, he had these three principles. Pursue your life’s purpose. Take care of your soul and be a good person. How the bloody hell did I remember that? I did that years ago in school, like even before my degree.’

‘Is swear too much,’ Gregori says with a tut while also deeply impressed at her knowledge.

‘My dear sir,’ she says, adopting a posh, old-style American accent. ‘The foolish and wicked practise of profane cursing and swearing is a vice so mean and low that every person of sense and character hates it. Ha! That was George Washington. How did I remember that? This thing is incredible.’

‘What thing?’

Shit. Another slip. ‘The brain!’ she says with a roll of her eyes and taps her head. ‘Studies have shown that intelligent people tend to swear more. Eh? How about that, you sexy Albanian motherfucker!’

‘Motherfucker!’ the boy shouts in delight.

‘No swear!’ Gregori says.

‘Teach me an Albanian swearword,’ she says and nods at him to do it. ‘Go on! What’s fuck off in Albanian.’

‘Boy will say these words.’

‘So? Who to? Or rather, to whom? Go on! Gregori! Gregori! Gregori!’ she chants as the boy joins in while not entirely sure why.

Gregori huffs and puffs like the big, bad wolf ready to blow the piggy’s house away. ‘Qiu!’ he growls.

‘Yay!’ Cassie says, laughing and clapping. ‘Is that fuck off?’

‘Go fuck self.’

‘Ha! Brilliant. Qiu!’ she says in a mock accent.

‘You have education?’ he asks with a rare show of interest in her former life.

‘Cambridge, darling. Which is meant to be like the best university ever, but I hated it and did literally the least to get a degree, and even that was barely a two-two.’

‘What study?’

‘The same as anyone, who wants a meaningless degree,’ she says with a laugh. ‘Well, no, okay, so there was art or business. I did business but only because my father, the right honourable cock womble Alistair Appleton, may he die in eternal pain, said he’d buy me a new car if I chose business. And he paid for the very expensive tutor, who actually did all the work, and he made several more donations to make sure I passed because the daughter of the populist nationalist Alistair Appleton cannot possibly fail her degree. What would the great unwashed voting public think? Not that anyone actually cared about them. And actually, Alistair would be more worried about saving face in The Commons bar with all the other cocaine-troughing, fat pigs. That’s why this country was so bad. No! No. I’m going to say it. They were awful. And my father was the most terribliest, awfulest of them all. They were so corrupt! My dad was taking money from everyone. Arabs. Chinese. Russians. They were all like it. That’s why every bloody utility company got sold off. So the fat pigs would make money because they were connected to the people, who bought them and ran them into the ground. I’m telling you, Gregory. The old world was broken. This is better.’

‘Is Gregori,’ Gregori says, only getting a fraction of what she said. But he listens anyway and glances at the passion in her face and the way her hair moves from the hot breeze. Loose strands poking out and sweat patches on her top. He thinks for a second and frowns. ‘The Krye. He do work for this mans.’

‘What mans? Sorry. I mean, what man?’

He shoots her another look. ‘Your father.’

‘My father? No way! Really?’

Gregori shrugs. ‘I think yes. I hear name. I do job in house with many Russians on the day.’

‘The day? What day? The first day of the outbreak?’

‘Yes. I come to this country. I do job. I hear name when they tells me who to kill. They no say name to me. I hear them talking.’

‘I’m not even surprised,’ Cassie says. ‘He was such a piece of shit. I mean, we all were, really. I was for sure. But then, I wasn’t a member of the cabinet and having lunch with the PM, and in charge of security. Did you know he was the security minister? He got caught snorting cocaine off the backsides of underage rent boys. And they still gave him the job! I mean. The media said they were over legal age, but they didn’t bloody look it if you ask me. But how weird, though. You did a job for my father, and now we’re together.’

Gregori frowns at that word. Together. The meaning of it. What it represents.

‘I mean. We are, though, aren’t we?’ she asks, giving him a look. ‘Together?’

He nods once, and she smiles, figuring that’s all she’s likely to get from him. But it’s enough, and she wouldn’t want him any other way.

‘This heat, though,’ she says after a while as the car follows a steep incline winding up a hillside, overlooking the Yorkshire Dales. ‘Ooh, there’s a viewpoint car park. Pull over. Yes, in here.’

She pops the door open with a gasp at the heat now the car is stationary and wind going by the windows has stopped. Heat shimmers in every direction, and even the greenery looks less vibrant now. More wilting and baked.

The view is good, though, and they look down the rolling hillside to the Yorkshire Dales stretching off into the distance. A sumptuously gorgeous sight of fields and stone-built walls. Lakes and streams, and here and there, the slate rooftops of more bumfucknowhere houses.

Gregori even grunts to show his appreciation. ‘Is good. I like.’

‘You sound like Borat. He was a comedian. He did Ali G too, but Borat was the best one. I like,’ she says in mimicry of the voice. ‘But just look at that view. It’s so green and like fertile or something. Whatever. I’m not James Herriot.’

‘Is funny man too?’

‘No, he was a vet.’

‘He in army?’

‘No! A veterinarian. For animals. He wrote books about Yorkshire and being a vet. I never read them, though. I saw a few of the TV programmes, but I hated them. I thought the north was all grimy and full of stupid people, who can’t speak properly. Honestly. I literally had hissy fits if I went outside London. Unless I was going to the Riviera or something. But wow. It’s beautiful, though. And smell that air. No cars. No fumes. No traffic. No anything. Isn’t it better?’ She looks at him to make it clear she wants him to respond. ‘Gregori. It’s better, yes? No fumes. No noise. No planes.’

He nods. ‘Yes.’

‘Would you want them to all come back? The people. Would you want it to go back to how it was?’

He frowns, giving little away to his private thoughts.

‘Come on,’ she says and turns to face him fully. ‘So, a cure pops up, and it all goes away, and you can go back to killing and travelling the world. Would you do it?’

The answer is instant and clear in his mind. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

Again, a moment’s worth of thought, but Cassie knows Gregori is surprisingly deep and also very stubborn if she pushes too fast, and so she holds still and waits. Which is not something anyone else ever did for Gregori. They never asked him questions about anything other than killing. And they’d never give him time to think. If he didn’t answer straight away, they’d laugh and clap his shoulder. ‘Eh! He’s the silent killer! He’s a machine! He doesn’t even think!’

It was like that all the time. Either that or he was a servant given instructions and dismissed without a second look by whatever Krye in whatever region or place was controlling him.

Now he looks at Cassie in the sweltering heat staring into his eyes and waiting to hear what he genuinely thinks. So why wouldn’t he back to that life?

He swallows, and she sees a glint of raw vulnerability in his eyes, or maybe she feels it in his energy.

‘Here. With you and boy,’ he says and drops his eyes like he said something stupid, but then his nature kicks in. The beast within him makes him look back up with that challenge laid bare. His defiance competing with his emotional openness.

‘I think so too,’ she says quietly and kisses his lips. ‘But not the boy because he smells of poo!’

‘No! You smell of poo!’ the boy says.

‘Is smoke,’ Gregori says, staring into the distance.

‘Where?’

‘You see lake? Big lake. Is the big lake. Is right there.’

‘What lake? Oh, I can see it.’

‘Go up. To right. Is house. Not that house. Go up. To right. Is other house. Not that house. Go up. Is that house.’

‘Complicated much? Three houses up from the lake. Oh, yes! I can see it now. Must be people living there.’

She suppresses the urge to tell the thing inside to find the house and take the people. ‘Anyway. I need a wee. I’ll go behind those trees.’

‘Is not safe.’

‘From what? We don’t have bears or wolves in this country. I’ll take the shotgun. Honestly, I’m right there.’

She heads to the car, taking the sawn-off shotgun from under her seat and a roll of toilet paper before heading off across the road into the undergrowth. ‘Are you there?’ she whispers.

I am always here.

‘Did you hear me about that cottage?’

Yes.

‘Oh, okay, it works to just think it, then. Still getting used to it. But listen, though. I’m worried about this heat. Make sure they all stay in shade. And make them drink water too. And eat fruit. Apples or oranges, or bananas. You know. Things like that.’

Lemons.

‘Yes. Lemons are fine.’

Grapefruit.

‘Any fruit is fine.’

Tomatoes are fruit, although commonly assumed to be vegetables.

‘Shut up with the fruit. We don’t have long. Where’s Howie?’

In a café. He met with Heather and Paco. They left and-.

‘Who the hell are Heather and Paco?’

They met with Howie.

‘Yeah, but who are they? I mean. How do they know Howie?’

Heather is what Howie is. She does not stay with them.

‘Oh, okay, she’s one of his little gang. Cool. What about the other one?’

Paco was the one true race.

‘Was?’

He is not now.

‘He isn’t now? So, he recovered then. Like Marcy? Is that what you mean? Okay, that’s interesting. That suggests the virus is mutating in different people. That’s a weird name too. The only Paco I know is Paco Rabanne. Oh, and that actor. Paco Maguire.’

Yes.

‘Yes, what?’

Paco Maguire.

‘Stop it! Paco Maguire. The Paco Maguire? Heather is with the Paco Maguire?’

Yes. I can see them. They are driving a car.

‘What, right now? Where?’ Cassie says, peeking through the bushes to check Gregori and the boy are still safely out of earshot. ‘Show me the host.’

The vision comes of a sun-baked carpark. A single four-wheel drive pulling up as Cassie sees through the eyes of a host body. ‘It bloody is,’ Cassie murmurs. ‘That’s Paco Maguire.’

The car comes to a stop as Heather braces for the heat and opens the door with a grimace. ‘Urgh, it’s like a furnace,’ she says before spotting an old, one-armed man standing in the bushes nearby. Shredded pyjamas hanging in tatters, and he stares back through red eyes. ‘Paco, seen that?’ she asks, nodding over. ‘Would you? Saves a bullet, and a gunshot might scare all the animals.’

Paco grunts as he takes the sledgehammer from the back and starts striding towards the host a few metres away.

‘Hang on a sec. It’s not charging. Why isn’t it charging?’ Heather asks, walking over as Cassie watches on, mesmerised at the voyeuristic nature of it. ‘Maybe it’s one of those Cassie zombie ones that Howie mentioned,’ Heather adds, making Cassie blink, which in turn makes the host blink. ‘It just blinked when I said Cassie. Did you see that? Er, hello? Are you with Cassie?’ Heather asks, leaning forward to peer into the red eyes. ‘If you are, then we’ve got this for you.’ She pushes a hand into a pocket before pulling it back out to show her middle finger.

‘That’s really childish,’ Cassie says.

‘That’s really childish,’ the host says.

‘That’s not childish,’ Heather says. ‘But this is,’ she adds, bringing the other hand up to show another middle finger. ‘Is this the best you can do, is it? A one-armed geriatric. He hasn’t even got any teeth.’

‘I’ve got plenty more, you shtupid bith,’ the old man lisps, waggling his stump at them.

‘Just kill it,’ Heather says. ‘We’ve got some animals to free.’

‘What does that mean?’ Cassie asks as the old man asks as Paco grabs it from behind to snap the neck, which severs both the spine and the connection.

Cassie recoils and blinks at the real world around her. But she saw the sign behind them. The huge welcoming sign for Stickleton Safari Park. She heard what Heather said too, We’ve got some animals to free.

That’s genius. Absolute genius.

‘Finished?’ Gregori asks as Cassie runs out from the thicket.

‘I am! But I’ve had an idea. We’re going to find a zoo.’

‘Zoo? Why we go zoo? Animals, they not eat. All be dead.’

‘Exactly! We’re going to free them.’

Gregori considers this for a moment and determines, in his way of determining things, that he rather likes the idea. ‘Is good,’ he announces. ‘I like.’

‘Well done, Borat. Drive on, then.’

The doors close. The engine starts. The air-con flows, and Cassie smiles at her two favourite people because a zoo full of dead animals is perfect. It’s exactly what she needs to show how cruel humanity is.

An hour or so later, and they sit in heavy, charged silence in the Range Rover.

Cassie shifts in her seat. Gregori glares at her, and in the back, the boy sits with his blond hair stuck wet to his scalp from sweat. His cheeks all rosy, and his piercing, blue eyes stare out the window across the car park to the zoo they just left.

That being The Dales Zoological Centre. The zoo Cassie took them to under the guise of freeing all the animals while secretly hoping it would be full of dead creatures so Gregori would see how cruel people are.

However, as it turned out, that’s not quite what happened.

They dropped out of the Range Rover into the oven of super-heated air and set off towards the entrance – a glass fronted vestibule poking out from a modern construction of steel and glazed panels. Signs all over the place proclaiming what creatures they have inside.

‘Remember what I said, okay?’ Cassie said, staring down at the boy.

‘You said the animals are deaded.’

‘No. I said some might be dead. Hopefully none at all, but if we do see one, then try not to get upset.’

‘Is people here,’ Gregori said as a door opened within the reception area, and a plump woman rushed out to stare at them through the glass. Brown hair and dressed in khaki shorts and shirt.

‘Great! You’re not zombies. Right, hang on a jiffy.’ She reached up to unlock the bolts before popping the door open. ‘Hello! Sorry, the zoo is actually closed right now. You know. Because of the whole zombie pandemic thingy.’

‘We come to free animals,’ Gregori said.

‘Oh, bless you! That’s so sweet. And you brought your little son too. He’s a cutie, isn’t he? Did you come to free our animals?’ she asked the boy.

‘Yes. We make free,’ Gregori said as the boy nodded up at her.

‘Oh, you,’ the woman said, swatting Gregori’s arm. ‘Honestly. That’s just lovely.’

‘Are they deaded?’ the boy asked. ‘Did the brains come out?’

‘He’s a pickle, isn’t he? All worried, aren’t you, my little one? Hey, tell you what. Do you want a quick tour? Will that put his little mind at rest, mum and dad?’

There followed a moment whereby Cassie and Gregori stared at one another as though expecting the other to correct the woman. But neither did, and the boy stayed quiet too.

‘Yes,’ Gregori said, turning back to her.

‘What a gorgeous family. I’m Sandra, by the way. Come in and meet everyone.’

Sandra led them into the zoo canteen. A large area filled with tables and chairs. Stacks of food arranged in neat piles behind a service counter running down one side of the room. The smell of spices hung in the air, coming from a large pot of something hot and bubbling over a gas burner. ‘Guys! We’ve got visitors!’ Sandra called out.

‘Hello!’ a man cried out, popping up from behind the counter, all red-faced and sweaty. ‘Sorry! How are you?’

‘This is Brian, our head keeper,’ Sandra said.

‘Hello there. Yes. Good to meet you,’ Brian said, rushing out to greet Gregori and Cassie with handshakes before patting the boy on the head.

‘And this is Amy,’ Sandra said, making Cassie blink as a younger, red-faced woman popped up from behind the counter, looking somewhat sheepish.

‘Hi!’ she said with a wave while tucking stray hairs behind her ears.

‘She’s cooking our stew for later,’ Sandra said. ‘Don’t let it burn, Amy!’

‘I won’t,’ Amy said, rushing over to stir the pot. ‘We’ve got plenty if you’re hungry guys.’

‘Oh! And this is Rob,’ Sandra said as a man walked through a door, tucking his shirt in. ‘He’s our resident vet.’

‘Is James Herriot,’ Gregori said.

‘You know James Herriot?’ Rob asked. ‘Honestly. That man is my hero. I like!’

‘Is famous vet. I know this,’ Gregori said as Cassie blinked.

‘Rob is also our resident joker,’ Sandra said as another guy rushed out of the same door, also tucking his shirt in.

‘That’s me! The resident joker!’ Rob said.

‘Is Borat, yes? I Like!’ Gregori said.

‘What the fuck,’ Cassie mouthed as everyone else laughed.

‘So, guys. This family came here to free the animals,’ Sandra said as the others all gave ever so earnest nods and ever so earnest mutterings while Cassie determined, in her way of determining things, that they probably lure people in and fuck them to death before feeding them to the animals. Unless they’ve already eaten and fucked all of the animals too. She looked over at the stew, half-expecting to see it full of penguin.

‘Ooh, he’s got a gun,’ Rob said, and Cassie tensed, thinking this might be when it all goes off.

‘He does have a gun,’ Brian said in a very serious tone. ‘All safely holstered too. Well done, sir. Good to see precautions are being taken. Forces, were you? You look like a soldier. We do actually have some rifles here. All licenced, of course. And only ever handled by trained professionals. You can inspect them if you wish.’

‘Oh, Brian. They want to see the animals,’ Sandra said.

‘Pingwins,’ Gregori says.

‘Did the pingwins brains come out?’

‘Bless him, he’s ever so worried,’ Sandra said as they all pulled sad faces at the boy, which Cassie figured is probably just before they try and put him in the stew to eat. ‘Come on. Let’s put his little mind at rest.’

‘And this is May. She’s a giant panda bear,’ Sandra said a few moments later as they stopped to look inside at the beautiful creature chewing on a stem of bamboo. Or is it a human bone? Cassie thought before realising it was definitely just bamboo.

‘She’s with child,’ Sandra whispered while rubbing her own belly. ‘Ooh, and there’s her husband. Mr Chen.’

‘Racist,’ Cassie says.

‘No. They’re from China. But they do make such a beautiful couple.’

‘Will they eat the baby?’ the boy asked.

‘Oh, gosh. No! Of course not. That little baby panda will be as safe as you,’ Sandra said while Cassie reckoned the baby panda will go straight in the pot for some baby panda stew.

‘And over there we have our macaws and parrots,’ Sandra said as they passed the cages full of brightly coloured birds. ‘We always said Rob should have been a parrot.’

‘Racist and homophobic,’ Cassie said while looking at Gregori like he should be taking notes.

‘I do love bright colours!’ Rob said in a singsong voice.

They delved deeper into the zoo, passing an enclosure of wild boars grunting and snuffling about. A low building at the back of their area. More grunts and snuffles sounding from inside.

‘Oh, god… Yes… Yes… Yesyesyes!’ a voice inside. A louder grunt. A gasp and it went quiet.

‘What the…’ Cassie said as another door on the other side of the path opened with two workers shuffling out. Clothes dishevelled and hair askew. A smile to each other. A nod, and they went off in different directions. The guy taking a wheelbarrow of dung away; the woman picking up a hose and broom as she smiled over at the newcomers.

‘Oh, hey, are you joining us? I would greet you, but I’m covered in poo,’ she said as they went by, offering them a big smile, especially Gregori.

‘He’s all mine, you cheeky mare,’ Rob called out, making them all laugh and chortle as they went on past more enclosures of other well-fed and well-watered animals. Which wasn’t what Cassie was either expecting or hoping for. Not that she wanted to see dead animals. Only that she wanted to prove a point in how cruel people are, which unfortunately was not going well. One thing was still true though. Where there are people, there will always be conflict. She just had to find it.

‘Wow. Seriously. This is amazing,’ Cassie said. ‘How many people do you have here, Sandra?’

‘Ooh. I’d say about forty or so now.’

‘Forty! All in here?’

‘Yes. It takes a lot of people to run a zoo,’ Brian said.

‘They’re mostly workers and their families,’ Sandra added. ‘A few more have turned up and just kind of stayed. But then, we are a nice bunch in here. All very friendly.’

‘We’re very friendly,’ Rob said.

‘But we’re lucky really,’ Sandra carried on. ‘I mean, we’ve got big walls, haven’t we? Makes it a perfect hideaway.’

‘And we generate most of our own power too,’ Brian said from behind. ‘Our aim was to be the world’s first fully carbon neutral zoological centre. We’ve got state of the art solar panels backed up by wind turbines. And on top of that, we’re developing a system to turn animal waste into energy for the winter.’

‘We call it zoo poo power,’ Rob said to a few more laughs.

‘We also grow our own organic vegetables and fruits in our hydroponic glasshouses,’ Brian continued. ‘And we breed fish for the penguins and seals. We’re also scavenging what we can locally while we work on a phased release programme.’

‘Oh, god, that’s good,’ a voice grunted from inside a store as they went by.

‘Yeah, it’s alright,’ a woman replied casually. ‘Hurry up, though, I need to feed the lemurs.’

‘Jesus,’ Cassie said, starting to think maybe they’d stepped into the twilight zone.

‘But it’s not all rainbows and sunflowers,’ Sandra said as they walked on, with Cassie casting looks back to the storeroom. ‘Not with forty people living on top of each other. Especially with the whole zombie pandemic thingy.’

‘God. No,’ Brian said with a look of sorrow. ‘It’s been dreadful.’

Sandra smiled sadly. ‘People, eh? The worst of all the species.’

‘Definitely,’ Cassie said as she tapped Gregori’s arm. ‘I hope you’re listening to this. People are the worst species. And she’s a vet.’

‘I’m not the vet, love. Rob is. But yes, people can be awful.’

‘Terrible,’ Brian said.

‘Dreadful,’ Sandra said.

‘Greedy, murdering, selfish rapists,’ Cassie said.

‘That’s taking it a bit far, but yes. I suppose they do all of those things. That’s why we’re trying to establish a different way of managing our emotions and dealing with conflicts.’

‘What are those monkeys doing?’ the boy asked as they came to a stop next to a large enclosure filled with primates.

‘Whoa!’ Cassie said as she spotted a female monkey on her back, with a male thrusting away between her legs. She turned the boy’s head to the side only to see two more monkeys going at it in doggy style, then yanked his head up to two more having sex on a high branch. ‘It’s a bloody orgy!’

‘No,’ Sandra said with a laugh as Brian smiled.

‘Oh, my god. They’re at it as well!’ Cassie said on seeing another two having sex. ‘Are you giving them Viagra or something? Hang on. Are they kissing? They are! They’re kissing. Monkeys don’t kiss!’

‘They’re bonobos,’ Rob said with a laugh. ‘Sex and kissing are an important form of communication for them.’

‘They’re rarely violent,’ Sandra added.

‘It’s well-documented,’ Brian said. ‘They’re the only species of primate not dominated by males and not controlled by violence.’

‘The females are in charge,’ Sandra said with a nod.

‘But. But they’re kissing!’ Cassie said, staring wide-eyed at the monkey snogs underway.

‘Oh, they kiss all the time,’ Rob said. ‘They’re probably the only other species that engage in face-to-face sexual contact, and male-to-male penis rubbing is quite normal too. As is female-to-female clitoris contact.’

‘What’s a clitorish?’ the boy asked.

‘It’s nothing,’ Cassie said, clamping her hands over his ears.

‘Mass sexual activity is also quite common. They use it to decrease stress and tension and encourage socio-bonding,’ Rob said.

‘Hi, guys!’ a man called out, walking over with a broom. ‘Sorry to disturb, I was actually looking for you, Sandra. Have you got a mo?’

‘Sure, Derek. What’s up?’ Sandra asked.

‘Just feeling a bit down actually,’ Derek said with a wince.

‘Oh, dear,’ Sandra said with a sad face. ‘Come on. Let’s get that sorted. You okay here, Brian?’

‘Fine. We’ll be fine. You carry on.’

‘Do you need a hand, Sandra?’ Rob asked. ‘Happy to help out.’

‘Oh, bless you. I think we’ll be okay. Derek? You think we’ll be okay?’

‘I think so,’ Derek said.

‘We think so,’ Sandra said. ‘Back in a jiffy.’

‘They’re remarkable creatures,’ Rob said, turning their attention back to the bonobos. ‘The use of intimate contact really cements their bond and strips unhealthy feelings away.’

‘Whoa, hang on. That monkey was… He was doing that one, and now he’s doing that one,’ Cassie said.

‘They’re greeting each other,’ Rob said.

‘What? By engaging in intercourse?’

‘Yes. They haven’t seen each other all day. Jenny has been up top sleeping and PeeWee is happy to see her. They do it all day.’

‘Well. Don’t they get sore?’

‘Oh, god, Sandra. Thank you!’ Derek said from behind as Cassie turned to see them coming out of a shed.

‘That was quick,’ Cassie said, watching Derek walk off with a bounce in his step. ‘Is he related to that mucky one in there? I wasn’t actually joking,’ she added amidst the laughs coming back.

‘We’re all related to them. They’re our closest genetic relatives,’ Rob said. ‘Well, them and chimps. But chimps are very aggressive. So are we, really. That’s why we’re looking at how the bonobos deal with conflict and seeing how we can make it work for us.’

‘Sandra! There you are,’ another guy called out, rushing along the path. ‘Was looking everywhere.’

‘Hi, Jamie. I’m just showing this family around. The little one was worried the animals were all deaded.’

‘Oh, no,’ Jamie said, pulling a sad face at the boy. ‘Bless his little socks. Anyway, have you got two minutes?’

‘Er, I do, but I’ve actually just greeted Derek.’

‘Oh! Okay. Yep. Understood,’ Jamie said as Cassie looked on with ever widening eyes. ‘Derek. Yep. Always Derek, eh?’

‘Oh, come on, Jamie. Don’t be like that.’

‘No. It’s fine. I’ll go and greet Jilly.’

‘I think she’s busy with Carl in the boar hut,’ Brian said.

‘Wonderful,’ Jamie said. ‘Great. Debbie then.’

‘I just greeted Mark,’ Debbie called over, the woman with the hose they saw a few moments ago.

‘Fine!’ Jamie said. ‘Whatever. I’ll head back and greet Amy then, shall I?’

‘Well. You could, but I think Brian and Amy just…’

‘We did,’ Brian said. ‘In the cellar, under the counter. It was a good one too.’

‘There’s always Miriam,’ Sandra suggested.

‘You calling me?’ a woman asked, peering around a corner.

‘Good grief,’ Cassie said, stepping back in alarm at the sight of her stained, broken teeth, lank, greasy hair, and pimples, and spots on top of pimples and spots.

‘No, it’s fine,’ Jamie blurted.

‘Jamie was looking for someone to greet,’ Sandra said.

‘You haven’t greeted Miriam before, have you, Jamie?’ Brian asked.

‘I’m feeling a bit down as it is,’ Miriam said. ‘I could do with a good greeting.’

‘Oh, shit. Really?’ Jamie asked.

‘Great stuff! You can greet each other. That’s wonderful. The shed’s free,’ Sandra said.

‘Dear God,’ Cassie whispered, watching on in horror as Miriam waddled by in a sweat soaked shirt. ‘He’s not.’

‘I’ll, er. In the shed then. With Miriam,’ Jamie said.

‘Oh, god. He is,’ Cassie whispered as Jamie walked inside like a man on his way to the gallows. ‘He needs shooting, the poor sod.’

‘Come on, then. Get in here,’ Miriam said from inside the shed as Cassie stared at the closed door. ‘No! Get in properly. Right in. That’s it! Sorry, I’m a bit sweaty.’

‘Urgh, I just gagged in my mouth,’ Cassie said before turning away and seeing two more bonobos going at it.

‘Did you know chimps normally kill other primates outside of their community?’ Rob asked. ‘But bonobos prefer sexual contact in the form of greetings to alleviate aggression and violence.’

‘That’s why it’s so happy here,’ Sandra said. ‘We don’t attack newcomers. We greet them!’

‘But yes. It works. It actually works,’ Rob said. ‘We’re talking conflict resolution. Post-conflict reconciliation. Victim affiliation if there is any aggression and, of course, if they just want to do it.’

‘You’ve got to want to do it,’ Sandra said. ‘That’s what we said here. That you’ve got to want to do it.’

‘That’s it. That’s good,’ Miriam said from inside the shack to a few muffled grunts.

‘Consent is a big thing,’ Rob said. ‘But honestly. Once you get going, it feels so natural.’

‘Very natural,’ Sandra said.

‘Good boy,’ Miriam said. ‘Get it all out.’

‘They don’t discriminate either,’ Rob said. ‘Although they never do mother to son.’

‘We do mother to son here, though,’ Sandra said.

‘What the fuck!’ Cassie blurted.

‘Other than that. There’s no discrimination.’

‘Discrimination is bad,’ Sandra said.

‘Not by age or gender,’ Rob continued. ‘Although obviously they don’t do it to the babies.’

‘Not the babies,’ Sandra said.

‘But the juveniles try and join in,’ Rob said.

‘We let them join in with us,’ Sandra said.

‘That is disgusting! You let kids join in?’

‘They love it!’ Sandra said. ‘Especially at night.’

‘WHAT?!’

‘Oh, yes,’ Rob said. ‘We all greet each other in the day; then at night, we just love all getting stuck into it.’

It was all too much for Cassie. She was expecting death and carnage, but this was something else. ‘Right! Well. I think we’ve seen enough, thank you. We’re going.’

‘Already?’ Sandra asked.

‘You’ve only just arrived,’ Brian said.

‘We haven’t even greeted you yet,’ Rob said.

‘You can sod right off, pal. We’re going.’

‘We no see pingwins,’ Gregori said.

‘Stuff the bloody penguins! They’re probably greeting them too. Dirty sods.’

‘But I wanna see the pingwins,’ the boy said as she started pulling him away.

‘We see pingwins,’ Gregori said.

‘Oh, come on, mum. Let them see the pingwins,’ Rob said.

‘Stop saying pingwins!’

‘They can feed them a fish,’ Sandra said.

‘Please!’ the boy asked.

‘Then you can join us for a meal,’ Brian said. ‘Amy’s making a lovely vegetable stew.’

‘Oh, her veggy stew is to die for,’ Rob said as the sound of whimpering and grunting grew louder in the shed. ‘Then after food, you can join in with the greeting. Would you like that, little man?’ he asked, smiling at the boy.

‘YOU SICK FUCKING SHITS!’

‘I beg your pardon!’ Brian said as they blanched.

‘Honestly! I thought they’d all be dead from thirst, but this is something else. I don’t know what this is. We’re going home. Bloody weirdos. You’re all bloody weirdos. Don’t even look at them, Gregory. You’re not bloody greeting anyone.’

‘I’d greet him,’ Debbie said.

‘I’ll put my foot up your fanny, love. Go and greet a pingwin. Honestly. People are the worst. See. This is what I mean. I thought they’d all be dead. Not a weird monkey sex orgy with everyone having sex with each other in sheds. Dirty sods.’

‘What?’ Brian asked.

‘You thought what?’ Rob asked.

‘What?’ Cassie asked to the sound of whimpering coming from the shed.

‘Ewww,’ Debbie said.

‘Oh, god,’ Sandra said with a look of distaste.

‘I just saw you!’ Cassie said. ‘In the shed with Derek. That shed. That one with poor bloody Jamie and Miriam doing the-.’ She marched over to wrench door open to Jamie weeping into Miriam’s arms and looked past them to the cages at the back filled with guinea pigs.

‘I miss her so much,’ Jamie said. ‘It’s our anniversary next week.’

‘Right. Well,’ Cassie said, spinning back around. ‘You still had sex with Amy under the counter,’ she shouted at Brian. ‘And Rob did that guy in that other room, and Debbie did bloody Dallas, and those two in the bloody boar hut were going at it, you sick bastards!’

‘Guys!’ Jilly called out, running along the path with Carl. Both of them covered in blood and gore. ‘We’ve got baby boars! She’s just birthed.’

‘Eh?’ Cassie said.

‘That’s amazing!’ another guy yelled out, running into view. The same one Cassie saw coming out of the room with Rob. ‘Piglets! Yes! Come here, you!’ he shouted as he threw his arms about Rob.

‘That’s Rob’s husband,’ Sandra said, glaring at Cassie.

‘Oh. Husband, you say,’ Cassie said with a slow nod before glancing at Debbie.

‘And I was cleaning the feed room with Mark.’

‘Cleaning. Right.’

‘I knocked over a sack of grain, and he helped me pick it up.’

‘Gotcha. Sack of grain. I see,’ Cassie said with a wince before spotting Brian. ‘Well, he still had sex with Amy under that counter. And she’s young enough to be his daughter, you dirty, old git.’

Brian just stared before sagging on the spot. The energy draining from his whole body as he bowed his head and walked off.

‘Amy is his daughter,’ Sandra said into a very awful silence as even the bonobos stopped copulating to stare over. ‘She lost her mum when this started. Brian was consoling her in the cellar because it’s her birthday today.’

‘That’s why we’re having the stew,’ Rob added.

‘It was her mum’s favourite,’ Debbie said, and the sun glared down, bright and hot, as that very awful silence stretched on with Cassie staring at the tumbleweed rolling slowly by.

‘Penguins are overrated anyway,’ Cassie says in the silence of the Range Rover, having been the only people to be ejected from a zoo during an apocalypse. ‘I mean. They can’t even fly. What’s all that about?’ she asks, while trying to avoid Gregori’s glare.

‘Amy was daughter.’

‘I know that now! Duh. All that stuff about greeting. Trust me. It won’t end well. Someone’ll cop a grope and get all handsy. You mark my words. And you saw that Jamie. Nobody wanted to greet him, did they. Oh, no. Palmed him off on Sweaty Betty Miriam. Oh, god, I just gagged again. Whatever. Let’s just go. Zoos are stupid anyway. They should lock all the people up and let the animals gawp at them. Which might just happen if I get my way,’ she added in a mumble.

‘What?’

‘I said I’m hot today.’

‘Is hot.’

‘I know. I just said it’s hot.’

Gregori nods, releasing the handbrake and easing the car away before blasting air from his nose and shaking his head. ‘Amy was daughter.’

‘I didn’t know!’ she fires back while wishing to hell Howie and his bunch of merry twats are having as shit a day as she is.

CHAPTER THREE

Day Twenty-Nine

An hour or so later, and already the zoo is forgotten as Gregori drives the fire engine out of the station onto the road. Cassie can’t help but smile at the sight of them inside the cab wearing pilfered firefighter helmets. The boy having to push his back to stop it covering his eyes.

‘I’ll follow you!’ she shouts as Gregori hits the sirens, and she ducks back from the deafening noise, laughing as she runs for the Range Rover. Adjusting the electric seat before laughing again at Gregori jolting the engine along; the blue lights flashing all over it.

A giant inflatable pool in the back of the car, and they head home to their isolated cottage as the heat gets worse by the hour. Crushing them under a nearly unbearable heat.

Howie is moving towards Southwater.

‘Southwater?’ she asks, feeling safe to talk openly on her own in the car, and for a second, she thinks she doesn’t know it but then realises she does. A village in the south, not too far from Horsham and Crawley. How did she remember that? But then, how did she remember that stuff about Socrates and George Washington? It must be the infection. Which is surprising because she never considered any intellectual implications. She only asked it to give her bigger boobs and a smaller bum and assumed her own intelligence was enough to deal with Howie. It’s cool, though. It was very rare for Cassie to feel smart. She tried to sound smart in a know-it-all way by being bitter and cynical, but it was never true intelligence.

She also feels an urge to see what Howie’s doing, but she can’t connect with Daudi while she’s driving.

Other thoughts present in her mind too. That Howie isn’t the be-all and end-all of this new world.

Is he?

Or is the obsession with him simply because Howie has been fighting this specific tribe of hosts since the start, and this thing inside of her only sees Howie as a threat and nothing else.

That said, Howie is a real threat. His propensity to kill hosts is very high.

But what about all the other tribes or strands of the infection. And for that matter, what are they all even called? Does each one have a beast in charge like she has in her head?

And where did it even come from?

Questions whirl through her mind. Each one seeming to create two more while the pressure still mounts inside to see where Howie is and what he’s doing.

He is killing hosts.

‘But not ours,’ she murmurs, knowing she would have felt it.

It doesn’t take long to reach the cottage, and she watches the fire engine go around the house to the rear. She drives to the side to keep them in view but stays in the car with the engine running.

‘You come?’ Gregori asks, opening the boot to drag the inflatable pool out.

‘I’m staying in here with the AC. I’ll watch, though.’

He closes the boot. Seemingly satisfied at the answer. She watches him and the boy strip down to shorts and unfold the pool, and rig the compressor up to the generator to inflate it.

‘Where did you come from?’ she whispers.

There are gaps.

‘Gaps to what? What does that mean? It’s like talking to a savant,’ she mutters and again gets the overwhelming sensation that the beast within her is young and juvenile. But then it was only released what? How many days is it now since the outbreak started? Twenty-nine? She tries to think what to ask and how to ask it in a way that will give her the answers she wants and remembers this morning when the boy came into her room and asked, what do you do this day?

She corrected him and made him say it properly.

She cocks her head over in the car and rephrases her question. ‘Tell me your earliest memory.’

She grunts as images form within her mind. Memories, but not hers.

People running and screaming.

She’s running too. But the gait is awkward and harsh. Lurching even.

Someone in front of her. A young woman carrying a baby. The woman glances back in terror.

That Cassie is seeing through the eyes of a host is obvious, and she should be repulsed. In a way, she is, but only because she knows she should be, but she also feels the raging, urging hunger within the host driving it to take the woman down.

Cassie flinches when it happens, hearing the woman scream as her baby falls away; then the vision changes to another host charging up a flight of stairs to bite into an old woman at the top, but that changes to sitting up inside a filthy bedsit and staggering out through the already open and blood-stained front door, onto a communal landing, past other hosts biting and infecting screaming people.

Down the stairs. Tripping. Hitting the concrete steps hard enough to break the host’s nose. Cassie hears the bone snapping. But she rises and staggers on. Heedless to the pain. A slave only to the hunger within.

Then another and another, and another, with a blur of senseless images and memories.

‘Stop,’ she whispers, processing what she saw. ‘You gained sentience after being released.’ It must be the brain then. The infection got into the brain and somehow discovered, or found that undefinable thing within people that makes them human.

Another image comes into her mind.

The world through the eyes of someone else. But the height is wrong. The angle, and it takes her a moment to realise she is looking through the eyes of a child. A child running into a kitchen to take a big knife and running back through a small house. Passing someone standing in the lounge, flicking through news channels showing empty anchor desks. Then the child runs outside to infected biting into a woman, and she sees the knife in her hands, or rather, the hands of the child stab into the infected.

It becomes blurred and frantic, with the child being knocked and barged, and she can’t really see anything at all until the view is rising, and she’s at normal height, and she realises the child is being carried away.

‘Oh, god,’ she says, seeing a snatched view of the person carrying the child. The same person that was in the house standing in front of the TV. Bulging eyes. Pock-marked skin. Gregori. ‘The boy,’ she whispers, realising this was when they first met.

It feels different, except she doesn’t know why. Only that it does. It takes another moment to realise the feeling inside of the boy’s head isn’t purely driven by hunger and rage. The boy’s head is different. Safer.

That’s it.

That’s what it is trying to show her.

That the boy’s mind or head, or brain is different to the other hosts. It even told her that her genetic structure was not capable of holding her. Which it then changed, and now she can hold it.

That’s the difference, then.

That’s why the infection can think and communicate inside of the boy’s head but not in the minds of the other hosts.

So that means that this specific strand of the virus is the one fighting against Howie, whereas other hordes or colonies, or whatever they are, are off elsewhere, being controlled by other entities just like this one in her mind.

But how?

Howie is in the south.

She is in the north.

How can one strand of the infection stretch across such a distance.

But then the answer lies within the question. This virus is transmissible on a level humanity has never experienced before, and with modern forms of transport so accessible, it would be entirely feasible for it to travel vast distances with ease. Which is how this entity ended up so spread out.

Then she also remembers what it told her; that Howie had killed over two hundred thousand hosts.

But those were only hosts of this entity. Which means Howie could have killed many times that number, but those weren’t counted because this entity doesn’t know the others exist. Which again goes back to it being juvenile.

Which, in turn, is because it only gained sentience through evolution over the last twenty-nine days.

But what does all that mean? Does it mean anything?

She watches Gregori disconnect the adapter from the now ready pool. He goes to the fire engine and fiddles about with the hoses and levers, and she figures they’ll be busy for a while, and now is the right time.

She wills the order and finds herself inside the mind of the female cross-fitter, staring up at Daudi. Why did she go to her? She willed to be within the group to speak to Daudi. How does that all work?

But she knows she doesn’t have long.

‘You can talk?’ she asks quietly, using the female infected to speak.

‘Yes,’ Daudi says again. His voice deep and accented, but not Arabic like she thought he might be.

‘Are you American?’

‘Yes.’

‘Were you in the army or something?’

‘Delta.’

‘What is that? What does that mean? Is that like Special Forces?’

‘Yes. Special Forces.’

‘Okay. Great. Listen, we’ve got to stop throwing ourselves at Howie. It’s not working that way.’

She expects a counter to her opinion, being that she is the entitled, spoilt brat child of a politician, and Daudi must be a highly trained soldier. But that doesn’t happen. He simply stares and waits for her to continue.

‘Do you agree?’ she asks.

‘Yes.’

‘Would you agree to anything I asked?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. That’s not going to work,’ she says to the infection within her. ‘Daudi is a proper soldier. Pull back more so we can use his experience and training.’

Daudi frowns and stands further upright with a look of distaste growing on his features. ‘Why are you in charge?’ he growls.

‘Not that much! Keep him docile, for goodness sake.’

An instant change in Daudi’s manner as the distaste lessens, and his features revert back to being impassive.

‘Right, we shall work on the finite controls later. Can you drive, though?’

‘Yes, Cassie,’ Daudi says.

‘Alright. I want you to get this group, my dirty dozen, into a vehicle and get down south. Quick as you can. Get eyes on Howie. Is that how army people say things? Just find him but don’t let him see you.’

‘Covert surveillance,’ Daudi says.

‘Yes. Do that. And I like this Daudi. Smart but docile. Is thirteen hosts enough? I thought you’ve got enough to protect yourselves, and you know, in case you lose one or two, and they all look strong and fit, and you’ve got two good lookers. I thought they might be useful. And I saw a film or TV thing about following people, and it actually takes a lot. You know, so you’ve got one or two actually following; then more go ahead to pick them up where they might go.’

‘I am surveillance and counter-surveillance trained,’ Daudi says.

‘Alright, er, then I guess I’ll have to trust that.’

Kill Howie, the voice in her head asserts.

‘No! Do not listen to that order,’ she tells Daudi, figuring he must be either hearing or sensing it in his own head. ‘You listen to me. I give the orders.’

You have chosen strong hosts. They can get close and kill Howie.

‘And Dave is just going to let them stroll up, is he? And the dog and Blowers, and Clarence, or how about the many other people in Howie’s gang? Seriously. Stop with the frontal attack thingy. It’s not working. We watch and learn for now.’

‘Gathering intelligence,’ Daudi says.

‘See! He knows,’ Cassie says to the infection as the female cross-fitter says the words to the dirty dozen in the shaded copse. ‘What’s this woman’s name? The woman I’m in now. Who is she?’

We are the one true race.

‘Yes. I know that, and this isn’t a whole thing about names and pronouns, but I need to refer to them quickly.’

Demi.

‘Demi? Oh. That’s cute actually. Yeah, she looks like a Demi. Wish I had the discipline to train like she did. Look at her legs. She could squat a horse.

Cassie blinks back to her own world to check she’s not being watched as the boy holds the hose, and Gregori yanks a lever.

‘No!’ she shouts, but the water jets out so powerfully it lifts the boy off the ground, making him squeal in delight as Gregori grabs him and the hose. ‘Jesus,’ Cassie says with a smile and wills herself back to Demi. ‘Right. Find a car or van and get south. Quick as you can. Don’t engage with anyone. Got it?’

She switches back to her own view and gets out of the car. Knowing she can’t really hide anything from Gregori for too long. His senses and instincts are too sharp for that.

She makes drinks and watches them fill the pool and play with the hose, but the lure of it is too great to withstand, and every few minutes, she switches back to see through the eyes of her hosts.

Watching her dirty dozen jog from the field onto a sun-baked road and then into a town while marvelling at how they can keep running at a fast pace without growing tired. Can she do that? She feels an urge to show Gregori what she can see because he’s also infected, and he should see what he is capable of now.

Is Gregori infected?

‘Are you inside Gregori?’ she asks quietly in the kitchen, watching them outside.

He is in the one true race, but his mind is locked.

Locked? What does that mean? Locked suggests something that can’t be entered or opened. So he is infected, but the beast can’t control him? Is that it? But Gregori is devoted to the boy. Which suggests the infection can influence him, but only to a certain extent. Which then also explains why Gregori’s own strength of mind is able to override the infection when he wants to kill the hosts.

Which then makes Cassie realise just how fucking strong Gregori’s mind is if he’s able to withstand this thing she can hear and feel inside of her own head.

But then she must have been infected very quickly too because she also felt compelled to protect and nurture the child, and Cassie was the least nurturing person she knew. She didn’t give a shit about children or anyone at all, for that matter.

So, that would suggest that yes, she was infected, and yes, she was being influenced and controlled to an extent while still retaining her own individuality.

Why?

But then she also knows, without knowing how or where the memories come from, that Marcy was infected by Darren, and both Darren and Marcy also retained their own abilities to think and, to a point, act freely. Marcy then took Reginald, who also retained his own mind. And later, Marcy and Reginald were able to override the control completely and be themselves.

How does she know that?

The infection knew that. The thing inside her head. Which means it’s sharing its own memories, if you can call them that. This thing doesn’t exist individually as a sole entity. It’s not memories. It’s knowledge. Memories come with emotion and nuance, and context. Which this thing lacks.

She also just saw the earliest memory in her mind when the infection must have been inside of the boy and met Gregori.

What about before that?

She thinks of her own earliest memory. Being told off by her father for running into his home office and being carried away by the nanny. Cassie was about three or maybe four.

So what about her life before that incident? Why can’t she remember the preceding three or four years?

Because it takes a few years for most children to learn to use their brains in a way that develops it to record memories. Which is around the time human being gains awareness.

Yes. That makes sense now.

Humans only gain awareness of self by being amongst other humans and being encouraged to develop whatever part of the brain controls such things.

The infection was like an infant then. Or any other microbe or parasitic entity, or life-form. In blunt terms, it was nothing more advanced than the common cold or any other form of viral infection in the manner of being a thing that can only exist within the lifeform of another.

No. That’s not right. Scientists can keep viruses alive in labs. Ah, but they probably artificially recreate the conditions the virus needs in order to exist.

In which case, the point stands. The infection existed as any other virus does, and by design, it spread, but something about the exact and specific nature of this virus caused it to enter the brain and find, or locate that same part that controls awareness.

Yes. That makes sense.

It’s effectively taken the originality of human existence, the sapience and self-awareness, and gained life and its own sense of self.

Mutations, then.

That can be the only real explanation as to why it existed in Darren and Marcy, and Reginald the way it did and then altered, or changed.

Howie is also infected. As are his team. But they control it. Rather than it controlling them. Or rather, they are using the benefits of it for their own ends.

‘Gosh, it is hot,’ she gasps from the staggering heat without being aware that this is the deepest level of thinking she has ever really undertaken.

She changes into a bikini and gets into the pool with a gasp at the cool waters thundering in from the hose, making it feel like a jacuzzi – and when she’s sure she’s not being watched, she switches view to her dirty dozen finding a van dealership and taking a nearly new minibus.

Daudi drives. Demi sits up front. The rest pile into the back, and she watches them pull away and head south.

She switches back to her world and laughs at the boy and Gregori splashing in the pool, and looks up to the searing blueness in the sky. The air heavy and listless, and crushing in a way she’s never felt before.

She switches again. Learning how to do it smoothly without outward show. The dirty dozen at speed on an empty motorway. She makes Demi lean over to see the dashboard. One hundred and forty miles per hour. Cassie would shit herself at being in a minibus going at that speed. But Daudi and Demi, and the others stay calm. Filled with a thing inside that has made them better and stronger, and unafraid.

The afternoon winds on. Growing hotter, and the pool fills, and the fire engine runs out of water. They put sun shades up and float, and become silent in the heat. Drinking water and doing nothing at all.

Gregori dozes on a floating lounger. The boy asleep on a large, inflatable ring. Cassie in the corner. Her body in the water up to her chin. Her head resting against the soft side.

Her mind flitting between here and there.

Her control of it getting better.

Her dirty dozen goes past slip roads for Doncaster and Sheffield. Mansfield and Nottingham. Grantham and Stamford. Peterborough, and they start hitting the southern regions towards London.

‘Don’t go anywhere near London,’ she whispers as Daudi glides from the lane marked for the capital city to the lane marked west.

They go wide around the city as Howie’s group slam into the tail end of the horde in Crawley, and Cassie stays in the cooling waters of the new pool.

Then they’re on the M25 and onto the A24 and blasting through Surrey Hills. In the deep countryside of the southern home counties.

Cassie’s head beads with sweat even with her body under water.

Howie and Henry fight and wage war.

Daudi and Demi drive fast on empty roads built cheap from corruption and greed, melting in the high heat.

They hit Horsham and slow as they go past the train station. Looking up to one of the carriages embedded in the side of a building and a man sitting on a chair, watching them go by.

Cassie takes it in as Gregori slides off his lounger to plunge into the waters already warming up from the staggering heat.

She wills them to follow the trail of bodies out of town, and they head towards Crawley.

Smoke in the distance coming up out of the town centre.

The minibus comes to a stop with Daudi and Demi getting out to hear the distant pop, pop, pop of gunfire and other louder bangs.

‘Assault rifles and C4,’ Daudi says.

‘Must be them then. And it looks like they’re fighting towards Gatwick,’ Cassie says inwardly. ‘Must be another horde.’

We must join and kill Howie.

‘No. Go around Crawley to the northern side. It might be a tiny horde, for all we know.’

You said you will kill Howie.

‘Stop nagging me! It’s too hot for your shit. Just shut up and let me work. Daudi, go around and stay hidden.’

She hears Demi repeat the words and watches them get back on the minibus and drive wide around Crawley. The windows open, and the distinct sound of gunfire heard. They see more plumes of thick, black smoke too from the fires set by Henry and Howie racing each other through the High Street.

It doesn’t take long to reach outer edge and for Cassie to blink and mutter out loud in surprise.

‘What?’ Gregori asks.

‘Pardon?’ she asks with a start, switching back to this world. ‘Sorry! I dozed off and was dreaming. I’ll go for a wee and make tea. Do you want tea?’

‘Is too hot for tea.’

‘Hot drinks are good in the heat.’ She heaves out to rush inside and up to the toilet, and back to the other place. ‘How many is that?’ she whispers at the sight of the huge horde snaking from Crawley towards Gatwick. ‘Okay. We can’t hang around here. They’ll put a drone up or something and might see us. Get up to the airport. I want to see how big this is.’

She stays in the toilet. Feeling the tension rise inside as her dirty dozen uses back roads to get out of Crawley and up into the airport on the southern edge. The minibus driving into the industrial units bordering the open field and the runway.

‘That one,’ she whispers, willing them to stop behind a large warehouse bordering the open ground. She watches through Demi’s eyes as they drop out and reach a rear door. ‘Find a way in,’ Cassie orders as Demi repeats it, and Daudi leads them to an open loading bay on the side of the building that was in use twenty-four hours a day storing freight going in and out on flights.

Her hosts file inside, with Cassie yelping in fright when Demi turns a corner and comes face to face with another red-eyed host. ‘Jesus, that made me jump. Is he one of ours?’ she asks as the host growls softly but seems confused as it detects they are already infected.

We do not have this host.

Cassie hesitates. Not quite knowing what to do. Kill it? Befriend it? Do nothing? ‘Leave one of ours watching it and go up higher.’

They do as bid and head up flights of stairs to the main offices four storeys up overlooking the runway and grounds.

‘Good lord!’ Cassie whispers, widening her eyes as Demi does the same. The reaction coming from the sheer numbers of infected in the grounds of the airport.

‘Here,’ Daudi says, making her and Demi look over to see him standing next to a big set of binoculars fixed to an adjustable stand overlooking the runway. She rushes over with Demi, pressing her eyes to the soft rubber casing and using Demi’s fingers to adjust the focus.

‘What the bloody hell,’ Cassie mouths, seeing the same thing as Reginald, Paula, and Marcy.

Two hordes.

One facing north.

One facing south.

Each one represented by a single entity.

A paunchy, middle-aged man.

An old woman.

Both of them facing each other.

‘Oh, my god! It’s two hordes!’ Cassie and Demi say. ‘Are they talking? What are they saying? Er… And why did she just poke his belly? What’s all that about? Did she just spit in his face? Is he a Jehovah too? Get it? Wow. Poor audience. Urgh, no! They’re kissing,’ Cassie says as Demi says the same thing to the others gathered around her in the office. ‘Oh, good grief. No way! They’re stripping off. That’s so disgusting. I can’t watch, but I can’t look away! Oh, no, she’s lying down and opening her legs. No! No, no, no, he’s having sex with her! Oh, good grief! She’s what? Ninety years old? They must be trying to merge. So they’re the same as me, then. Each one controls their horde, and they just met, and now they’re fucking on the runway. And er, excuse me for being fussy, but no way am I having sex with another zombie person. Oh, wow. I think I might actually be loyal to someone for once because I don’t want to sex anyone other than Gregori. Isn’t that weird?’ Demi asks Daudi and the others and shrugs, and goes back to watching the two people stop having sex and get up to their feet.

‘I don’t think it’s worked,’ Cassie says, not seeing any change to the hordes. ‘And is Howie attacking this lot? Does he know how big they are? Even he can’t kill a horde this size.’

We should help them.

‘Why would we help Howie?’

We should help the hosts kill Howie.

‘Oh! I thought you meant… And yes, I am sure our thirteen are going to make all the difference,’ Cassie mutters and flushes the toilet before heading downstairs to boil water and flit between the two worlds. Gregori and the boy still in the pool, trying not to move in heat.

She makes tea and heads out. Taking a mug for Gregori. He grunts but stays put, and she slides back into the corner of the pool. The waters already warming up. Sunglasses on to hide her eyes. A big, floppy sunhat to shield her face.

She wills Demi to check the view again but can’t see the two big chiefs. Instead, she takes in the other parts of the airport, and in so doing, she spots the terminal buildings and the people within.

‘That’s what they’re after,’ she thinks inwardly. ‘Lot of survivors there too. Damn it. We could have had them for our horde. Could we get through the others and take them first? Is that cheating? What are the rules to this thing?’

‘There,’ Daudi says, making her and Demi look over to see the Saxon driving into the far corner of the airfield.

‘No way. Seriously! What are they doing? Okay, they’ve stopped. Right. Yes. They’ve seen the size of the bloody thing, and they’re like fuck that motherfucker! I bet Howie’s inside being all like, er, so I think maybe we should go home and have some tea, and Clarence is all like, and I need to polish my bald head, and then Dave is like, do you want to see my pee-pee, Mr Howie? Okay, maybe not that last bit. I mean. I’m not saying that doesn’t happen when they’re alone. Who knows? Whatever. Any minute now, they’ll turn around and bugger off out of it. You watch… Any minute now… Ha! See! They’re pulling away to turn… And they’re going faster… Oh, God. Are they? I mean. Are they?’

She makes Demi pull back from watching through the binoculars to see the Saxon with the naked eye. The army vehicle looking ridiculously small in the vast airfield dominated by commercial aircraft and big buildings, and tens of thousands of people all pressed in together.

What a thing to see, though, and even Daudi and the others shuffle forward to press against the windows to watch, and she makes Demi go back to the binoculars. Sweeping the view across the grass until she finds the Saxon still speeding up.

A noise.

A sound.

Distorted but carrying clear on the hot thermals wafting from the heated ground and the otherwise still and silent airfield.

‘Is that Bon Jovi?’ Cassie asks, cocking her head over as Demi does the same.

‘Yes,’ Daudi says. ‘Living on a prayer.’

‘Jeepers,’ Cassie says, shaking her head in the pool as Demi shakes her head in the office, and they hear the song blasting out through the speakers on the Saxon as the vehicle slams into the hosts.

That one single vehicle attacking those two huge hordes of tens of thousands of infected people. None of which feel pain, and all of which are ramped with more strength and speed than they ever had as humans.

It’s suicidal.

There’s no other word for it.

What they’re doing is suicidal.

And yet.

And yet.

‘And yet, they’ve been doing it since this started,’ Cassie says inwardly. The infection within her mind enhancing her cognitive processes and enabling her to view the world openly and not through the prisms of her own greed and selfishness. And that thought, that realisation that Howie has been doing this since the start suggests their actions are not suicidal but rather a tactic as part of a greater strategy.

‘So, er, Gregori,’ she says in the pool as Gregori turns lazily to look at her. ‘Just like, thinking thoughts and what not, and er, so, why would a much smaller force attack a much greater force on like, let’s say, an open battlefield when they are massively outnumbered.’

The answer comes from two voices.

From Gregori and from Daudi.

‘Distraction,’ they both say, and Cassie hides any reaction and tilts her head, as though that answers her mildly interesting thought of the day.

She inwardly goes back to Demi and catches sight of a muzzle flash up high, and spots a lone figure on the balcony of the control tower firing a sniper rifle.

Then something else happens.

She spots the drone holding directly in the air over the old woman and the middle-aged man, and a second later, two streaks blur past it. One on either side, and Demi snaps the view down to see the old woman and middle-aged man now both dead. Each with an arrow in their heads.

It makes the hairs on Cassie’s neck prickle as she realises she is seeing something very special, which gives meaning and understanding to how Howie and his group have survived for so long.

The two hordes become instantly slow and sluggish. Like whatever was controlling them through the hive minds has been switched off, and they power down.

She watches the Saxon stop, and through the dense hordes, she snatches view of Howie and the others firing guns and hears the pop, pop, pop of assault rifles and the machine gun on the Saxon firing bursts.

Which is all very impressive and heroic, but it literally makes no difference against such a large horde.

She moves the view to the terminals and nods in understanding at seeing the people within the buildings all moving towards the far side.

‘Someone’s getting them out,’ she says inwardly. ‘That’s what the distraction is for. Look! The hosts are back to going fast. Okay. That’s interesting. So, taking out the people in charge ends the connection, but not for that long. So the infection must find another mind to occupy.’

‘Marcy,’ Daudi says.

‘Where?’ Cassie asks through Demi and steps back from the binoculars to see Daudi at the end of the offices looking out of a window. She runs over to join him and spots Marcy in the car park below going from car to car. Opening doors and checking ignitions. She finds one with keys inside and gets in, and a moment later, the car pulls out at speed. ‘What’s that all about?’ Cassie asks and goes back to the binoculars while the sky over the isolated cottage grows deep and blue, and the very air becomes baked.

The three of them silent within the pool. Gregori and the boy dozing. Cassie unmoving in the corner while inside, her heart thunders and her stomach flips and twists as the battle gets underway. She watches the Saxon driving around. She watches Howie and his group engulfed on all sides. She watches the hordes laying siege to the terminals. Hearing the gunfire. The screeches and howls.

She watches it all without really understanding any of it.

She spots survivors escaping on the distant monorail, then spots hordes of hosts pouring after them, and a while later, an explosion engulfs the monorail, and it collapses within a great ball of fire and smoke.

Cassie watches it in awe, the fireball scorching the air, and seeing the scale of the war grow before her very eyes.

Well. Not her eyes.

Demi’s eyes.

But whatever.

A few moments later, and even within the chaos of all that motion with fires breaking out, Cassie spots the great mass forming in the centre of the airfield. A sudden surrounding of Howie’s group as every infected gives voice and charges at them.

It makes Cassie’s heart beat weirdly. Seeing it happen. Watching them become overwhelmed.

Then another explosion rips through the air as bombs are detonated on some of the piers of the terminal. Cassie isn’t sure where exactly, only that she can hear the detonations and see the fireballs. She can smell it too. The burning chemicals.

While lying in the pool.

While not there.

But there she is. Invested in it. Caught up and mesmerised. Then the hordes go slow and sluggish, as though another chief got taken out, but again, that doesn’t last for long, and they soon rally and surge even harder than before at the pitifully small group trying to kill them, and suddenly, weirdly, it’s like she is watching people she actually knows fighting for their lives.

She hates Howie.

She detests him and Marcy, and Dave, and all of them.

They are the enemy.

She wants them to die.

The hordes must win.

Cassie knows which side she is on.

And yet, she finds herself flinching at the punishment they are taking.

It’s both odd and strange, and truth be told, it’s all happening so fast that Cassie doesn’t know what to make of it or her own reactions. She only knows that Howie has to lose. But yet, she can’t help but feel awe when they keep getting back up. Again and again, and again. Bleeding. Hurt. Ears bitten off. Fingers bitten off. Faces cut open. More infected coming at them. More and more, and many more. It makes Cassie clench her fists and jaw while still within the pool.

She spots the Saxon go behind a building and wonders why it doesn’t come out the other end. Why is that? Where is Tappy?

She sweeps the binoculars across the airfield and sees the first mounds of body-piling at the base of the control tower, and realises that Howie’s team can’t see it because of the sheer press of attackers. Then she realises she can’t actually see Howie or Dave, or Paula either.

Another noise from somewhere closer. A loud and sustained banging, but in the mayhem of the moment, she pays it no heed and remains inside of Demi, rooted to the spot as she watches Howie’s group about to get slaughtered.

She can see it happening.

The numbers coming against them are too many. Still tens of thousands.

The banging from outside gets louder and harder. She thinks to see what’s causing it when it stops, and she goes back to the binoculars to see Charlotte being taken down. Then Danny. Then Mo. The Saxon still out of sight. She spots Cookey, Blowers, and Nick rush to aid the fallen, only to get taken down and swarmed from all sides. The sight makes her feel weird, but she doesn’t know why. She should be cheering, and there is a thrill to it all, but it’s confusing and weird, and it’s all happening so fast there simply isn’t time to label her reactions.

Then she sees Clarence wade into the melee. Flinging hosts aside like they were made of twigs.

Cassie sees something else too. The horse galloping flat out across the airfield, coming from the same area Cassie and her dirty dozen are in, and she watches the horse slam into that crazed clump of people doing battle.

Then a big female infected jumps on Clarence’s back. Then another one hits into Clarence’s side. Then more and more. Swarming him until he can’t fight them off. They bite his neck and shoulders, and he staggers and drops to a knee, and Cassie holds her breath. Stunned at the sight. Horrified and thrilled, with every emotion being felt all at once.

Arrows flying in, and she spots Roy running across the airfield, firing his bow until he too is in amongst them, using a sword. But it makes no difference. Not against so many. Not even when Howie reaches them. Or Henry. Paula too. All of them there and fighting hand-to-hand, but there is nothing any of them can do, and Cassie knows she is about to witness a massive turning point in this brave, new world.

She clenches her fists and feels a great well of tension and dread, and thrill inside as the end comes, and she spots Howie grab Henry, and they shout and push their team to run away. And that’s a pitiful thing to see, them trying to flee, because there simply is no place to go.

Except they don’t flee.

They run to the side of a building and throw themselves to the ground.

Cassie wonders why they do that.

A flash.

Single and solitary, and coming from the northern edge of the airfield.

Then a whole series of flashes. Each one bright and orange, with flames searing up into the sky.

All in an instant. A second and no more.

Then the fuel ignites. All of it. Everywhere.

And the world turns white as Cassie hears an explosion like a nuke going off. Like a hundred nukes going off all at once, with a fireball rolling up, and the building beneath Demi shakes and trembles.

‘Down!’ Daudi calls and takes Demi to the floor, with Cassie flinching in the pool as the pressure wave hits the buildings.

Smashing windows and ripping walls out. Peeling chunks of the roof off. Sending flaming debris from the airfield into the room with them. Chunks of fuselage and burning rubber and searing hot pieces of metal. Charred bodies and flaming heads and limbs rain down through the broken windows and walls.

It makes the sky go dark. It turns day into night, and Cassie sees it happen through the eyes of a woman called Demi.

It seems to go on too. Forever and always, and never ending until Cassie, while in the pool, hears a distant pop and opens her eyes to look south to where they’d heard that explosion.

Over two hundred miles away.

The water in the pool even trembles like they are experiencing a gentle earthquake.

‘Must be power station or airport,’ Gregori says as Cassie looks at him in awe. ‘Only thing in this country with fuel to make this noise.’

Cassie doesn’t reply.

She switches view and makes Demi rise in the now destroyed offices. Smoke everywhere, and flames breaking out. Two of her hosts killed outright from debris. Another one on fire, throwing himself out of the window to save the others.

She looks at the airfield, thick with smoke and flame and littered with burning debris, but still with infected rising to charge once more at Howie and his small group.

Motion in all directions. Chaos and smoke, but still too many hosts alive, and once again, Cassie feels herself being taken to the very edge of expectation because Howie can’t keep surviving. Nobody has that much luck.

And yet.

And yet.

‘And yet,’ she whispers as two old fighter jets roar from left to right across the airfield. Machine guns strafing the hosts. Taking great swathes of them down. Then an old tank drives into them, and old men rush in to join the killing. Cassie blinks at the scale, trying to take it all in. The fighter jets roar over the battle again, and in so doing, they displace enough smoke for the air traffic control tower to come into view again, and even Cassie feels a lurch inside at the sight.

The whole of the thing now nearly gone from view from the hosts climbing the sides. The sniper at the top trying to fend them off.

Noises from outside again. Screeches and howls, followed by loud bangs that drag Cassie away from the view. Making Demi run across the offices still filling with smoke to the broken windows at the side. The building next to them smashed and broken, with chunks ripped out of it. Something happening on the other side of it. A snatched view of hosts moving in a frenzy.

She makes Demi go further back in the building but gives up on seeing the rear section ablaze with flames. She backs up and finds the stairs, and takes the remaining members of her dirty dozen down to the ground floor and out the loading bay.

The howls and bangs much closer now. She follows the sound. Running around the back of the warehouse with a start at the sight of the armoured van and the empty horse box right in front of her. The infected laying into it.

The side door crashes open.

Reginald inside, on his back, brandishing a fly swatter. Defiance in his features. ‘One race?’ he calls in a clear, intelligent voice. ‘It will be one race. My race. MY RACE. FUCK YOU!’

The infected surge forward.

Everything happening in an instant.

No time for thinking.

No time for thought.

Cassie moves fast, making Demi kick out with her powerful leg into the edge of the sliding door. Slamming it closed.

Every head snaps over from the other horde.

Every pair of red, infected eyes glares at Demi, and by proxy, to Cassie, who glares back from the pool in the north of England.

A second’s worth of silence, with Cassie not knowing why she did that.

Only that she did, with an instinct inside that if anyone is killing Howie and or his group, then it’ll be her and not some other rancid horde, and the very second she thinks that, so Daudi steps up behind the closest infected and grips the hair to yank the head back, and draws a blade across the throat.

The other hosts react, but Cassie’s group do so faster because she chose them well. They move with speed, precision, and greater strength. Silently grabbing the other hosts to hold as Daudi slices their throats open one by one. Moving through them with ease, creating arcs of blood that spurt out with almost mild gasps of air, and the bodies drop.

‘Joanie!’ Reginald’s voice inside the van, filled with angst, and a great bang sounds from the airfield as one of the fighter jets is flown into the control tower, and the other hits the ground at speed, taking many more infected out.

Demi staggers back with Cassie inside, stunned at what they just did. At what she just made them do.

An instinct to flee. To get away. She turns and runs, with Demi leading them away to get out of sight around the side of the building. Stopping to see through the chain-link fence to the now downed tower within the airfield ablaze with flames and thick smoke.

A noise behind. Demi peeks around the wall to see Reginald heaving the broken sliding door back and staring out at the now dead attackers.

Why did she do that?

Why did Cassie help them?

An instinct inside, but in such chaos, she can’t give it voice or reason, and it’s only then that she looks to Daudi, wondering where the hell he got the knife from, and she sees his face is wet. All of their faces are wet.

She touches her own face.

Demi’s and her own in the pool.

Both wet, and she looks up. Both there and here, and in both places, the sky is now filled with dense, low clouds.

Thunder overhead. Deep and rolling.

The unbearable heat finally starts to break.

And the rain starts.

CHAPTER FOUR

Day Thirty

A few hundred miles north of Camber Airstrip, where Howie and his team take cover from a satellite slamming through the clubhouse, that same hard, persistent rain also falls on the small cottage in the middle of bumfucknowhere.

Cassie stands at the back door with a mug of tea cupped in her hands, watching Gregori exercise in the rain. Stripped down to shorts, with his body glistening from the water pouring over his defined muscles.

The boy behind her, drawing at the table.

They stayed outside in the rain for a long time yesterday and felt that awful, blistering heat ease away.

The boy started splashing and playing. Gregori joined in, and eventually, even Cassie played around for a while.

Her dirty dozen having been willed inside one of the buildings not on fire from the almighty explosions in Gatwick.

She got them to find an upstairs window and flitted between worlds, seeing an armoured bus and other vehicles driving through the airfield, gunning the remaining hordes down.

The battle was over, but without binoculars, Cassie couldn’t see Howie or the others until later, as night came, she finally saw the Saxon and an SUV drive out and come over to the southern area within all the industrial units.

She stayed hidden and watched Howie and the others drop out into the pouring rain to look at the dead bodies around Reginald’s van. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear Reginald was telling them he didn’t know who killed them.

They looked defeated. Clarence had lost a hand, and the others had lost fingers and ears. All of them were cut badly. Swollen eyes and broken noses, with body parts wrapped in gaffer tape.

Cassie wanted time to think about it all, but the boy and Gregori said they were hungry.

It was dark by then. They used candles and lanterns and heated tinned food on the stove fed by a gas bottle.

They ate. They washed up. They grew tired. The boy was taken to bed. Then after, Cassie and Gregori sat in candlelight and listened to the rain on the windows.

‘We stay here?’ Gregori asked.

‘No, we’ll go upstairs.’

‘No. Here. House.’

She paused to change mental gear from thinking about Howie and Gatwick, and saving Reginald to processing what Gregori wanted to talk about. ‘I mean. Do you want to go somewhere else?’ she asked him.

Gregori didn’t answer, but Cassie knew that Gregori giving no reply was the answer he was giving.

‘You saw what happened in that compound we stopped at when we first met. People are bad, Gregori.’

‘Zoo people not bad. They have system. The greeting. It make no angry people.’

‘Trust me. They’ll become as rotten and corrupt as everywhere else. We’re not monkeys, and just because bonobos engage in sexual activity as a way to discourage aggression, it doesn’t for one second mean it will work for creatures as complicated as humans. We have sapience gained from cooperative societies built from tens of thousands of years of complex societal evolutions that have hard-wired our brains to being so bloody tribal we literally couldn’t find peace in paradise.’

She paused when Gregori turned to study her, and then she’d also surprised herself at the depth and intelligence of her reply.

‘And you saw that guy,’ she continued, sensing it was right to stress her point. ‘What’s his name? Jamie. The one who wanted a greeting or hug from Sandra, but she said he had to go and greet that sweaty Miriam, and did you hear what he said? He said Sandra was always greeting Derek. But the way he said it was loaded with toxic, passive aggression that will fester and never get resolved. And all that hugging? That’s not healthy. Those men won’t be able to stop themselves crossing the line. Hands will slip. The hugs’ll get a bit too tight, and the next thing you know, someone is grinding their dick into someone else’s hip. Then the gossip starts, and rumours spread, and Jamie, the creepy guy, gets ostracised, and suddenly, they’ve got a monster to demonise. They’ll kick him out, or even worse, he’ll grab a rifle and rape Sandra, or start shooting them. I’m telling you. People can’t live with other people in peace. They can’t. Honestly. Look at what they did to you. Your own father sold you for a debt, and my father would have drowned me at birth to be the PM. We’re better off here. Just us.’

‘Is not healthy for boy to live like this.’

‘It’s healthier than what’s out there,’ she said and squeezed his hand, which seemed to imply that she immediately wanted to have sex because a moment later, her top was off, and his hands were full of her now bigger boobs.

He was going fast too, in that animalistic way of his, which Cassie had always found very appealing. But right then, she didn’t want a quickie on the sofa. She didn’t know why, only that she didn’t, and so she took his hands and whispered slow in his ears. He almost seemed caught out by that, as if having sex had to be frantic and fast.

She took the lead for the first time, and they kissed and touched in a way they hadn’t done so before. They lay on the rug, and the rain pelted the windows, and the thunder bellowed, and the forks of lightning silhouetted them for fractions of a second, which only added to the passion building slower, and because it was slower, it felt deeper and stronger, and she felt emotional reactions for him she’d never experienced before.

That she could sense him restraining his power and energy was also very intoxicating, and at times, she felt an urge to let him go faster and harder, but she denied it, and in so doing, that incredible feeling between them increased in intensity. It went on for a while until she felt the frustration growing in him.

But she held control and straddled him, and moved faster by degrees until he couldn’t take anymore, and he was up on his feet, holding her against the wall with her legs around his back, unleashing his strength and power until she orgasmed in a way she never thought possible, and right at the moment of climax, she saw images of Gregori in her mind, but she also saw Howie. His dark eyes and dark hair ablaze with war and rage. She saw Reginald in his van, shouting in defiance. ‘It will be one race. My race. MY RACE. FUCK YOU!’

The words my race even fell from her lips as she climaxed, and Gregori finished, with every muscle in his body standing proud, and the veins in his neck and shoulders, and arms pushing through the skin.

She gasped afterwards. Breathing hard and pouring with sweat, and she didn’t know why she thought those things or why she said those words.

Gregori didn’t ask either. She assumed he put it down to sex talk or that he was pre-occupied with his own climax to have comprehended it.

They went outside to stand in the rain after that and cool off. They didn’t speak, but she reached out to hold his hand and, once again, wondered why she didn’t kill Reginald.

Gregori enjoyed the lovemaking too.

He thinks about it while exercising in the rain. Push ups. Squats. Lunges. Sprints. No weights. No machines.

‘A true fighter only ever needs himself.’

The voice of his old trainer somewhere deep in his mind. Images of the man in the yard Gregori was forced to live in.

Gregori never used to think about anything while he was exercising. His mind was only ever focussed on what he was doing, but it’s different now, and for the first time in his life, he isn’t quite sure what to do or how he should be. Except he can’t even voice those thoughts. He’s never had to. Everything was done for him.

That’s what makes him feel lost sometimes when Cassie talks about things. She’s smart and clever and understands situations and people in a way that Gregori never can. Things are black and white to him. The boy should be safe. So he will protect the boy. There is nothing beyond that.

Except there is because somewhere else in the depth of his mind, he knows this can’t be sustained. Living here like this. Can it? Should it?

His mind flits back to the lovemaking as he drops to do another set of push-ups. Images of Cassie straddling him. Being underneath him. Being held by him against the wall. The softness of her. The warmth. Her smell, and her voice.

But there’s an edge to her. He knows that. He stays silent, but he sees more than she thinks, and he knows mischief and mayhem will also follow her.

He trains hard. Running fast through the rain. Doing push-ups until every muscle in his body is bulging and the veins are pushing through the skin.

But it’s not enough.

He needs more.

A young sycamore tree at the far edge of the lawn. The trunk smooth and round, but hard. He starts punching it. Tapping his knuckles lightly. Building speed and power until he’s hitting it hard. His eyes dark and focussed, but troubled. His mouth twitching as he breathes hard from the exertion. Twitching from the memories racing through.

One far more recent from when he tried to make the boy into what he was. He took a van and rounded up infected, and taught the boy how to kill them with a knife.

The memory and knowledge bring on unpleasant sensations that anyone else would recognise as guilt in response to intense trauma. But Gregori never had any such notions. Even so. He knows he did a bad thing.

That’s why he has to fix it.

He must give the boy a normal life.

More images present. More memories. More and more, and many more. The infected he rounded up being killed by the boy. They didn’t attack him. That day in the park when the boy wanted to play and Gregori lost his mind and woke up surrounded by infected.

Other times when they could have gone for the boy. But they didn’t.

The pictures the boy draws.

The names of people he knows that he never met.

Being locked in a yard. Being told to kill rats.

He throws fast punches at the tree, then switches fast to kicking at it. Impacting his shins into the hard wood. Each one a solid whump. Doing it faster and faster. Harder and harder.

His mind is back to the yard he lived in in Albania. A dirty, squalid place. High walls on all sides. No way out. Not for a small child anyway. They gave him a blanket and a stretch of tarpaulin in the corner for when it rained. His clothes were rags. Gregori was a child. He was small and frail. He thought he had forgotten those early years. But the memories are there. Being taken into the house of the Krye. Being whipped and beaten, and thrown into the enclosed yard to either die or survive. He remembers the confusion. The pain of separation. The physical pain they caused him.

He remembers the first time the trainer came into the yard. Gregori thought he was ancient, but everyone looks ancient to a child. The man smoked non-stop and wore a filthy tracksuit. He had a grey stubble and dirty, broken teeth. He stood over Gregori and glared at him like he was a piece of shit. The trainer beat him. He hit Gregori’s head and kicked him around the yard, and watched how Gregori moved. It seemed to make the trainer angry because he beat Gregori harder.

He made Gregori run back and forth across the yard until Gregori couldn’t run anymore.

He made him do push-ups. He made him do squats and jumps, and stretches.

He didn’t call Gregori names or give him verbal abuse. It wasn’t like that. There was only ever cold indifference. Even when he beat Gregori. No yelling. No berating. No anything. No emotions.

It’s like he can hear the trainer now. Telling him to do more push ups. Go deeper in the squat. Do them faster. Do jumps. Do them faster. Now run. Run faster.

If he failed or stopped, or did something the trainer thought was wrong, then he’d get beaten. Punched in the head and body. Kicked and dragged by the hair. He’d be put in wrist and arm locks until he thought his bones would break or his tendons would tear. He was made to kick a rounded post until his shins turned black, and the pain was so bad it became a whole new level of existence. There was no kindness. Not ever. They gave him gruel to eat. The trainer brought a box of wild rats into the yard one evening and let them go. They squeaked and ran, and hid under Gregori’s blankets in his corner.

‘Kill.’ The trainer said and left.

Gregori went to the corner and lifted the blanket. The rats pressed into the far corner. Shaking with fear. Brown bodies and long tails, and black eyes. Gregori couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

He wasn’t fed that night.

The trainer was hard on him the next day. Harder than normal. Gregori was hungry. His belly was rumbling.

‘Kill,’ the trainer said and nodded to the corner, where he could see and hear the rats.

Gregori couldn’t do it. They seemed so small and defenceless. He looked at their tiny paws and how they cleaned their heads. The hunger gnawed at his belly until it consumed him. But he still wouldn’t do it. He slept under his blanket. Feeling them around him. They grew brave and were soon running over his body. Gregori was so starved of affection that he mistook the intentions and tried to pet one, but it bit into his hand, drawing blood. He pulled his hand away, but the rats were hungry too and sensed weakness. They surged after him. One bit his foot. Another bit his leg. He grabbed one and threw it against the wall, but it slid down and came back. They chased him around the yard until he finally lashed out and slammed a hand down hard on the back of a rat. Breaking the spine. Something snapped inside. Something dark and wild. He killed them all.

Images and memories in his mind. Memories he suppressed for so long he assumed they were gone. He sees himself as a third person. In the corner of the yard, surrounded by dead rats. Blood on his hands. Up his arms. He doesn’t remember if he felt guilty or bad. Only that it happened. He remembers the hunger more than anything. Hunger so bad he picked a dead rat up and bit into it.

The trainer came into the yard and pulled it away. Gregori tried to take it back, but the trainer grabbed his wrist and dragged him from the yard into a large room.

Another child was there. An older teenager. Bigger. Stronger.

The men made them fight.

Gregori didn’t know what was happening. The other boy started to beat him, and he didn’t know he was meant to fight back.

The other child beat him viciously and was rewarded with fresh meat that he ate while Gregori lay bleeding on the floor.

They threw Gregori into the yard. He was feverish for days. They gave him some gruel, but small portions only, and that hunger got worse until it once more consumed him.

Later. Gregori doesn’t know how much later it was. Days maybe. Weeks. The trainer took Gregori once more into the large room.

The other child was there.

Gregori could also see the big plate of meat on the side like the other boy ate last time.

The men made them fight.

Something switched inside of Gregori.

He attacked first, but he still lost. He was too weak, and the other child was bigger and stronger, and more experienced. He gave Gregori another vicious beating and was again rewarded with fresh meat that he devoured while Gregori lay, once more, bleeding on the floor.

He was cast into the yard, where he crawled into his filthy corner under his torn blankets, and for every waking moment for the next few weeks, Gregori thought only about one thing.

He remembers that desire within him. It was like a burning orb of pure energy in his gut. It changed everything about him. It changed his mind and soul. It hardened his eyes. He exercised. He ran. He punched the walls until his knuckles bled and kicked the post until he had no feeling left in his shins. He thought about that meat. Glistening, warm meat. Hunger inside. A hunger so powerful it drove him to kill.

They came for him again, and once more, they took him into the room with the other child. Gregori didn’t wait for the order. He attacked on sight. He threw hard fists into the other boy’s head and kept attacking. He took punches and got hurt, but he didn’t feel them. He didn’t feel anything. Only that hunger inside that made him attack and attack until the bigger boy finally dropped to a knee. Gregori kept hitting him. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Not even when the other boy cried out. Not even when the other boy gasped from the bones in his face breaking. Not even when the other boy gurgled from the blood pouring down his throat.

Not even when the other boy went limp and quiet and lay dead with his face pulped.

Not even then.

The men had to pull him off. He tried to fight them too. They laughed and cheered, and they finally gave him what he wanted. Fresh meat. A big sheep bone full of juicy meat that Gregori took into a corner and ate like a starving wolf.

He was ten years old.

A hand on his arm. He reacts instantly. Pivoting to fend off and gain range to lash out as his mind processes the face in front of him and screams at him to stop. His hand on Cassie’s neck. Ready to hurt her. His knuckles bleeding. His shins the same. Running with blood that washes away under the lashing rain. Cassie drenched through. Her hair plastered to her head. Her eyes wide with fright at the way he moved and grabbed her. His chest heaving. His eyes still blazing.

‘The generator,’ she says, putting her hand on his wrist to gently pull his hand from her neck.

He frowns with the transition from his memories to this world as real life kicks in, and only then, does he become aware of the generator outside the house coughing and spluttering. The lights inside being fed from its power dimming intermittently.

‘Is it waterproof?’ Cassie asks.

Gregori shrugs. Not knowing anything about generators. They walk over as it cuts out, and the house becomes dark. Still daytime, but the clouds are thick and low, casting the land in gloom.

He tries to start it, but it coughs and sputters, and fails to get going.

‘We need it,’ Cassie says with a glance at the dark, damp interior of the cottage while becoming suddenly aware of Gregori’s limitations. A man so very capable at violence and killing, but of very little else. ‘Have we got batteries?’ she asks as he comes back inside to grab a wet towel to dry off with. Grunting at the damp feel of it. ‘Get a dry one,’ she tells him.

‘Is no dry one,’ he says.

‘Upstairs in the bathroom.’

‘Is all gone.’

‘Really? Well, we’ll get some more,’ she says and roots around for batteries, finding only a few left. ‘Why didn’t we prepare for this?’ she asks of herself and Gregori. ‘Okay. We’re okay. It’s still quite warm, so… Let’s have some tea, yes? Then we’ll go out and find a new generator, and keep it inside.’

‘Make bad air,’ Gregori says.

‘Sorry?’

‘Generator is engine like car. No put car in house.’

‘Well, where are we going to put it, then? In the garage? But that’s all the way over there. Do we have wires that long? And can the wires go out in the rain? Why isn’t this hob igniting? It’s not coming on.’

A grunt from Gregori as he lifts the gas bottle it’s connected to. ‘Is empty.’

‘Can you change it?’

‘Is last one.’

‘Why is it the last one?’

‘Is last one.’

‘I heard you the first time. I’m asking why we haven’t got another one?’

He shrugs because other people always got him the things he needed.

‘Why not you get?’ he asks.

‘Me? Oh, okay. I’m a bloody housewife now, am I? It’s all my job to get the things we need. Right. And what do you do?’

‘I protect.’

‘From what? Bears?’

‘From zombees.’

‘They’re not zombies, and they don’t attack us, Gregory.’

‘Is Gregori,’ he says with a dark look at her mentioning the unmentionable thing.

‘Don’t look at me like that. I’m only being honest. Just because you don’t want to hear it. They don’t, do they? Do they? Do they? Do they attack us?’

‘We go out. We get gas. Boy, get changed. Put coat on.’

‘He doesn’t have a coat. None of us have coats, and is that my job too, is it? Clothe us. Feed us. Do all the shopping. And, you know, not mention that the bloody zombies don’t attack us.’

‘No say this.’

‘Why not? It’s the truth.’

‘No,’ he growls, glaring at her. ‘Boy will live normal life.’

‘This isn’t normal! The world is over, Gregori! You’re not an assassin now.’

‘I no this thing. I normal man. You normal woman. We have normal child. We live normal.’

‘Is that what this is? You want some fairy tale now, after the way you lived? Okay, well, you know we can go anywhere, right? We can live in a mansion with an indoor pool and a gym because the zombies don’t attack us!’

‘No.’

‘No, what?’

‘No. Get dressed. We go.’

‘Stubborn bloody idiot,’ she says, glaring at the empty gas bottle, then out to the broken generator, then over to the wet clothes on doors and radiators. ‘Right! Gregori!’ she shouts and walks to the bottom of the stairs as he appears at the top. ‘We can’t stay here.’

‘I say this,’ he tells her. ‘We find other place.’

‘When did you say that? Oh, god, no! Not that. I don’t mean with people. I mean another house. A better one. Don’t just walk off! Did you hear me? I said a new house but no people. People are bad, Gregori.’

No reply, but then no reply from Gregori is still a reply.

She huffs and stomps back into the kitchen to see the boy has dragged a battery-operated lamp closer so he can keep drawing. The rain coming down even harder outside.

Why didn’t she kill Reginald?

We had a deal. Kill Howie.

‘Oh, fuck off,’ she whispers at the thing inside her head and grabs mugs and things to put them in other places like she’s tidying up. ‘I wondered when you’d show up and start moaning.’

The boy doesn’t look up from drawing, as though he knows she isn’t talking to him.

I gave you what you wanted, the beast inside says.

‘Did you see the same thing as me?’ she whisper-snaps and pulls sheets of paper across the table to see the faces of Howie and Marcy, and the others. ‘They killed what? Forty? Fifty thousand? What do you think we could have done?’

Reginald was alone.

She winces. Knowing the beast inside has got her trapped, and she slides a piece of paper out with a pencil drawing of Reginald in his glasses. The image so life-like it could be a photograph.

Why didn’t she kill him?

It will be one race. My race. MY RACE. FUCK YOU!

‘I don’t know,’ she says quietly with raw honesty, knowing she can’t really hide anything from the beast. ‘Where are they now?’

They returned to Camber airstrip. Something happened. They left.

‘In this?’ she asks, looking at the rain, and she wills to be with her group, and the world around Demi comes into her mind.

Hidden behind a thick hedge, a good distance from Camber airstrip, but then the ground is so flat they couldn’t risk going closer. But she can see the rain is the same in the south as the north. An unceasing, relentless barrage of water pouring from the sky. ‘Where are they?’ she asks Daudi, lying drenched on the bank next to her. The others of their group further back and lower down.

‘A satellite came down,’ Daudi says. ‘It hit the building and caused a landslide. The van went over the edge.’

‘Oh, wow,’ Cassie whispers. ‘Talk about every half hour with this lot. Was anyone in it?’

‘The distance is too great to see,’ Daudi says. ‘But they moved out at speed along the coast.’

She looks again at Daudi, then back to the others. All of them drenched to the bone but not shivering or showing signs of distress. ‘Does this weather harm them?’ she asks.

We are the one true race.

‘Savant,’ she mutters again, hearing Gregori stomp around upstairs, which he only does to show he’s annoyed because he’s normally silent. ‘I need to go. Just do what you can.’

Kill them, the voice inside her head urges.

‘No. Don’t kill them.’

You said you would-

‘I know, and I am! But I need time to think and plan and, you know, understand it all, and we need to find somewhere else to live.’

‘Come. We go!’ Gregori calls, coming down the stairs.

She switches back to this world and steps into view as he strides along the short hallway. ‘We’re not ready,’ she says and folds her arms to show defiance.

He shrugs. ‘I go. Stay.’

He bloody would as well. Cassie knows he would, and despite what she moaned about earlier, he won’t have a clue about waterproof clothes or anything else they need. ‘Alright! Just hang on a sec… Right, come on, then. We’re leaving and probably not coming back,’ she tells the boy as he stands up and looks at her. ‘What do you need to take?’

He thinks for a second and picks his pencil and drawing pad up.

‘Just that?’

He nods.

‘Okay. Right, then. Er, I guess we can get everything else we need. But let’s take these drawings, though.’

She gathers them up into a plastic bag, and that’s it. They’re ready to go.

Everything else left behind.

They pull away into the lashing rain, and Cassie looks back at the cottage as they get onto the road and drive away. A hundred thoughts in her head all at once.

She thinks about where they will go and how she can convince Gregori that people are bad.

She thinks many things.

She thinks of one thing.

It will be one race. My race. MY RACE. FUCK YOU!

Why didn’t she kill Reginald?

She faces forward.

Still not knowing the answer.

CHAPTER FIVE

Day Thirty

The rain lashes the windscreen as they drive on through the bleak dales. The meadows on either side more like lakes from the surface water unable to drain away.

They get onto the B6479 towards Settle and catch sight of a railway line on their right snaking across the land and coming close to the road with parts of it submerged.

‘There is a village down there,’ Cassie says, seeing glimpses through the rain to a village submerged in a vast lake of water. The rooftops and upper windows standing clear.

They drive on past a holiday park now formed into a lake filled with floating caravans and mobile homes. Another glimpse of the future and a changing landscape, and in a way, there is something awful and tragic, yet pure about it. That this is nature reclaiming the land or sending floods of water to cleanse the filth left by people.

They reach Settle, a large market town, and soon pass stone-built cottages with smashed in windows and smashed in doors.

Gregori draws his pistol while driving slowly as Cassie pulls the sawn-off shotgun out from under her seat and breaks it open to check it’s loaded.

‘You have shells?’ Gregori asks her. She nods. Taking some from the glove box to put in her pockets as they pass a row of cafes and takeaways. The windows broken through. Bodies inside. Already old and decaying from the high heat and humidity. A fat rat on the head of fat corpse still sitting at a table as though waiting to be served. Baby rats squeaking and playing on the corpse’s arms in a world, where they’ve probably never seen a living human being.

‘Brave, new world,’ Cassie murmurs, barely able to hide the absolute contempt she feels for people. The stupidity of them. Their uselessness. Their greed and corruption.

She knows that because she was one of them.

Now she’s not.

Now she’s part of the one true race.

It will be one race. My race. MY RACE.

She frowns. Still not understanding why she didn’t kill Reginald.

‘Is people,’ Gregori says.

She looks forward to see a barricade blocking the road. People on top in waterproof clothes holding rifles and shotguns while calling out to people inside an old, stone-built pub on the right. The windows boarded, and the door protected by a thick wall of sandbags constructed with gaps to shoot through.

‘Halt!’ one of the men shouts from the top of one of the vans used to make the barricade.

Cassie mutters under her breath and pushes the button to wind her window down, getting a face full of rain. ‘We just want to get through!’ she calls.

‘State your business!’ the man orders as more people with guns come out of the pub on their right.

‘I just said. We want to get through!’

‘What for?’ the man demands as Cassie spots a small gaggle approaching the driver’s side. Gregori selects reverse but holds the car steady on the foot brake before cracking the window open. His pistol held ready on his lap.

‘State your business!’ a gruff, northern voice barks the command from a big, older guy staring in at Gregori, then over to Cassie, and the shotgun held in her hands. ‘They’re armed!’ he yells over his shoulder as the warning gets past on.

‘Of course, we’re bloody armed,’ Cassie mutters. ‘I said, of course, we’re armed,’ she tells the man.

‘State yer business,’ the man orders in a thick, northern accent.

‘Or what?’ she asks, bridling at his tone. ‘Who the hell are you?’

The man blinks, caught out at the educated, projected voice from the woman, and the dead-eyed stare coming from the tough-looking guy driving the Range Rover.

‘Well. We’ve got to check, haven’t we?’ he says while trying to force authority into his voice.

‘Says who?’ Cassie asks.

‘It’s our town.’

‘You own it, do you? The whole town. Every building is yours?’

‘Eh? No. I meant. Look, what you doing here, anyhow?’

‘We were trying to get through to get supplies, but you can sod right off. We’ll go back.’

‘What supplies do you need?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You from the south?’

‘What has that got to do with anything?’

‘Settle down, love. I’m only asking.’

‘Do not call me love!’

‘What’s her problem?’ a woman asks, pushing next to the ruddy face of the man barking questions. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing apart from being interrogated by armed men,’ Cassie says.

‘You’re armed,’ the woman says in an accent as thick and strong as the man’s.

‘But we’re not barking commands and demanding to know your business.’

‘You’re alright, love. Mike were just asking, weren’t you, Mike?’

‘I were just asking,’ Mike says.

‘And demanding to know if we’re from the south.’

‘Aye,’ Mike says. ‘So we can build a picture of what towns have been hit, like. You know, and pass it on to other survivors.’

‘They after supplies, then?’ the woman asks.

‘Aye. The lass said supplies,’ Mike says.

‘What do they need? I said what do you need? I’m Julie, anyhow. You all alright, are you? Little one in the back okay, is he? We’ve got food and some meds if you’re desperate.’

‘Wet clothes,’ Gregori says as Cassie goes to speak.

‘Wet clothes?’ Julie asks.

‘Yes. Is rain. Need wet clothes.’

‘Oh! He means waterproofs,’ Julie says. ‘He means waterproof clothing, Mike. Aye, look. They’re not in proper kit, are they. We can rustle some up. And you got a kiddie in the back. We’ve got a doctor. Want him checked over? You three, pop out, then, and we’ll see what we can find. Mind, though. It’s busy as you like as we’re moving out soon.’

‘Move out?’ Gregori asks as the woman opens his door, and they drop out into the rain.

‘We stayed put for a month,’ Mike tells them. ‘But we keep hearing places getting hit hard, and more folk passing through saying they’re going to Chester.’

‘He means Chester Castle,’ Julie cuts in as they get inside the pub to a hive of activity.

‘Chester Castle is near Liverpool,’ Cassie tells Gregori. Following them out the back of the pub into the town square barricaded at each junction, with every window and door boarded and sentries watching. People everywhere rushing to fill vehicles with their belongings and shouting to one another. ‘It’s like an ancient walled city or something? Is that the place?’

‘Not seen it myself,’ the woman says bluntly. ‘But folk saying it’s fortified, and everyone is going there. I mean. We done alright here. You know what I mean? But that river has burst her banks, and she’s up ground from here, and I said to Mike we’re too exposed. Then we put it t’vote, and majority agreed t’move out.’

‘Is what?’ Gregori asks as Julie’s accent throws him off.

‘Sorry, pet. Am I talking too fast? We voted. To leave. For Chester.’

Gregori nods. Finally grasping what she means as Cassie looks around. Seeing broken people struggling to cope. The moronic masses that ruined the old world. Fat people eating junk food and puffing on cigarettes, and podgy children eating sugary snacks and drinking soda. Loud, blunt, clipped voices.

‘Don’t fuckin’ drink it all!’ a woman snaps, a fully grown adult with dirty children all around her. She speaks like a sulky teenager, dragging the vowels out, and yanks a big can of energy drink from a guy with a huge belly. A hand-rolled cigarette clutched between his fingers.

‘That was mine!’ he says with the same childish drawl.

‘There’s Julie!’ the woman says. ‘Julie!? Who’s taking us to this new place, then?’

‘Are you packed and ready?’ Julie calls.

‘No! I said we need help!’ the woman whines with an offended expression. ‘Oh, my god. He’s signed off on the sick, and I hurt me back, and two of mine have that ADHD, don’t they?’

Cassie recoils her head in disgust at the tone and manner and spots another couple further along the row of terraced houses loading their car up. Slimmer and dressed better, and their house and children look cared for. ‘Michael,’ the woman states in an angry, entitled tone that Cassie knows only too well. ‘I am just saying that you should have planned for this. The vote was two days ago. We knew we were leaving today.’

‘Don’t put that pressure on me, please, Jemima,’ her husband says. Floppy hair and a hipster beard. Skinny arms and a paunchy belly.

‘Er, excuse me!?’ Jemima hisses as though trying to be quiet while not giving a shit if she’s heard.

‘You know it spikes my anxiety.’

‘Just man up, Michael!’

‘Oh, wow. Okay. Man up? Right. Yeah. Great work. Is that what we tell our kids, is it? To have toxic masculinity and deny their internal emotional reactions?’

‘Yes! If they load the fucking car before we either get flooded or eaten, you stupid fucking prick! Oh, my god! Why did I have kids with you? I should have stayed with that scaffolder I was fucking.’

‘Jemima!’ Michael says, covering the ears on one of their precocious children.

Cassie tunes out and follows two guys walking across the square. One in front, with another rushing after while trying to berate him. ‘I said we should stay!’

‘We had t’vote,’ the man in the lead says, holding a clipboard and looking harassed.

‘But… But that’s not fair! It’s not what I wanted.’

‘Stay, then.’

‘Oh, wow. Is that your answer, is it?’ the man asks. Triggered and angry, but too weak, and pathetic to do anything about it.

The same thing in every view. People bickering as they rush to get cars and vehicles loaded. Grown men sobbing in full-on breakdowns while their exhausted looking wives do all the heavy lifting.

Other men snapping at women to get out of the way and to stop being so emotional. People weeping. Others listless and looking shell-shocked.

‘Julie!’ another woman calls as she rushes over.

‘Chloe, you alright, love?’ Julie asks with a sigh to her voice.

‘Well. Not after what I just heard, and I’m not being racist, but someone said this Chester Castle is full of Pakis and Indians.’

‘Hey!’ an Indian guy calls from the store being used to issue waterproof clothes.

‘I said I wasn’t being racist!’ Chloe says. ‘But I don’t want to live in a castle full of ’em. It’ll stink of curry!’

‘Just saying it doesn’t make it not racist,’ the man shouts in the same clipped, northern accent as the others.

‘I don’t like curry!’ Chloe shouts.

‘Racist bitch,’ the man says, holding his hands up and turning away, as though signalling he’s not getting involved. ‘And yeah, actually,’ he shouts and turns back. ‘It’s literally full of us! We’re all in there cooking one giant biryani!’

‘Aye. I like biryani,’ someone shouts.

‘No! That’s racist! He’s being racist!’ Chloe shouts as Julie sighs again and walks off, and Cassie sees them all in their unfettered glory. The old world and the old race being thick and corrupt, and stupid, and petty to the point wars start and people die.

‘They do curry?’ Gregori asks, making her blink and look at him.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘This Cheester place. They have curry?’

Cassie looks away, then back at him. Not knowing how to answer that. ‘They’re all morons. How are you not seeing it?’

‘See what?’ Gregori asks.

‘Is he infected?’ she asks inwardly, staring at Gregori. Stumped at how two people so connected to each other can see and interpret the same thing so very differently.

He is different. His brain is different.

A memory pushes into her mind. She’s in the boy’s head, staring up at Gregori towering over him, aiming a pistol at the boy. An internal struggle going on behind Gregori’s eyes. She can sense he’s willing himself to kill the child. But he can’t do it. The infection inside prevents it, but Gregori’s mind is strong enough to put a gun to the boy’s head, though.

She blinks back to the now. Remembering that brains are made from neural pathways that are preset at birth from the contributing genes of the mother and father while other pathways develop as the child grows.

And in Gregori, they grew in a way completely differently to everyone else. He was left outside and made to kill rats to eat. He was beaten and broken, and rebuilt into what he is.

That’s why the infection can’t fully control him. Gregori’s will is stronger.

What an insight.

But maybe not in a good way because that means it might be impossible to sway someone that stubborn and strong-willed into believing something as radical as accepting that a new species should take over the planet.

‘We go,’ he says in that decisive way of his.

‘Go where?’

‘To the curry place.’

‘Chester Castle? It’s not a take-away, Gregori. It’s a fortified stronghold full of people. It’ll be like here but packed with a lot more people.’

‘Yes. Childrens. Have structure. Boy have friends. We eat curry.’

She goes to say no and explain that people are all fat and stupid, and greedy, and selfish. But she remembers what she just thought about his brain being wired so differently, and that means nothing she can say will sway him when he’s really made his mind up.

Another thought occurs to her too.

Cassie truly believes what she thinks about people. That they are bad, and so why not show him that? Let him see it for himself. It happened in the last commune they were in. It got dark and went bad very quickly.

So maybe this is what they need to do to get it out of Gregori’s system.

‘Alright. We’ll go. We’ll try it. But… And listen to me. If it stays good, then fine. I will accept I was wrong. But if it goes bad, then you owe me a conversation about our future.’

CHAPTER SIX

Day Thirty

‘Chester Castle was built in the year ten seventy by Hugh D Avalanche or Avralanch, or however you pronounce it. Ooh, but check this. It was founded by William the Conqueror. That’s interesting. So that would have been four years after The Battle of Hastings. Which, funnily enough, is right next to the seaside town of Rye. How about that?’ Cassie asks to herself and to Gregori, and the boy while reading from a pilfered pamphlet about Chester Castle, which was after a quick switch of internal view to Daudi and her group to see them on the outskirts of the now flooded seaside town of Rye. Which was currently being destroyed by Howie and his group, who, it appeared, enjoyed travelling from place-to-place, blowing things up.

But it made Cassie think what a small world it really was that they were heading to this Chester Castle place that apparently had been founded by the same invading monarch guy, who defeated Harald in Hastings, just outside of Rye, and then went onto develop Winchester and build The Great Hall and lots of other places.

‘We kind of owe a lot to old Willy,’ she tells Gregori, who shoots her a look. ‘William the Conqueror. He changed the course of history for the whole planet. Don’t look at me like that. So he turns up and defeats Harald, and then trots around, building cities and castles and establishing order and a legal system, which then evolved into England controlling half the world or whatever it was when we had the empire. And I’m not saying that was a good thing, but it happened, and because we did that, we then influenced lots of other countries. America. India. Most of Europe. Russia. Funny, isn’t it, you know, how one significant change to the order of things can then go on to create many other things.’

She lets that one hang in the air but very quickly deduces that it is too vague for Gregori to follow, and goes back to reading the pamphlet.

‘Do you like history?’ she asks with sudden curiosity. Gregori thinks for a moment. He never really enjoyed anything at all. He did his work, and that was that. But he does like looking at old places and trying to think how people lived.

‘Yes,’ he says eventually.

‘You would love Winchester. Everyone loves Winchester. It’s very pretty. Have you been?’

‘Yes. One time. But I leave quickly.’

‘Why? Did you have to kill someone?’

He checks the boy in the rear-view mirror before nodding.

‘Yeah, so, he’s literally seen you murder many lots of people,’ Cassie says, thumbing to the boy. ‘And I’m pretty sure he’s killed a few himself, so I doubt you talking about your old job is going to be the thing that gives him lifelong trauma.’

‘Yes. I kill.’

‘Who?’

‘A man. Chinese man.’

‘Why?’

‘They not tell me why.’

‘Was he rich?’

‘No. Work in the takeaway place. In kitchen. Old man.’

‘How did you kill him?’

‘I cut head off and leave in oven.’

‘You did what!?’

‘Is orders.’

‘They told you to do that? Flipping heck.’

‘I think message.’

She frowns. ‘Oh, like a statement for someone else.’

‘Yes. Is normal for this. Kill this man, but is message for other man.’

‘That’s brutal. So, did you ever wonder why you were killing people?’

‘No.’

‘What. Never?’

‘No,’ he says, and his face tenses for a split second as he remembers the last job. The Russian family before the outbreak hit. The feeling he had inside. The emptiness. ‘I think maybe last job.’

‘Did you ever kill women and children?’

‘Yes. Many.’

‘Do you feel bad about that?’

He shrugs again. Not knowing how to feel bad. Not knowing anything about himself, other than what he was told to do.

Something in his face maybe. Or a change to his energy that Cassie detects. She reaches over to stroke his arm.

‘Well, don’t,’ she tells him. ‘That was the old world and the old rules. Nobody is ever going to tell you what to do again. Other than me,’ she adds with a quick attempt at humour.

They fall into silence, with Cassie seeming to enjoy the drive while inwardly switching to see through the eyes of a host walking through the rain towards a barricade. A young girl no more than eight years old walking with her head down. Her skinny arms wrapped about her soaking wet summer dress. Her long locks of hair plastered down over her face. A sight of abject misery that would pull at the heartstrings of anyone.

‘Someone coming!’ the guard calls from the top of the barricade. ‘State your business!’ he shouts down to the approaching child.

‘Someone else, is it?’ Julie asks, peering out to catch sight of the young girl. ‘What is wrong with you!’ she snaps at the guard, opening the door to rush out. ‘It’s a bloody child!’ Julie says, pulling her own coat off to wrap around the child’s thin shoulders before scooping her up. ‘You’re drenched right through. Mike! Get a blanket for this bairn!’

Julie rushes back inside. Into the pub, and the inner sanctum of the commune of Settle still squabbling and arguing as they pack vehicles and make ready to move out to Chester Castle.

All of them locked in their lives. Too intent on being offended and clinging to the views and ways of the old world to see the red-eyed monster being carried into their midst. A young child that sneezes from the cold and wet and sprays microscopic droplets of infected saliva into the faces of Mike and Julie as they fuss around her. Drying her body and hair with towels and finding blankets to wrap around her. Others call for soup to be heated as the doctor is summoned to check her over. He comes quickly. A kindly, older man that speaks softly and presses his warm hands to the child’s neck and jaw as she sneezes again.

‘Bless you,’ he says with a gentle smile. ‘Aye, she’s just soaked through. Be right as rain when we’ve got her warmed up. Did she say where her family are? Julie? You okay?’

‘Cramps,’ Julie says with a grunt, feeling pain in her belly.

‘Must be something we ate,’ Mike adds, feeling the same thing as the doctor’s heart whumps in his chest, and he feels the first grip of pain in his own belly and looks back in horror at the red-eyed monster staring impassively at him.

‘Infected!’ he yells, but the words cut off into a gargled gasp as he drops to the floor alongside Julie and Mike. The three of them writhing in pain. The lady, who heated soup, rushes in with a yell at seeing it and calls for help. More people running in and going to help the stricken three. Too stupid and too slow to connect the dots and see the danger.

Not even when Cassie wills the child to get up and go outside while holding the blanket around her shoulders. Walking out into the rain and through the square as people sprint past her into the pub. A scream from the cook as Julie sits up and bites into her face, tearing a chunk of her cheek away. People react and kick as Julie and Mike bite more and more, and many more. The elderly doctor smashing through a flimsy set of old, wooden patio doors into a man outside, tearing him off his feet to bite into his scalp. Then he’s up and sprinting faster than any seventy-year-old man has ever ran before and slamming into Jemima still having a go at pathetic Michael and his hipster beard. Biting into her arm as she screams out, and Michael falls back. Too scared and too witless to do anything else as the doctor launches at their children. Taking them down amidst screams of pain and terror.

Cassie stays inside the girl. Seeing it happen all around her. Watching the grimy, shitty commune of Settle fall before her eyes. Watching Michael piss himself in fear.

Watching the obese couple that squabbled over the can of energy drink try and run, and trip, and fall as Julie takes them both down.

A Skoda VRS starts up in panic and pulls away too fast. Running over people and newly infected. The cobbles slick, and the rain heavy. The Skoda slides and crashes into a wall. Airbags deploy. The horn jammed on. Steam and smoke pour from the engine, and the little girl with the red eyes walks through it all.

Seeing her prey backing up in fear.

Chloe. The racist woman tripping over the step into her own house. Sprawling out and trying to get up as Cassie makes the little girl cast off the blanket and run fast. Wild, red eyes and hands clawed into talons. Teeth showing. Chloe screams in panic as the girl closes in, readying to leap and kill. A shout from behind, and Cassie grunts as someone kicks into the little girl’s back, sending her face first into the wall, and the Indian man Chloe abused runs past to grab and pull Chloe up, dragging her over to a Volvo. Pushing her in, and a few seconds later, the car pulls away. Slamming through the end of the barricade.

‘No fucking way,’ the little girl murmurs. ‘Did not see that coming.’

‘See what?’ Gregori asks.

‘This rain!’ Cassie says, switching back to her own eyes and her own world. ‘You know. After all that sunshine… Oh, god, look! Slow down,’ she says suddenly, pointing to the left to a herd of sheep gathered at a big, old, wooden gate. One of the heads poking through the wooden slats, twisting and bucking to try and get free.

She’s out the car in an instant. Running over the slick verge through the lashing rain in nothing more than denim shorts and a thin top and only then realising they never did get waterproof clothes from Settle.

The flock startle back from the speed of her approach. The one with its head stuck going into panic, kicking and thrashing, with the gate bouncing and rattling on its fittings.

‘It’s okay… Sshhhhh,’ Cassie says, going closer to see the head is firmly wedged as the creature bleats pitifully. An earthy smell coming from them all as the others stare cautiously on from nearby. ‘You need to twist your head,’ she tells the sheep and tries to grip to turn the head, but the panic and strength of the beast makes it impossible.

‘I try,’ Gregori says. At her side, trying to turn the head so it can slip out. The bleats getting louder, and the sheep’s feet clawing at the mud to try and get away.

‘We’re scaring it,’ Cassie says, feeling the sheep tense and wriggle in panic.

‘Move. I kill,’ Gregori says, drawing his pistol.

‘Don’t just kill it!’

‘Is trapped.’

‘We can get it out.’

‘It trapped. It suffer,’ he says over the pitiful bleating as the creature panics so much it cuts its own neck on the splintered wood, drawing blood that quickly pours down its chest and legs.

Cassie never cared for animals. She wore fur coats and didn’t care what had to die for her fashions, but without warning and without knowing why, she suddenly does care, and she tries harder to turn the animal. The blood soaking onto her hands and arms. Onto her thin top and over her bare legs and denim shorts. ‘Alright, shush, it’s okay,’ she says. Stroking the head and speaking softly. ‘Easy now. Shush… Stop panicking.’ But the sheep carries on bucking and twisting, and the rain lashes down. ‘Get some tools or something.’

‘What tools?’ Gregori asks.

‘I don’t know!’

‘Is in pain,’ Gregori says. Impassive. Unmoved. His hair slick, with rainwater running over his hard, pock-marked features.

She tries again. She heaves and pushes, but the sheep is over ninety kilos and strong, and full of panic, and the blood pours out as Cassie spots the nasty splinters digging into the poor creature’s neck. The wounds deepening as the thing thrashes and bucks.

‘Move!’ Gregori orders, grabbing her arm to yank her away. Making her sprawl into the mud as he steps in close and presses the barrel to the sheep’s skull.

The shot rings out.

The bleating cuts off, and the sheep sags instantly as the rest of the herd scatter in fear, and Gregori stands over his kill while Cassie sits in the mud, covered in blood and fur. She stares up at him as he holsters his weapon and walks back to the car. Getting into the driver’s seat. He slams the door, and she stays put for a second. Glancing back to the blood pouring from the sheep’s skull. The eyes still open. The body now flopped at a horrible angle.

She gets up and walks over to unlock the gate and starts trying to push it open, but the sheep is still stuck in the frame, and it’s too heavy. She yanks and heaves, and shouts in frustration.

‘We go!’ Gregori snaps from the car.

‘They’re trapped in the field!’ she shouts.

‘Is dumb animal,’ he calls.

‘They’re fucking trapped!’ she yells as he gets out of the car with a dark look and marches over to grab her wrist to pull her away. ‘Get off me! What the hell are you doing?’

‘Is dumb animal,’ he says, pointing to the big, broken-through hole in the hedge being used by the rest of the herd to jump through and run off.

‘Get off me!’ she says, wrenching her arm free. Feeling stupid and small, and angry, and all sorts of things.

‘Come. We go.’

‘Stop telling me what to do!’

‘Is rain!’

‘And? So?’

‘What?’ he asks, flapping his hands out. ‘What you want?’

‘Why won’t you talk about it?’ she asks, blurting the words out. The rain pelting them both. Lashing down hard. ‘The Boy. The pictures he draws. The infected people! Don’t walk off!’ she goes after him, taking her turn to grab his wrist to pull him around, but the wall goes up, and she knows he won’t discuss it. Not now and probably not ever.

She also realises that Gregori was right. That she should have looked properly instead of wasting energy with a futile act of trying to open the gate.

Which then also forms the question of why she is wasting her energy now with another futile act of going to Chester Castle.

She told herself she is doing it to convince Gregori that people are bad. But maybe she just fears being without his protection.

But she has Daudi now. She has Demi and the others.

She has nine thousand hosts in a copse.

She has several hundred more recently taken in Settle.

She can connect to them all. She is within them all.

All of those thoughts form instantly. Within the blink of an eye. Within the beat of a heart.

And one other too as she questions not only why they are going to Chester Castle.

But why she is staying with Gregori?

They reach Chester a few hours after leaving the commune at Settle in Yorkshire. They could have done the ninety miles in less time, but they went wide around Manchester to avoid inner urban areas.

They also made a quick stop in a market town to get better clothing. Outdoor trousers, tops, boots, and waterproof jackets.

It rained the whole time, and they saw more floods when they got back on the road and made the last leg into Chester. A few miles out from Liverpool.

They cross the River Dee on the A55, where Gregori brings the car to a stop so they can marvel at the burst banks and the nearby fields already submerged. ‘I think Chester Castle is on the river,’ Cassie says. ‘That might help its defences. Would it?’

A grunt from Gregori. The one that means maybe.

They drive on into Chester, with a change from unbroken greenery to suburbia in all of her post-apocalyptic Armageddon glory, which only looks worse being lashed with rain under a leaden sky.

‘I’m so glad we came here. What a lovely place,’ Cassie murmurs loud enough to earn another grunt.

Gregori goes slow. Scanning everything. Seeing it all. Cassie senses his energy change as his focus sharpens. It stills her otherwise normally rampant tongue from making comments as she watches him studying the world outside the windows.

‘What are you looking for?’ she asks in a tone that implies genuine interest.

‘People. Movement. Threat. And look for ways out if we go fast.’

‘Reconnaissance.’

‘Yes. This word. We look for high place to see.’

They go along old roads and new roads. Old houses and new houses. The damage is all the same, though. Nobody escaped it. They go through deep pools of standing water and through rapids pouring over roads. They see houses built in shallow depressions now flooded, and everything looks grey and bleak, and awful.

‘There,’ he says quietly. An old, high structure through the gaps between houses. A tall, grey tower with a crenelated top like a castle.

‘I think it was part of the old castle,’ she says when they reach it. They stay silent a while, with Gregori switching the engine off and cracking the windows to hear the world around them.

Only then does he open the door. She follows him out and locks the sleeping boy in the car, knowing the infected won’t attack him, should there be any near here. But she certainly doesn’t have any of her hosts here.

‘Overleigh Water Tower,’ she reads from a plaque. ‘Yeah, it’s from the thirteen hundreds and part of the castle. It was on the riverbank, but the river’s now moved. Are we going in?’

He nods and works at the door to force a quiet entry, pushing in with his pistol ready. Dust inside. Old air, and old crap left to grow mouldy.

They find a set of steps and climb up, with Gregori breaking another lock to get out onto the top to a commanding bird’s eye view of Chester. The rest of the land mostly flat.

Suburbia behind and to the sides.

The River Dee in front. Wide and dark, and moving fast.

Two bridges in view.

One on the left broken and smashed down to leave a big, gaping hole in the middle.

‘Is good defence,’ Gregori says, pointing to it, then to the other one. ‘Leaves only one to defend. That bridge.’

Cassie nods. Realising that makes sense. They also clock the wall immediately next to the bridge. A wall made of trucks and vehicles, and shipping containers snaking along the riverbank to surround the old ruins of what was once Chester Castle. A fortified position built centuries ago within a walled city.

Now it lies behind that newer wall, and she can see two big car parks full of huts and containers, and camper vans.

A few big buildings within the walls too. The University of Chester. The Crown Court building and a big, old military museum.

The other thing that Cassie can’t help but notice is that the commune doesn’t look anywhere near as well constructed as the fort. The shit wall they’ve built certainly isn’t.

‘Should use this,’ Gregori says and pats the wall of the tower as he turns to look over the landscape. ‘See any attack for far. Send signal.’

‘Sloppy,’ Cassie says with a strange, pervading foray into the worlds of Howie and Lilly, and knowing enough about them to be sure they would have done exactly that and put this tower to use. And they would have flattened most of the houses on this side of the river after taking all the food and usable contents.

It makes her feel weird thinking like that. Like she has some form of professional pride or something about the fort. Even though it was her version of the infection this very thing in her head that made Darren attack it. It even got inside a few times but failed on each occasion. And it was this infection that had Lani too.

‘Still want to stay?’ she asks.

He nods and walks off for the door. She watches him go and stays a moment longer, looking out at the brave, new world. A split in the path ahead of her. Two roads available.

One with Gregori. Denying and hiding what she is and what she can do. Pretending everything is fine and normal when it really isn’t.

The other path without Gregori.

She couldn’t ever picture being without him, but she can’t navigate his stubbornness and refusal to change. She doesn’t know how to do that, nor does she have the time.

He emerges at the base of the tower and turns to look up. She wonders if he senses the disquiet in her mind. Does he realise their journey together might be coming to an end?

But that also presents another question.

Will he let her take the boy?

That’s the whole reason for coming here. So Gregori can play out some fantasy of the child going to school and having friends.

Cassie pretty much knows he won’t let her take the child, and if she did take him, he’d hunt her down. Which would mean either negating him before she left with the boy or leaving the child with him.

Gregori stares up at her, and she was right because there is a disquiet within him. Old memories and thoughts, and images keep plaguing his mind. A feeling of being lost too. That he doesn’t know where he is truly going or what he should be doing. A lack of purpose and direction. No Krye giving orders now. No missions. The start of the outbreak was intense and thrilling. Now it’s not. Cassie was also right because it looks austere here. Broken and dank, and awful, but Gregori simply doesn’t have the conscious awareness to voice those thoughts, and so the feelings quickly become overwhelming. Which, in turn, make him lock onto the one thing he’s holding in his mind. That the boy should live a normal life and have friends, and go to school.

That’s why they are here.

To do that, and so he ignores everything else and gets back in the car, and the pressure builds inside.

Pressure unrelenting.

Cassie can feel it. In truth, so can Gregori.

But for now, she stays silent and heads down to get back in the car.

Changing dynamics and changing rules in a changing world.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Day Thirty

They ditch the Range Rover a few streets back from the bridge. In the open-fronted car port of a bland, semi-detached house, shielded from view by thick bushes.

‘Remember where is,’ Gregori says. Hiding the guns in the back of the car. Taking only a semi-automatic police issue pistol from his small arsenal.

‘Should I keep this on me?’ she asks, holding the sawn-off shotgun.

‘Yes. Keep. See what rules are. We have more,’ he says, meaning their cache. He closes the boot, and they set off onto the main road. The boy splashing in puddles in his new, waterproof boots.

They follow the road past a fuel station and onto the approach to the bridge.

A pub ahead on the left. The Ship Inn. A hand-painted sign on a length of sagging material tied to the side of the building.

Chester Castle: No Entry Without Consent

Another barricade ahead made from trucks and vans, and all manner of crap, used to block access to the bridge.

The sight of it all makes Cassie sag inside.

This is the old world. They shouldn’t be here, trudging through the rain towards shitty, miserable people outside of a shitty, miserable pub they’ve turned into a shitty guardhouse to protect their shitty bridge.

She exhales in a way that earns a look from Gregori and rolls her eyes.

Gregori isn’t sure what to say about that. He loves her directness and that she doesn’t suffer bullshit. She’s also very funny, which makes him laugh on the inside. But he’s also sure that living alone in the middle of nowhere isn’t healthy for the boy. There’s no future in that. How would he ever meet friends or do the things that Gregori could never do?

There’s something else too.

Gregori has travelled the world.

He’s killed people in New York and Los Angeles. Tokyo. Beijing. Dubai. Manila. Scandinavia. Throughout Europe. Australia. New Zealand. In cities and villages. In forests and on beaches. On mountain sides. Even in the Arctic Circle.

And the one thing that Gregori can say with certainty is that all people are moany, miserable shits, no matter how wealthy they are or whatever climate they live in.

Stable countries. Unstable countries. They’re all the same. Miserable. Depressed. Anxious and so self-obsessed they can’t grasp the life they’ve been given.

Which contrasts heavily with his objective of finding a stable environment for the child, but Gregori can’t see that because of his lack of experience in how to live what he thinks is a normal life. And so, despite all of that, the instinct to seek others and let the child play and have friends remains at the forefront of his mind.

Which is why he ignores her last-minute protests as they shuffle forward in the throng of other survivors.

‘Surrender your weapons! No weapons inside the facility!’ a guard shouts. Holding an assault rifle as two others make the refugees in front open their bags and remove any food that gets passed over and taken into the pub.

‘Next! Got any weapons? Any food?’

‘Do we get them back?’ Cassie asks as she breaks the shotgun to take the shells out while Gregori ejects the magazine from his pistol.

‘We’re not a bleedin’ storage depot, love.’

‘What if we leave, though?’ Cassie asks, clocking the way the guy shows irritation at her educated voice.

‘Come and ask, and we’ll see if we can give you something.’

‘Why can’t we have ours back?’

‘And how the bloody hell we gonna know who handed in what?’ he asks as the other guards tut and shake their heads.

‘I don’t know. Maybe with this new invention called pen and paper. You know, take the name of the person and what gun they’re handing in.’

‘Do you know how many bleedin’ shotguns we’ve got?’

‘Labels, then? With names? You could even ask the people to put their names on the labels before they hand them over.’

‘In the military, were you?’

‘What does that have to do with it?’

‘Well. We were, and we been out here all day in this pissing rain, so do me a favour and just hand ’em over, or don’t, and bugger off.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

‘What don’t?’

‘Asking if I was in the military and saying you were, and then moaning about the rain. That literally made no sense.’

‘Is fine. Take guns,’ Gregori says, taking hers to hand over.

‘What you then? Polish or sommin’ the guard asks.

‘No, he’s an Albanian hitman,’ Cassie says.

‘Very funny,’ the guy mutters. ‘Open your bags up. Got any food?’

‘And why are we handing that over?’ Cassie asks, hardly believing that Gregori is complying and allowing them to go into his bag and remove his knife and the snack food they packed.

‘You’ll be fed,’ the guard says bluntly, in a manner that doesn’t invite further questions. ‘Right, go on, then. Get inside.’

‘What. Is that it?’ Cassie asks.

‘What else do you want? A bloody strip search?’

‘I’ll search her,’ the other guard says with a wink to Gregori. ‘Eh. Only joshin’, fella. She’s a looker, your bird, but a bit lippy.’

‘I’m not his bird!’

‘You going in or not?’

Cassie inhales to unleash verbal hell but clocks the look from Gregori, and remembers the promise she made not to make it bad. She swallows it down and walks through with the boy and Gregori. Onto the bridge, behind the others walking over.

‘Is very full,’ Gregori says, nodding at the fast-flowing river below. They reach the inner, much bigger wall on the far side of the bridge, with Cassie figuring the security measures will be much stronger before they pass inside. But they walk right through and past armed guards looking bored and miserable under awnings and tents. Smoking cigarettes and clutching steaming mugs of tea.

They head right on old, slippery cobblestones and up an incline. Rainwater pouring down it and coming off rooftops in a myriad of waterfalls.

They keep walking. Following the only route available until they veer left through metal bollards to a narrowing lane herding them towards an arched entrance barred with thick metal gates.

Armed guards on both sides, with a press of people waiting to go through. It takes time, and Cassie tuts and huffs at the delay. Hating the weather and being here, and the people, and everything about it.

They go through the arch to one of the large car parks they saw from the tower. Now filled with camper vans and portacabins. People living lives. Children running around, and adults gathered in groups.

The large Crown Court, County Hall, and university building dominating one end. Two other blocks either side of the car park. Both with rough, smeared painted signs. One saying Childcare & Therapy. The other with Admin.

Gregori clocks men and women of military bearing here and there. Good posture. Keen eyes. Something about them stands out to him. But they’re not armed, and they don’t make any show of recognition to each other.

‘Right! You three, then,’ an exhausted looking woman says, addressing Cassie and Gregori, and the boy. ‘You’re up on your feet, and you seem adjusted.’

‘Sorry?’ Cassie asks, caught out by the comment.

‘Just saying you look healthy and alright. Everyone else coming in looks beat down.’

‘Oh. Right. Er, yes. We were out in the Dales, and er, all that sunshine,’ Cassie says, only then realising the physical appearance of them is noticeable against many others, who look drawn and sick.

‘Right. Well. Let’s get you out of the rain. I’m Mandy. One of t’helpers here,’ Mandy says and leads them into the Crown Court building and up past the old security checkpoints, and up onto the landing that led to the courtrooms now turned over into shared barracks. People everywhere. Sitting on the metal benches used by the public waiting for trials. Slumped against walls. An air of misery and depression hangs in the air. People coughing, and others heard crying.

‘Canteen is that end,’ Mandy says. ‘Seven a.m. for breakfast. Five p.m. for dinner. Turn right, down this corridor. And your room is this one here. Not big, but you’ve your own tap, which not many have. And you’re only sharing a bathroom with four other rooms. Wash yer hands as much as you can. We’ve had outbreaks of dysentery and folk getting the shits. Oh, and the Indian quarter is on the ground floor, just so you know.’

‘Know what?’ Cassie asks.

‘You know,’ Mandy says.

‘No. Know what?’

‘That the Indian quarter is on the ground floor.’

‘Hang on. Why do you even have an Indian quarter? What the hell is that? That’s like some messed up Victorian thing.’

‘They’re not forced. That’s where they all go, and they do the curry one night a week.’

‘Okay. So are we allowed down there?’ Cassie asks as Mandy looks uncomfortable.

‘Well. I’m just saying. You know. That’s where they live, and we don’t, so… Anyway. Moving on. And word to the wise. Pilfer some cutlery and use it for each meal. That way you know it’s clean. There’s bedding inside the room. You’ll have to scrounge and ask about if you need more. Get yourselves settled and get along for some grub, then once you’ve got your wits back, come over to the admin block, and we’ll find you some tasks. Anyway. Nice to meet you, and welcome to Chester Castle.’

An hour later, they join the queue for the evening meal. Taking a tray each from the stack and copying the others lining up at the serving tables.

Their tiny room filled with one old, stained double mattress and another small single mattress on the floor. A length of string from wall to wall with a frayed blanket draped over creating the only privacy between them and the child.

It was hard for Cassie not to launch into a rant about it all at Gregori. That they’d gone from the freedom to do whatever they wanted to living in a place with dysentery. Sharing a bathroom and sleeping in a cramped room that was once a county hall records room that had a tap in it for some unknown, weird reason.

Now they’re lining up like inmates in a prison. Clutching plastic trays to get food slopped on plates.

They shuffle forward. Each getting passed a set of cutlery, then a carton of orange juice. Then on to the stodgy shit cooked in a vat of puke that gets spooned into bowls and handed over by more people close to breaking point flinching at every bang and noise.

‘Is good,’ Gregori says, looking from his bowl of gruel to Cassie offering him a big, fake smile.

‘What? I’m being positive, darling.’

He grunts, and they walk over to find a space at a table. Sitting down, with Cassie about to taste her food when someone slides a packet of anti-bac wipes across the table to her.

‘Give ’em a clean first, pet,’ the woman says in a Geordie accent.

Cassie doesn’t need to clean the cutlery first. She could eat shit off the floor and not get sick. She won’t ever get sick again. Neither will the boy or Gregori. But she smiles and says thank you, and duly cleans their cutlery.

‘Is tasty,’ Gregori says when he takes the first mouthful.

‘Good. Glad you like it,’ Cassie says in a way that suggests she’d rather pour it over his head. ‘Better than our cheesy pasta and sausages, and veg in our cottage with wine?’

‘That sounds nice,’ the nosey woman from Newcastle says. ‘Cheesy pasta and some wine. You can get some booze here. Pricey, though.’

‘They use money here?’ Cassie asks.

The other woman shakes her head while eating with her mouth open like a disgusting, big, fat, ugly, smelly troll pig waste-of-a-body that could be so much better put to use housing a host. ‘Jewellery and porn,’ she says while spraying chunks of whatever vomit they are eating across the table, thereby explaining why all the other ugly, smelly troll pigs waste-of-bodies are getting the shits.

‘Oh,’ Cassie says, taking an anti-bac wipe to scrub at the spray yield that came from the woman’s mouth. Which makes the other table users stare on in interest. ‘Porn, you say? That’s so lovely.’

‘Well. Boys like a tug,’ the woman says with another spray of food. ‘No harm in it.’

‘Sure. Apart from presenting women as nothing more than sexual objects, and can you please close your mouth while you are eating.’

‘Eh?’

‘Your mouth. That massive gaping, churning cement mixer in your face. Close it. You’re spraying food.’

‘Am I heck!’

‘You just did it again. It’s gross. Stop being gross,’ Cassie says and sends the anti-bac wipes at her. ‘We’re not all catching rabies from you.’

The woman blushes furiously and looks ready to kick off, but grabs the wipes, and scrubs the table before rushing out of the room as Gregori leans closer.

‘I like this Cassie.’

Cassie frowns at the realisation that her cuntishness is the variable factor in what creates Gregori’s perfect Cassie.

Noted.

She pushes the food around in her bowl with no appetite to take a single bite of it. Unlike Gregori tucking in with gusto. But then he was fed rats as a child, so this is probably like a gourmet meal for him.

‘Where you from, then?’ another woman asks. Younger, with a strong Liverpool accent. ‘I’m Nicole, by the way. And like, cheers for saying that to Helen,’ she adds in a low voice. ‘I wanted to for ages, but like…’ she trails off with a shrug that screams low self-esteem and an inability to speak out.

‘I’m Cassie. I’m from London originally, but we were in the Yorkshire Dales,’ Cassie says.

‘Yeah, London’s gone,’ Nicole says with a sad tut. ‘It would be, wouldn’t it? I think all the cities got hit hard. You staying up north or heading south? There is another safe place if you do go south. An old fort on the south coast. A man called Mr Howie and a Miss Paula got it up and running with a lady called Lilly. They’re fighting back from what we keep hearing. They reckon he’s killed more than a million of them.’

‘I heard that about Mr Howie,’ another man says with a nod as more people at the table do the same with low murmurs.

‘Bullshit,’ another man says with a disdainful tut. ‘Urban myth. He don’t even exist.’

‘I wish,’ Cassie mutters as Gregori loses himself in his food.

‘Apparently he’s doing the south, then the midlands; then he’s coming up here,’ Nicole says.

‘Hmmm. Well. We shall see,’ Cassie says with a quick inward switch to Demi taking shelter inside a building in Rye. Watching Howie and his group in the pouring rain, wearing pink berets and smoking cigars. A sudden urge inside Cassie to know why as Marcy aims a pistol at an infected a good distance away. ‘She’ll never get that,’ Cassie says inwardly as Demi repeats the words to Daudi. A sharp crack sounds out as Marcy takes the shot, and the infected falls backward. ‘No way!’ Cassie says.

‘What?’ Gregori asks as Nicole blinks at Cassie, and a few more people glance over at her sudden exclamation.

‘The food,’ Cassie tells them all. ‘No way was I expecting it to be this good!’

They smile and nod, with Cassie hardly believing they accepted her explanation, but they go back to eating, and she switches back to see Marcy tugging a beret on Dave’s head and figures it must have been a bet.

Then she hears voices and makes Demi lean over to see survivors coming out of a building. The river flooded and high, spilling out over the road and making Howie and his lot wade through the water to reach them. Something happening. Loud voices. A fight breaks out, with someone grabbing a shotgun to shoot a man. Then everyone is screaming and yelling, but she can see Howie’s face even from here. The darkness in his features, and the hatred he has for them.

Cassie wants to watch more. She finds it fascinating to be an unseen fly on the wall in their lives, but she switches back at detecting Nicole’s voice.

‘Sorry?’ Cassie asks, blinking at her. ‘Totally zoned out.’

‘I was asking if you’re staying,’ Nicole says.

‘That is the question,’ Cassie says with another look to Gregori. ‘We’ll see, I guess. Have you been here long?’

‘Only a week. I was hiding in my flat, but I ran out of food, so I went out for supplies, like. And some people said they were coming here,’ she trails off with a shrug.

‘Do you like it?’ Cassie asks.

Nicole shakes her head. ‘I don’t know anyone, and I’m literally bloody starving all the time, and I keep thinking I’ll leave, but those things are out there. I mean. You don’t know, do you? They could be anywhere.’

‘And this place hasn’t been attacked?’

‘First week, I heard, but they killed loads. You remember when they were slow in the day? They killed loads then, apparently. And they chucked ’em in the river.’

‘They did what?’ Cassie asks. ‘They put the bodies in the river? Why didn’t they burn them? Good lord. The people downstream will love that, having loads of corpses floating past. No wonder it was so crap when we came in if whoever did that got this place going.’

‘How’s it crap?’ Nicole asks.

‘Seriously? No. Okay. Fair question. So, that bridge on the way in? Got any guns?’ Cassie asks, mimicking a bored, deep voice. ‘They didn’t check eyes or for bites. They didn’t take names. They just took all the food and weapons.’

‘There’s a few thousand people to feed, though,’ one of the men at the table says.

‘And why would they take names?’ someone else asks.

‘So people can find relatives,’ Cassie says, knowing that’s what they do at the fort. ‘They should record everyone’s names and where they’re from so when someone else turns up looking for their mother or sister, they can check. And there’s no medical screening. Someone might walk in with like, I don’t know, lots of insulin, and then some other poor diabetic person goes and dies because he hasn’t got any. Is there even a medical centre here? And I’m sorry. An Indian quarter and segregation? In a place like this? Even if it’s happenstance and not ordered or forced, it’s still a recipe for disaster. I know they’re very careful about that in the fort. Say what you want about them all, and trust me, there’s no love lost, but Lilly’s got it nailed, and Howie is right on the mark when he says the old ways don’t matter anymore.’

‘Do you know them?’ Nicole asks in awe as Cassie only then becomes aware of how silent it’s become.

‘Does she know Mister Howie?’ someone else asks.

‘Are you from the southern fort?’ a woman on the other table asks. ‘Have you been there?’

‘No. I never said I know them,’ Cassie says, shooting a look to Gregori. ‘I just meant-.’

‘We thought they were made up,’ another man says, sharing a quick glance with a woman at his side.

‘No, they’re definitely real. Unfortunately,’ Cassie mutters.

‘Oh, my god! You have met them!’ Nicole says. ‘She’s met them! Is Clarence really as big as they say?’

‘Oh, god, he’s enormous,’ Cassie says before she can stop herself. ‘No! I mean. I think he is.’

‘And that Marcy? Is she really beautiful?’ someone else asks.

‘Oh, stunning! It’s sickening. Apparently,’ Cassie adds with another look at Gregori focussing only on his food.

‘They said that Nick’s really hot,’ Nicole says with an earnest nod and a desperate need for Cassie to validate the rumour.

‘Yeah. In fairness. He is very handsome. Chiselled and tall,’ Cassie says, glancing at Gregori not showing any reaction. An urge inside to push the boundary. ‘Cookey’s good looking too,’ she tells them all. ‘He’s got lovely, blue eyes. He’s with Charlie. She’s mixed race, and she shaved her head after her friend Blinky died. Which wasn’t by the infection. Let me say that right now. People did that. Not for want of trying, but it’s important to be accurate.’

‘And the dog?’ someone asks.

‘What about the horse?’ another asks.

‘And the genius. Reg. Have you met him?’

‘Ooh, don’t call him Reg,’ Cassie says. ‘Oh, but the dog! She’s huge! And the horse. So yes. That’s what they do. Stomping around from town to town, killing hosts like a merry bunch of fu-.’

‘Are they all white?’ a young black man asks. ‘I heard someone say they’re all white.’

‘No. Not at all. Maddox is black. And Danny. He’s black. Charlie is mixed race. Mo Mo is Arabic. Lani was Thai. They have a lot of Indian people in the fort, too. Some of the fort leaders are Indian. Lenski’s Polish. They’ve got people from Afghan and India, and all sorts helping run the place. It’s actually very diverse, and they’d never allow this segregation to happen. Okay, so, you turn up, right, on the outer wall, and that’s all made of shipping containers stacked together, which they’re still building. And that’s where they do a check on people’s eyes, and they search for weapons and make sure they’re happy before you go inside; then they radio down to the beach, and there are more people waiting to receive them and take their names and where they are from, and what skills they have. Then they are taken into medical tents, and they get checked all over. Then they have to surrender all of their food and spare clothing and bedding, and what have you, but it goes into this central store that gives it out to everyone. Which is fair. And they take weapons, but they record who has what gun or whatever, and if you leave, you can take it with you.’

The questions start at once. How she knows them. Where from. What about Blowers. Does he really wear an eye patch? And what about Dave? Is he really as dangerous as people say? And is Paula the leader with Howie? How does it work?

‘Yes, Blowers lost an eye, and Dave is very hard little bugger, but he’s actually autistic, and Paula? Okay, so, yes, I’d say she is very much in charge, but Howie is the driving force. That said, though, the dynamics are fluid, especially now they’ve got Henry with them.’

Silence in the room as Cassie stops speaking and only then becomes aware of the stony glare coming from Gregori on his feet. His plate empty. The boy in his arms.

‘Right, er. Gotta go! Bye, then. And thanks for the lovely food,’ Cassie says, rushing out behind Gregori. Berating herself for gabbling on the way she did while also being cocky and confident enough to think Fuck it, she’ll do what she wants. Which obviously isn’t true because she’d be in a mansion and not in this dump if she did everything she wanted.

They reach their room, with Gregori not speaking at all. Which isn’t unusual, but then she also detects his energy and watches him closely as he helps the boy get ready for bed. Then takes him over to the tap and the tiny sink to watch the boy brush his teeth. Then tucks him into his bedding on the floor.

‘Can we go home now?’ the boy asks sleepily.

‘This home now,’ Gregori says, making Cassie’s heart sink. She watches him strip down and wash at the sink and tap.

‘Do you want to talk?’ Cassie asks.

‘No.’

She exhales a blast of air in frustration and takes her turn to wash. Using the tiny trickle of cold water coming out the tap at the tiny sink. Tutting at the lack of space. She pops over to use the toilet with a grimace at the smell and the shit stuck to the bowl at the water’s edge.

Back into the room to see Gregori on his back with his hands clasped across his chest. She lies down at his side in silence. Listening to people coughing and doors opening and closing. A baby cries. Someone shouts. Voices. Noises. The rain lashes the window, and she thinks of the cottage and the lounge, and making love.

He rolls over and places a hand on her stomach, then up to her boobs.

‘We can’t,’ she whispers. ‘He’s literally right there.’

She senses Gregori’s internal cogs as he ponders this sudden development, and the hope flares that his desire for sex will be the thing that encourages them to leave. Except he seems to accept it and rolls onto his back to sleep.

‘Why are we here?’ she whispers.

‘We say this already,’ he says.

‘This isn’t a normal life, Gregori. Normal is gone now. He won’t grow up in a house, going to school and playing football. You need to teach him how to fight and clean guns, and kill.’

‘No,’ Gregori growls the word out. Remembering how he brought infected back in a van and used a dog-catching pole to bring them out so the boy could kill them. It sickens him that he did that. That he started to subject the boy to the same life he had. A life filled with torture and brutality, and knowing only how to hurt and break things.

An urge in Cassie to argue and enforce her point, but Gregori emits an energy that she can feel. A solid wall of stubborn darkness that she knows can’t be broken down by force. Which still means either the original plan must remain in place, and they wait it out so he can see for himself how shitty it is here or she’ll have to think about leaving him. Either way, she can’t just stay here.

She lies on her back, thinking about Howie and the others, and why the hell she felt the need to say all of that to everyone else?

Jesus Christ. What a fucking mess. Imagine if they actually knew the only reason she knows all that stuff is because the beast infection living in her mind has been at war with Howie since the start. And once possessed Darren and Marcy, and Reginald, which must be how she knows he hates being called Reg.

Cassie also realises, with another inward wince, that her tone was somewhat proudful when she spoke about the fort. She felt it earlier too when they looked at Chester Castle from that tower and when they came inside over the bridge. How poor and sloppy it all was.

And again.

The question comes back.

Why didn’t she kill Reginald?

And why isn’t she hearing the voice in her head now? Why isn’t it berating her? Why isn’t it telling her to infect the three thousand people living in this fort and attack Howie right now?

‘Are you there?’ she asks inwardly.

Yes. Always.

She frowns as Gregori switches the lantern off, and the room falls into darkness because the voice didn’t sound the same. Not that she hears it with her ears but rather with her mind. It sounded less beastly somehow. Except she doesn’t know why.

She creates an urge inside and wills herself to be in Demi, and blanches at the motion underway. Demi sprinting nearly flat out with Daudi at her side. The others from their dirty dozen holding pace behind as they run across a field.

‘What’s going on?’ she asks.

‘No more talk,’ Gregori says as Cassie grapples with how to use the hive mind silently.

‘Tracking,’ Daudi says. Breathing hard but not breathless despite the astonishing pace. Cassie stays silent. Mesmerised at the speed of them running without slowing down. Hearing and feeling Demi breathing and her heart-beating, and from that, she becomes truly aware for first time of just how powerful the infection is. She knows what it can do to the body, but this is something else. Making people run flat out without tiring. Controlling the rate of oxygen distribution to muscles so they don’t fill with lactic acid or burn out.

She wants Gregori to see this. She wants him to know he can do this. She can too. And the boy. This is what they are now. They don’t belong here in this broken place filled with broken people from the old, broken world.

Something ahead through the trees. Glimpsed as the light fades and the rain comes down. The Saxon and a faded, old Royal Mail van on the road.

That’s why Demi and the dozen are sprinting. To stay far enough away to remain unseen while not losing the track.

And they did that without Cassie giving the order.

Another glimpse into what this infection can do. To what it might be capable of.

But she stays silent as Gregori falls asleep next to her.

Her mind filled with the view ahead of Demi. The fields and meadows, and lanes they cross. Hunkering down in ditches to watch Charlie on Jess and the Saxon and Royal Mail van move in the distance as they leave Rye behind and seek new shelter.

She stays inside Demi all the way to Lower Dicker. To the industrial estate they stop at to get supplies. Forcing an entry into the big animal food supply store so Jess can eat. All of them still wearing the pink berets she saw in Rye.

Demi and her small group drop down behind bushes and a thick tree line on higher ground. The rain preventing any scent of them reaching Meredith or Jess or from getting too close for Mo to detect with whatever gift he has.

She sees an argument break out. Howie versus Reginald. A sudden outburst of angry voices and hard faces.

Then Howie turns and strides off, and the others drop their heads and go about their tasks.

They’re nearly at breaking point. Cassie can see that. They haven’t rested since before Gatwick.

Could she take them now? They can’t have much ammunition left, if any at all.

She thinks yes. She would at least get a few of them. This is the weakest they’ve ever been.

She starts to rally her horde in the north of the country, with over nine thousand hosts getting to their feet, and the few hundred she took from Settle, already on their way to Chester, come to a stop as though waiting orders.

A chance to take.

A chance to score against them.

She watches Howie go into a house.

She watches the others work in harsh silence.

Their energy at rock bottom. Heads down, and even from this distance, she can see the injuries they carry. Even Mo looks hurt, with a chunk of his ear ripped off, and Danny must have lost fingers from the way his hand is covered in gaffer tape.

A sudden shout from the house Howie went into. A cry for help.

It sends a pulse into Cassie. Gregori grunts. The boy murmurs.

Roy, Paula, Dave, and the others sprint across the road into the house. Something happening inside.

Cassie makes Demi rise and go forward to see the back of the house. Movement inside.

Moments later, they come out looking worse than before. Most of them crying. Heads down. Bodies defeated.

They put something into the ground in the rear garden.

Then they go. Into their vehicles and up the road. But only a short distance. They turn off into The Fat Bee Garden Centre.

They don’t come back out.

They’ve found shelter.

That means she’s got them.

But Cassie feels an urge inside. A curiosity to know what just broke Howie and his team.

Why did they come out of that house looking so defeated?

Demi moves silently. Getting free of the bushes and treeline and into the rear garden of the house.

She looks inside the back door. Seeing nothing unusual.

She goes to the mound of wet, clumpy earth in the middle of the lawn.

They found something dead and buried it.

Demi turns away but stops.

Howie has seen death in all forms. So what died that broke him that way? What made him scream for help?

Curiosity. A need to know. A sense inside at being a part of whatever it is that’s going on.

Demi drops to a squat and pushes her hands into the earth.

Digging a hole.

Finding the blanket.

Pulling the edge back.

A dead dog and her dead puppies. A golden Labrador. Her ribs showing from letting herself starve to feed her puppies until she had nothing left to give.

Pain inside at what she sees. Regret. Loss. A surge of anger too that catches her by surprise.

One of them must have been alive. That’s why Howie called for help.

That’s what broke them.

Of all the suffering in this world. Of all things they have seen. To find a dying puppy and be unable to save it.

That would fuck anyone up.

Even Cassie feels no compulsion to gloat at that.

Demi pulls the blanket back and shoves the earth back into the hole.

The rain coming down.

Pattering on the roof of the house and the shed nearby. On the lawn and on the patio.

Fuck the old world.

Fuck everything about it.

People left dogs inside houses to die slowly. Fuck them. If Cassie knew who did it, she wouldn’t even take them as a host. She’d peel their skin from their body while they stayed alive and feed them their own internal organs.

Demi turns to leave.

She stops.

She looks down.

She drops and digs, and heaves the earth away as fast as she can, and scrabbles to get at the blanket. Pulling it aside as Cassie thinks she made a mistake.

She didn’t hear anything.

But she did.

A soft noise.

From a puppy tucked in close to his mother’s belly.

A thin, emaciated golden Labrador puppy twitching his legs as Demi wraps her hands around his frail body. Feeling his heart beating stronger by the second. Feeling the muscles twitch and spasm as the thing now inside of it demands life and changes the rules, and Cassie looks down, staring in awe at the puppy as his facial muscles twitch.

Hearing him give a tiny yelp and a tiny growl.

Seeing his eyes twitch open.

His red eyes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Day Thirty-One

It was said the world over that if the Uglyman came for you, you were already dead.

An assassin known by every cartel and criminal organisation on the planet. Untouchable. Untraceable. Wanted by security and police agencies in dozens of countries.

A man so feared that some committed suicide when they heard he was coming for them and, in so doing, chose their own death rather than have their head chopped off and shoved in a cooker.

The Uglyman wouldn’t stop either. Not until his mission was accomplished. Not until he’d done what he came to do.

Now the Uglyman eyes his foe with that same level of cold brutality and pulls his big, yellow Marigold gloves up his wrists, and checks his apron is intact before locking and loading the spray bleach.

Motion to his right. A man with an expression on his face that he was about to use the bathroom. But he stops on seeing Gregori in an apron wearing yellow rubber gloves while holding cleaners and cloths.

‘Can I just?’ the man asks, thinking he can nip in and out quickly.

‘No,’ Gregori says. The man thinks to argue for a split second before detecting the very likely end of his life should he do so.

‘It’s fine. I can hold it,’ he says and rushes back to his room as Gregori advances to complete his next mission.

The Boy in their room, sketching on a pad. Drawing a detailed picture of a skinny Labrador puppy held in the hands of an attractive, muscular woman.

Cassie lying on her bedding. Her eyes open and staring up, but vacant from being mid-conversation somewhere else.

‘How much?’ Daudi asks.

‘No idea. Just fill it up, and we’ll see, I guess,’ Demi says as Daudi fills the bottle and screws the lid and rubber teat on the end.

‘Do you want me to do it?’ Daudi asks.

‘No, I can do it,’ Demi says, holding her hand out for the bottle.

‘I’m just saying I don’t mind doing it,’ Daudi says.

‘You can do the next one. Just give it here,’ Demi says, taking the bottle of puppy milk while sitting on the floor of the pet food aisle in Tesco superstore in Hailsham. A few miles south of Lower Dicker.

One of their dirty dozen left behind to watch The Fat Bee Garden Centre while the rest went shopping with the puppy.

Now they gather around Daudi and Demi, watching in interest as Demi upends the feeding bottle and aims the teat at the dog’s mouth.

‘Rub it on the lips,’ Daudi says.

‘I am!’ Demi says as Cassie mouths the words lying on her bedroll in the tiny room while Gregori wages war on the faecal matter and pubes in the gross bathroom. ‘I just said I’m doing it,’ Demi says as Daudi tries to help by pushing the bottle back and forth. ‘Stop it! I’m doing it… Stop being a dick.’

‘You need to stimulate his need to eat,’ Daudi says.

‘Who gave you this level of free thought? Oh, my god! Did you see that? He’s proper latched onto it. Wow. He’s so hungry.’

‘Try and pull it away so he doesn’t choke or drown,’ Daudi says as Demi tries to pull the rubber teat away, making the tiny puppy give a little growl and latch on harder.

‘Did you hear him growl? Oh, my god. I’m literally in love. He’s such a good boy.’

‘Such a good boy,’ Daudi says.

‘Such a big boy!’ Demi says.

‘He’s a big boy!’ Daudi says.

‘He’s a good boy,’ the bodybuilder says, making Demi and Daudi blink at him.

‘When did you start talking?’ Demi asks.

The bodybuilder shrugs his massive shoulders, and the nine remaining members of the dirty dozen go back to cooing and fussing over the puppy draining the bottle of milk.

‘I don’t think he should eat that much so fast,’ Cassie says through Demi. ‘But then he’s infected, so it probably won’t hurt him. Howie must have done like mouth-to-mouth or something. Look at his little eyes. They’re all red. But he’s a good boy, though!’

‘He’s a big boy!’ Daudi says.

‘He’s a special boy!’ the bodybuilder says.

‘It’s weirding me out hearing you talk,’ Cassie tells the bodybuilder. ‘And the puppy’s got bigger balls than you. What? Come on! That was funny. Don’t take steroids then, you freak. Oh! He did a little burp. He’s a good boy!’

‘He’s a big boy’ Daudi says.

‘He hasn’t got balls yet,’ the bodybuilder says.

‘It was a joke! Jesus. Did you leave your humour in the gym?’ Demi asks.

‘Er, hello?’ a voice from the end of the aisle. A nervous woman waving a hand. ‘Sorry. I heard you… And er…’ she falls silent on seeing nine pairs of fierce, red eyes turn to look while projecting an aura of menace to protect the tiny puppy. ‘Sorry! Can see you’re busy. I’ll er…’ the woman motions, then turns to flee.

‘And don’t come back!’ Demi yells. ‘Dirty, horrible people. Look what people did to you?’ she says to the puppy. Nuzzling his small head and neck. ‘Locked you inside, didn’t they? But what are we going to do with you? If we were really nice, we’d put you in a box with a ribbon on it and take you to Howie. But we’re not nice, and Howie can suck on a turd because we’re not putting you in a box with a ribbon on it. No. No, we’re not. We’re gonna eat you all up with kisses. Yom, yom, yom. Bugger. I need to go. I think Gregori’s finished cleaning the bathroom. Which is not something I ever thought I would say.’

A switch as Cassie blinks back to her own reality and Gregori calling out in the corridor outside their room. ‘Is clean now. No leave poo on toilet. No wee-wee on seat.’

The guy waiting to use the bathroom offers a meek thumbs up as Gregori nods and walks back into his room to look down at the drawing made by the boy. ‘Is puppy?’

‘Demi is feeding him,’ the boy says.

‘Who Demi?’

‘Howie buried the puppy. Demi found him,’ the boy says as Gregori tuts darkly and turns away to ignore all mention of Howie and the fort, and everything else. But then he thinks for a second and looks back at the boy. ‘Is puppy dead?’

The boy shakes his head.

Cassie watches on. Inwardly begging Gregori to show curiosity and ask questions.

‘I clean bathroom,’ he announces instead. ‘We go breakfast. Is six fifty.’

‘And?’ Cassie says.

‘Breakfast at seven.’

‘We don’t have to be there at seven exactly,’ Cassie says.

‘Seven,’ Gregori says, which means they do, and she pops over to the now sparkling bathroom.

A few moments later, they leave their cramped room and head onto the Crown Court landing and along to the canteen.

‘Full English, is it?’ Cassie asks at the counter. ‘Or maybe a fine selection of pastries and sliced meats, and fresh fruit… Aaaaaaaand no. It’s a big, bubbling vat of porridge, thick enough to build walls with. Actually, there you go, just build your wall from that.’

‘Is fruit,’ Gregori says, motioning the server spooning tiny amounts of tinned fruit into bowls. ‘And coffee… And juice for children.’

‘Instant coffee, and that juice is watered down,’ Cassie says, hearing the whine in her own voice and hating it, but hating being here even more.

‘Cassie!’ Nicole calls from the table they used the previous night, waving them over. ‘I saved you some seats. And guess what? Someone else came in last night,’ she gabbles, clearly eager to spread some gossip. ‘They’ve literally come from the other fort! They might know you!’

‘Oh, I doubt it. It’s a big place,’ Cassie says. ‘And we were in and out.’

‘There they are!’ Nicole says over her, making Cassie regret opening her big, stupid gob yesterday as Nicole waves another couple over. A middle-aged man and woman. Both looking exhausted, but also both wearing pink armbands. Cassie clocks it instantly. Her now faster mind making the connection from seeing Howie and the team in pink berets in Rye. Which was right before they dealt with the Rye survivors. Who must have been sent to the fort and told everyone else. Which also means it’s become a thing. ‘Hi, guys!’ Nicole says to the new couple. ‘So, this is Cassie and Gregory, and the boy, which is literally what all the like cool people in London call their kiddies now.’

‘They really don’t,’ Cassie says. ‘But hi. Hello. Nice to meet you.’

‘Cassie was in the fort too, and she knows Howie and Lilly, and literally all of them,’ Nicole says with an eager nod.

‘We just came from there,’ the man says. ‘Andrew. And this is my wife Liz. But I, er, I don’t recall seeing you.’

‘Cassie just said it’s a big place,’ Nicole says.

‘We were there for a few days, though,’ Andrew says.

‘We were in and out,’ Cassie says, hoping to hell Gregori doesn’t choose now to start saying they weren’t. ‘So you didn’t go in with the Gatwick or Rye lot, then?’ she asks with a smooth counter to Andrew’s suspicion.

‘Oh, no. Er, we went in a day before.’

‘Hinchley Point, then?’ Cassie asks, seeing their expressions change. ‘Absolute shame what happened there. Such a pretty town.’

‘You were there?’ Tim asks in shock.

‘No. Saw it after,’ Cassie says. ‘Met a, er… A family that stayed. Jehovah Witnesses. Odd lot, really.’

‘The Finchers,’ Liz says with a knowing nod. ‘They kept saying it was judgement day.’

‘They won’t say that anymore.’

‘Sorry?’ Tim asks.

‘I said I can’t eat anymore,’ Cassie says and pushes her bowl of porridge at Gregori with a silent plea for him not to rat her out. Not that he seems to be paying any attention at all and soon tucks into her bowl.

‘Gatwick, though. Yeah. Wow. That was something,’ Cassie says. ‘Did you hear it in the fort?’

‘Everyone did!’ Liz says as Nicole’s obvious awe for Cassie seems to magnify by a hundred.

‘So were you with Howie at Gatwick, then? And at Hinchley Point?’ Andrew asks.

‘What do you need, Andrew? A written report of our movements since the outbreak started? A detailed analysis of everything we’ve seen and done?’

‘Yeah, Andrew,’ Nicole says, giving him a shitty look.

‘You always do this,’ Liz whispers angrily at her husband. ‘You always have to question people.’

‘I was just asking!’

‘But you weren’t, though, were you, Andrew?’ Cassie says. ‘You’ve got your pink armband on because the people from Rye went back and said they’re all wearing pink berets, which they are wearing because Marcy achieved a literally impossible distance shot with a pistol, by the way, and now you’re getting all weird about it, like I’m claiming some stolen valour or something. And for your records, Andrew. No, we were not in the north terminal at Gatwick with the other survivors that Paula and Henry got out. Is that okay, though, Andrew?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Liz says earnestly. ‘Our son was up here. We’ve come up to look for him. Andrew has been ever so worried, and he didn’t mean anything.’

‘I was just saying,’ Andrew says while not looking all that worried.

‘He didn’t mean to question you,’ Liz adds. ‘And we never actually spoke to Howie or any of them.’

‘But you have, have you?’ Andrew asks.

‘Dude!’ Nicole snaps.

‘Andrew, stop it,’ Liz whispers again.

‘I’m just asking.’

‘Well, maybe change how you ask questions, then,’ Cassie tells him. ‘Or hey, here’s an idea. Go join the Nazi party.’

‘That’s a bit much,’ Andrew says.

‘No! It’s not,’ Cassie fires back. ‘I can’t stand people like you. You just ask things in that way that literally winds everyone up, and then you’re like, I’m just saying. I’m just asking. Like it’s a constant surprise that everyone around you gets wound up. So maybe stop doing it? Hmmm? Or how about you shut up and literally don’t speak ever again.’

‘Yeah, Andrew,’ Nicole says.

‘Should have come on my own,’ Liz says.

‘It’s a brave, new world,’ Cassie tells her. ‘Learn to fight and get rid of him. Seriously. Don’t suffer that. Or any of that crap from the old ways. Howie’s got that bit right. That stuff is so annoying. I can see why he doesn’t tolerate it. And actually. I’m not going to tolerate it either from now. People like you are the bloody worst, Andrew. Snipping away, all passive-aggressive. Well, if that’s what you want to do, then fine. Don’t ask me.’

‘He said that all the time!’ Liz says as Andrew carries on looking like a self-righteous, know-it-all twat.

‘Just looking for my son,’ he says pointedly.

‘And that,’ Cassie says. ‘Instant self-victimisation and plucking something serious to use as a defence for being a cunt.’

‘Can you stop swearing at me, please!’

‘Get fucked!’ Cassie snaps. ‘Fucking fuckity fuck cunty bollocks. Go write a tweet, Andrew. Or do a Facebook post and use capitals so everyone really knows you mean it, and then put just saying at the end.’

‘He used to do that,’ Liz says. ‘You did!’ she says when he starts to protest. ‘And no, our son wasn’t here in Chester. He was in a place called Settle, near the Yorkshire Dales, but someone said Settle had disbanded, and they’d all come here.’

‘We go this place,’ Gregori says with a look to Cassie. ‘Julie. The lady. They say about here.’

‘Was that Settle?’ Cassie asks, as though she’s unsure.

‘It say on big sign. Welcome to Settle,’ Gregori says.

‘Were there still people there?’ Liz asks eagerly.

‘Yes. They get ready to go,’ Gregori tells her. ‘What son look like?’

‘Well, actually he’s adopted,’ Liz says. ‘He’s from Sri-Lanka. So he looks Indian, but he’s very modern and with it, and ever so handsome.’

‘Yes. We see this mans. He tell woman to not be racist, then makes joke about curry.’

‘How the hell did you notice that?’ Cassie asks in surprise.

‘I see everything,’ Gregori says, giving her a quick side-eye.

‘That’s him!’ Liz says. ‘That’s exactly what he’d do! Oh, that’s such good news!’

Cassie nods while not actually feeling guilty about Settle because it must have been their adopted son that saved Chloe, the racist woman, and got away. Not that Cassie would feel guilty even if she had taken their son. She’d just send him back there to wait and take Liz and Andrew too. Especially Andrew. Who by then would be the horde’s duty toilet cleaner and designated arse wiperer. Fuck Andrew. Fuck Andrew and everyone else like him from the old world. And fuck the old world.

She frowns with a sudden realisation at the inward ranting, thinking this must be what Howie sounds like sometimes.

But then, how does she even know that?

Is that from the infection’s knowledge of Howie? Jesus. How well do they actually know each other?

An urge presents in her head coming from Demi, and she quickly switches to see the puppy doing a poo. ‘Oh, he’s a good boy!’

‘He’s a big boy!’ Daudi says as the dirty dozen watch entranced to a sleeping puppy curling a tiny poop out.

Cassie blinks back to see people staring at her weirdly. ‘It’s a condition,’ she says smoothly. ‘Er, yeah, traumatic response disorder syndrome. Makes me, er, you know, like fade out now and then.’

Gregori gives her a look. She smiles sweetly. He goes back to eating.

‘Did you get that from fighting with Howie?’ Nicole asks.

‘So many ways to answer that question,’ Cassie mutters as the people in the canteen start asking more questions.

Which is at the same time as the puppy piddles over Demi’s lap and, in so doing, makes Demi aware of the filthy state of her gym clothes. Which she was wearing in the twenty-four-hour gym when the outbreak hit. Which was now thirty-one days ago.

Which is why she stinks something awful and is covered in mud and crap, and her nails are literally ruined, and her hair is matted and gross.

She passes the puppy to Daudi and starts to strip off, but pauses with another awareness before walking off towards the clothing section while Daudi cuddles the sleeping puppy. His tiny legs twitching and jerking in his sleep, with his tail suddenly waggling side to side.

‘He wagged his tail!’ Daudi calls.

‘No way!’ Demi shouts while grabbing clothes. ‘He’s a good boy!’

‘He’s a big boy!’ Daudi says.

‘Such a good boy,’ Cassie says and blinks back to the canteen to the now sympathetic and understanding looks coming from the others.

Because, you know, she has that traumatic thing.

From fighting with Mr Howie.

‘Well. We’ve just got to hold on,’ Liz says in a way that means something.

‘Not that again,’ Andrew says. ‘It’s not real.’

‘It is real! They’re telling people now,’ Liz says, then frowns at the confused expressions, and looks at Cassie, as though she should know what they mean. ‘The panacea,’ she mouths, as though nobody else can hear her.

‘There is no panacea!’ Andrew says. ‘They’re just saying that to give people false hope.’

‘They’re not, Andrew! Mister Howie is getting the numbers down; then he’s going to find it and get it out for us,’ Liz says. ‘They told everyone that in the fort. They said just hold on and wait for it. Ask Cassie. She knows them.’

Every head turns.

Every pair of eyes looks to Cassie sitting impassively. Her mind spinning plates.

‘You never said that!’ Nicole says with another wide-eyed look at Cassie.

‘I haven’t seen them for a few days. I didn’t know they’d put that news out.’

‘They have,’ Liz says with a gossipy nod. ‘Everyone knows.’

‘False hope,’ Andrew mutters.

‘The only false hope around here is you trying to depress everyone,’ Cassie tells him. ‘And yes. For the record. It is real.’

‘Yeah, Andrew!’ Nicole says.

‘Okay, stop,’ Cassie says an hour later as they emerge from their block, with Gregori still determined to take the boy to school. A sudden feeling inside of Cassie that this is becoming too much. A feeling of pressure growing inside. Pressure unrelenting. The news about the panacea hit her hard, but then she realised that somehow she already knew about it and figured the beast inside had that knowledge. Either way. It was now out and in the open. What does that mean, though? And where is it? And what will it do to her horde and the one true race?

‘Boy has school,’ Gregori says.

‘It is not a school!’ Cassie whispers while clocking even more people looking at her. ‘Does he even want to go?’ she asks while thinking surely the infection within the boy will know she wants him to say no.

‘Yes,’ he says.

‘You little shit!’

‘No swear at boy. Come. We go.’

‘Hi!’ a man says, coming over with a woman. Both of the same type that Gregori clocked yesterday. Alert. Healthy. Military bearing but trying to blend. Eyes up and scanning. ‘New arrivals?’ the man asks in English but with a heavy accent.

‘Yesterday,’ Gregori says as Cassie figures they’ve heard she knows Mr Howie and waits for the questions to start.

‘So. Yeah,’ the man says as the woman studies them both closely. ‘What do you think of these end of times?’

‘Sorry, what?’ Cassie asks.

‘What do you think of these end of times?’ the man asks, moving in a little closer with a weird expectant expression.

‘We think it’s the start of the new world order,’ the woman adds, then frowns at Gregori and Cassie sharing confused looks.

‘What are you? Some kind of cult?’ Cassie asks. ‘Oh, god! You’re not Jehovah Witnesses, are you? You lot get everywhere.’

She walks out from the colonnade after Gregori, with her words drowned out by the noise of the rain on their hoods. Deep puddles underfoot, and no sign of the weather easing.

They head over to the childcare & therapy block. Lights on inside, and people moving around within the rooms.

‘Hello. Bonjour, are you here for the childcare or for the therapy?’ a man asks in a lilting French accent. Handsome, with a strong jaw and deep eyes. Long hair tied back. His body lean and strong, with his hairy, defined chest showing from his loose, open-necked, baggy, white shirt. Beads around his neck. Tied-off leather bracelets on both his wrists. Cassie blinks at him. Thinking he’s like something from a shitty romance novel.

‘School for the boy,’ Gregori says.

‘Oui. Sure. Great,’ the French man says softly. ‘But it is not so much of a school, per se. More like a place for a child to connect and seek development through play and interaction with the real world in a non-formal setting while also processing the trauma of these recent events.’

Cassie waits for what must surely be a reaction from Gregori.

‘Yes. Do this. Make happy and normal,’ Gregori says, passing the boy’s hand to the hippy.

‘Seriously?’ Cassie asks.

‘That’s great, man. Oui. Really great that you dig that. I thought when you came in this guy looks tough, and I can feel that you want to connect. I dig that. I feel you, brother,’ the man says and lays a hand on Gregori’s chest. Which Gregori doesn’t break off and shove up his arse. ‘I’m Alain.’

‘Gregori.’

‘Gregory?’

‘Gregori.’

‘Oui. I dig that. So unique. Has this beautiful child defined their gender yet?’

‘Is boy.’

‘Sure. Oui. Totally open to change, though. And what name have you bequeathed him?’

‘Boy.’

‘Ah, oui! This is radical and so, er, on point. Strong and yet undefining, and challenging the rules. I dig that. Well, Boy can go inside and play, and can I ask you, my brother Gregori. Will you stay and find peace through yoga with me?’

‘No. I watch boy. Have coffee.’

‘The love of a father. Oui. You are welcome to remain and know the fruit of your loins is safe and well in the bosom of this centre, but know that coffee is a stimulant that prevents the mind from connecting with our inner voice.’

Cassie watches the boy toddle off into the playroom with Alain, the hippy, and looks at Gregori standing like a sentinel. ‘Are we staying here, then?’ she asks.

‘Yes.’

‘And do what?’

Gregori doesn’t know what. He never thought about this. His focus was solely on taking the boy to school, which he has achieved with the same singular state of mind he always has when undertaking a mission.

‘Can I go back to the room?’ Cassie asks. ‘I can’t stand places like this. It’s so fake. All that hippy nonsense. It’s just an excuse for weak people to avoid confronting issues. Hey, let’s do yoga and shove avocados up our bottoms. And trust me. I did that. Well. Not with an avo up the arse. But the yoga. I mean seriously, though? The bloody world has ended, and they’re doing this?’

‘Go then,’ Gregori says bluntly, walking off to a hot water urn on a table to make a cup of instant coffee.

Cassie feels another urge inside to try and convince him that this is futile and, more importantly, it’s beneath them. They are something else now. Something stronger and better, and this is just the remains of the old species trying to cling onto what they knew rather than embracing the changes.

Except she knows to say any of that will also be futile, and so she sighs and heads over to kiss his cheek. ‘I’ll be in the room.’ She steps away as Gregori catches her wrist to gently turn her back.

‘You have thing inside,’ he says quietly, staring into her eyes in a way that makes her feel like she’s about to be called out, and he’s either going to banish or kill her for being infected and connecting with the thing he hates.

‘I can explain,’ she says quickly and even prepares to say she might be pregnant with his baby if he looks ready to kill her with one of his ninja moves.

‘Is you. Is in you,’ he says, cutting her excuses off. ‘People listen when you talk. Is power.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Your father. He have this.’

‘My father?’

‘Is important politic man. Politic man make people listen.’

‘Eh? Oh! Oh, god. Yes. He was a cabinet member and was trying to become the home secretary or the foreign minister, or something. I mean, he could have been the PM, but he got caught with the cocaine and the rent boys. So, er. Sorry. What were you saying?’

‘Peoples listen when you speak. You think I no see. But I see this.’

‘Apparently you see a lot. But I don’t get it. What are you saying to me?’

‘Use this to help.’

‘Here?’ she asks as he nods. ‘In Chester? Oh, god, no. I’m only here for you. I don’t care about these people at all. I hate this place. They’re all so bloody sick and petty. This is the old world. We don’t belong here. Um. But on the point of listening, we do really need to talk about this whole Howie thing and… Don’t turn away, Gregori! This is important. Why do you keep ignoring it?’

‘I watch boy.’

‘Your bloody wall keeps going up. Whatever,’ she adds, shaking her head and figuring to go, but then thinking to try yet again. ‘Thank you for saying that about me. That was thoughtful. Can we please talk later?’

‘No.’

‘Such a prick.’

She heads out feeling more confused than before.

‘Hey.’ Two women blocking her path. Both fit and of a certain type. ‘What do you think of these end of times?’ one of them asks.

‘Suck my fanny,’ Cassie snaps and barges through them, confused at what Gregori meant while also confused at lots of things all at the same time.

She even stopped her nine thousand hosts from charging out of the copse last night when she realised the puppy was alive. Sending all nine thousand south didn’t feel right. She and the boy were in the north. What if they needed help? In the end, she sent over half of her horde south, with five thousand setting off at a run.

She still doesn’t know why she didn’t send all of them. Or why she didn’t kill Reginald. Or why she isn’t striking right now to attack Howie.

And that thing about the panacea. That’s big news. But then Howie hasn’t left the garden centre, and even though she can’t get a host inside the fort, she can see it, and they’re all locked down too from the rain.

So is that Howie’s plan now? To cull the numbers? Is that why he attacked so many at Gatwick?

She heads into their own block and up to their room. Needing time and space to think and plan.

‘Are you Cassie?’ a weak voice. A sad voice. A woman with bags under her eyes. Drawn and pale. ‘Do you know Mr Howie?’

‘I’m sorry. I need to get something from my room,’ Cassie says, trying to get past into the corridor.

‘Are they coming here?’ the woman asks, following her. ‘They said Mr Howie can cure people.’

‘No. He can’t. He’s looking for a… It’s not a cure. Well. It is. I mean. That’s what a panacea is. It cures everything, which is what this infection is. Holy shit. I really need to think about that. This infection is the panacea,’ Cassie says with a surge of awareness that brings in the scale of the whole thing in an instant.

‘What does it cure?’ the woman asks with a desperate need in her voice. Her eyes imploring Cassie.

‘It cures everything,’ Cassie says, more to herself as the full realisation dawns. ‘It cures everything. It’s mutations. That’s what’s causing all of the different factions.’

‘Leukaemia?’ the woman asks.

‘Sorry?’

‘Does it cure leukaemia?’

‘Well. It would cure everything. So, yes. I guess it would. I mean. It already does. Of course, it does! No sickness. No diseases. No pain. Jesus. Sorry, I need to go.’

‘No, wait! Can you get it? Do you have it? My son. Please.’

‘Of course, I don’t have it. Howie hasn’t got it out yet. I mean-.’ But she does have it. She’s infected. Howie is. The boy is. Howie’s group is. The same as Demi and her dirty dozen, and the rest of her horde. They’re all infected. Which is a mutation of the panacea.

Which means Cassie has the panacea inside of her. That’s why she feels so healthy and looks so radiant. It also means she’ll never get sick.

‘Please, just come and see.’

‘See what?’ Cassie asks, blinking at the woman while trying to think a hundred things at once.

‘My son.’

‘What for!?’

‘Please!’ the woman says, tears pouring down her cheeks as she takes Cassie’s hand in a crushing, desperate grip to pull her towards another room. ‘Just look! He’s only eleven!’

Coughing from inside the room. A frail child on a thin mattress on the floor, swaddled in blankets. Sunken cheeks and a deathly pallor. Cassie realises this is where the coughing she’s heard is coming from.

‘He’s only got days left,’ the woman whispers, clutching at Cassie’s hand as she falls to her knees. ‘Please. Call Howie and tell him I need it.’

‘I can’t call him!’

‘I don’t want it. Not for me. Just my son. Take my rings. Take my necklace. It’s got a diamond.’

‘No! Put it back. I can’t do anything.’

‘He’s dying!’

Cassie shakes her head. Wanting only to be away from the raw emotion and the smell of sickness hanging in the air. The mother on her knees sobbing hard. Holding her jewellery out for Cassie. Ready to give her heart. Her soul. Her life for her son. Cassie looks at her, knowing her own mother would never have done this. ‘I can’t help you. I’m sorry.’ She pulls free to leave. Hating this place more than ever.

‘If he gets bit, will that save him?’ the mother asks, and Cassie knows in her core that the mother would take her son right now to become infected to prolong his life. But she answers honestly. ‘Yes.’

A sudden determination floods through the other woman’s features. ‘I need to find one.’

‘If you do that, your son will become one of them.’

‘I don’t care. He’ll be alive,’ the mother says, scooping her unconscious son up into her arms within the blankets.

‘They won’t just take him. They’ll take both of you,’ Cassie says from the doorway.

‘I don’t care!’

‘You’d do that?’

‘Yes!’

Cassie steps in close to the woman, the door closing behind her. She rests her hand on the boy’s hot forehead. His skin drawn and tight over his bones. His breathing weak. A day or two at most of life left in him. Anyone could see that.

‘I can do it,’ Cassie whispers as the woman starts to shake with fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘I can take his pain away.’

‘He’ll live?’ the mother asks, her words nothing more than a broken whisper full of hope.

‘For a long time. Without pain. Without suffering,’ Cassie says quietly, only then truly sensing the enormity of the thing inside of her. What it means, and what it can do. She draws her hand gently over the child’s head. Wondering what it must feel like to be so loved that the other person would die for you. Cassie never had that. Would she do it for the boy? She thinks she would. ‘But you’ll have to do it too,’ she tells the mother.

‘Anything. Please.’

‘Sit with me. Hold him. It’ll hurt in your stomach. The same for your son, but that passes, and what comes after is pure happiness. No pain. No hunger. No anything.’

The woman sobs hard. Trembling from head to toe as she cradles and kisses her dying son. ‘Will we know each other?’

‘I’ll try,’ Cassie whispers, feeling a sudden urge to cry. Blinking tears away as she bends over the boy to gently kiss his lips. Just a touch and nothing more. But just a touch is all that is needed, and she lifts her head to do the same to the mother. Tasting tears from the mother’s lips.

The mother grunts within a few seconds. Pain in her belly. Her son’s face twitches as he too feels the agony, but that pain brings his mind back, and his eyes open, seeing his mother one last time. Both seeing each other for one long, pure second as Cassie really sees what love is and what it means. She holds them both as they spasm. Not letting the mother drop the child. Her own heart beating like a drum as it happens, and they gasp and fall silent.

For a second, Cassie thinks it’s failed, and she’s killed them.

But their minds come into hers, and she knows she hasn’t. They are in the one true race, and they both open their red eyes. The son instantly cured. The thing inside of him ridding his body of all trace of the disease. Making him strong and healthy.

‘Oh, god,’ Cassie groans. Squeezing her eyes closed at her own stupidity. ‘Why did I bloody do it in here? I should have taken you outside. Bugger, bugger, bugger. Right. Just stay in the room and hide his face if anyone comes in, and like rub your eyes, and say you’re getting conjunctivitis or something. Can you even speak? Are you a speaking zombie or one of the mindless ones?’ Cassie asks as the former son and mother stare at her in slack-jawed, silent adoration. ‘Right,’ Cassie says slowly. ‘Two more mindless ones. Yay.’

She heads out into the corridor, closing the door behind her and pulling a grim face at a family walking past. ‘She’s asked for complete privacy,’ Cassie tells them. ‘Would you pass that on, please. She just really wants to be alone with her son now.’

‘So sad,’ the woman says, wrapping her fat arm around her own, also fat daughter.

‘So sad,’ the man says.

‘Yes. Very sad, and I think she’s getting conjunctivitis too,’ Cassie says. ‘Probably from her immune system being all shot to bits. That happens, doesn’t it?’

‘I get thrush when I get run down like literally all the time,’ the woman says.

‘She gets thrush,’ the man says.

‘He gets IBS, though.’

‘I get IBS.’

‘He gets the shits for days sometimes.’

‘For days.’

‘Pours out of him.’

‘Pours out of me.’

‘Doctors didn’t do anything.’

‘They wouldn’t help me,’ the man says as Cassie looks at his bulging stomach and massive, wobbly double chins.

‘Did you think maybe to stop eating so much?’ she asks. ‘You know. Cos you’re fat. Like really fat. You are literally obese. So. Maybe. You know? IBS? Being a greedy pig? No correlation? No causation?’

‘Well. I don’t think fat-shaming people is very nice,’ the woman says stiffly. ‘We’re teaching our children to be body positive.’

‘Which is what broke the world!’ Cassie says. ‘Can’t say a thing without some idiot getting offended, and you two,’ she adds, looking down at the two podgy daughters. ‘Fat people are easier to catch when the zombies chase you,’ she says as the couple quickly usher their children away with horrified looks. ‘And don’t go in this room. You’ll get eye diseases!’

CHAPTER NINE

Day Thirty-One

Cassie closes the door to their grimy, little room and slumps down with her back to the wall. People moving around in the rooms either side. Being weak and pathetic. The rain pelting the windows.

She closes her eyes and wills herself to switch view, and stares out through another pair of eyes. One of her dirty dozen left near The Fat Bee Garden Centre. The rain coming down here too. Dark clouds low in the sky with rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightening, but it’s still a thousand times better than the shitty commune in Chester.

The host positioned himself well. Tucked low within bushes, behind discarded pots and planters and stacks of old pallets. The side of the garden centre ahead, but with enough view to see if they leave the front or the rear.

Lights on inside. Lanterns glowing in the restaurant area. Charlie comes to the windows to stand for a while with her arms folded. Staring out to the weather.

Cassie watches for a while. Seeing them all moving around inside. Drinking from mugs. Snacking on food. She even smiles at the sight of the horse in the restaurant biting into what looks like a milk carton.

A sudden urge inside to bring her nine thousand and attack now, and kill Howie. The thing within her trying to exert control.

She switches view again to mass of five thousand heading south at an average running speed of fifteen miles an hour. Over seventy miles covered already, with the horde nearing Nottingham. She makes them drink as they run by simply opening their mouths to the water from the sky.

She switches back to the garden centre to see movement at the back, with Carmen coming outside to shower in the rain. Standing naked behind an old building to stay out of sight of the garden centre windows.

Cassie could bring the dirty dozen here and wait for one of the weaker ones to come out, and kill them. Maybe take Tappy or Marcy. Not that they are weak, but by comparison to some of the others, they would be easier prey.

But again, she doesn’t do that but watches as Carmen becomes still and stares out to the treeline as though sensing she’s being watched. Then she smiles to herself and shakes her head, and carries on washing.

Motion by the back doors again. Booker comes out, with Cassie watching as he strolls to what seems to be the designated showering point for the men on the outer side of another outbuilding. He strips down to his boxers, with Cassie thinking she doesn’t feel any desire to watch them wash, and she starts to exert the will to switch to Demi and see the puppy, but Booker leans out and peeks around the corner in a way that makes Cassie stay where she is. And she becomes even more absorbed when he quickly runs over behind another old, dilapidated shed and works along to the end.

‘Is he?’ Cassie murmurs at the sight. ‘He bloody is,’ she adds when she realises Booker is peeking through the gaps between the stacks of pallets to Carmen washing naked at the rear of her building. ‘Dirty shit,’ she mouths, stunned at sight. And then even more so when he gets his willy out and starts masturbating.

She even feels an urge to give Carmen a warning from some innate sense of wanting to warn another woman of a dangerous, predatory man.

But then Maddox walks out from the back of the garden centre, and he goes to the male showering area and strips down. Which does make Cassie blink because he does have an incredible body. Defined and strong, without being stupidly big like a bodybuilder. And she notices, he has a big willy. But then Maddox starts acting all weird, and he’s peeking around and being furtive while poor Carmen is just trying to wash.

‘And there goes the myth of Howie and his righteous bunch,’ she murmurs but finds herself focussing harder because it doesn’t look like Maddox is trying to see Carmen, and she realises he’s looking for Booker. Who right now is vigorously banging one out behind the pallets. Is Maddox gay? Did he agree to meet Booker or something?

But then Maddox tries creeping out to see Carmen while also not quite emitting the vibe of a sex-pest. He’s not fondling himself for a start, and he’s not sexually excited.

Unlike Booker trying to win a gold medal in wanking as he reaches climax, with Cassie pulling a grossed-out expression at the sight of it.

Then he’s sneaking back along his pallets and grabbing his towel and clothes, and strolling back to the garden centre like nothing happened.

Which Maddox spots and watches him go while rubbing rather a lot of shower gel into his chest and stomach.

Then it gets even weirder, with Carmen once more seeming to detect that she’s being watched and marching back to her kit to grab a knife, then run across the gap, and work up behind Maddox trying to sneak out and see her.

Which then culminates with Maddox figuring he can’t see Carmen and turning to go back, only to stop dead at a naked Carmen holding a knife to his dick and pushing him back into the wall.

The tension between them eases quickly with Carmen lowering the knife and stepping back, and Cassie notices that Maddox doesn’t move his eyes from looking over Carmen’s head. Not a single glance down to her. Not one. Cassie’s not gay at all but figures even she’d glance down just from curiosity of another person being naked in front of her.

Cassie watches them go inside without any idea what it was all about, then wills herself to be in the others in Tesco, expecting to internalise within Demi.

Except that doesn’t happen, and she quickly realises she’s inside of one of the other two women in the group. The one she now knows is called Gwendoline. Dark haired and pretty.

The puppy snoring softly on Daudi’s lap. Having his head stroked gently. Several empty cartons of puppy milk on the floor.

‘How much has he had?’ Gwendoline asks as Cassie’s lips mouth the words silently. Daudi looks over as though mildly surprised to see the woman talking. ‘It’s me. Cassie. Where’s Demi?’

‘Getting changed,’ Daudi says.

‘Here!’ Demi calls from somewhere nearby, making Cassie will Gwendoline to her feet with another glance to the empty cartons.

‘Has he really had all that?’

‘He doesn’t stop eating,’ Daudi says.

‘Or shitting and pissing,’ Demi says from somewhere else.

‘I can see,’ Cassie says, clocking the shit stains on Daudi’s legs and arms. The same on the bodybuilder and some of the others. ‘He’s filling out already, though,’ she adds, going closer to stroke the puppy. Feeling less ribs poking out and more meat. His coat looks better too. Thicker and healthier.

She wills Gwendoline out of the aisle to see Demi naked in the hygiene and beauty products aisle. Scrubbing at herself with wet wipes. ‘Have you become self-aware?’

Demi pauses mid clean to look up. ‘I don’t know. I just felt dirty.’

‘You felt dirty? Are your eyes still red? Look at me. Yes, they are. But you can think?’

Demi shrugs. Not quite knowing what she is or what she can do. ‘Barry is talking too. But you know that. You heard him.’

‘Barry?’

‘The bodybuilder,’

‘His name is Barry?’

‘I know. I thought that,’ Demi says. ‘I was like, Barry? He doesn’t look like a Barry.’

‘Barry no balls,’ Cassie says as Demi snorts a laugh. ‘Why don’t you just wash outside.’

‘Outside?’ Demi asks.

‘In the rain. I just saw Carmen and Maddox do it while Booker masturbated.’

‘Ew! What, all together?’ Demi asks.

‘No! He was perving on Carmen while Maddox was trying to catch him. I think. But then Carmen caught Maddox. Get some shower gel. We’ll go outside and clean up.’

She wills the other female host to go with them outside and around to the side of the building to do what Carmen just did and strip off, and wash under the rain. The other female host doing it silently with a visible and noticeable difference to Demi showing more signs of self-awareness. The way she moves and looks. The fact that she’s talking and expressing personality.

‘Are we going to kill Howie?’ Demi asks.

‘Maybe,’ Cassie eventually says.

They head back inside to dry off and get new clothes from the clothing section. Dark outdoor gear. Dry socks and underwear. Cheap but sturdy boots.

They go back to the pet food aisle, with Daudi and Barry looking up and showing reaction to seeing them cleaned and changed. Their motion seeming to rouse the puppy, who comes awake and starts snuffling for food.

‘I’ll feed him,’ Cassie says, using her host to take the puppy and one of the prepared bottles to feed him with. ‘Go outside and wash,’ she tells the men, ‘then get new clothes on.’

She makes Gwendoline sit down and feed the puppy. Smiling at how he latches on and goes at it for all he’s worth. Gulping the whole bottle down. The puppy stays awake for a little while after as though gaining more awareness himself. Sniffing at the host’s hands and enjoying the belly and back, and head rubs. Giving little growls and making noises cute enough to melt any heart.

The men come back a while later. Scrubbed and cleaned. All of them in dark clothes and boots. Cheap supermarket stuff but better than the rags they were in.

Apart from Barry.

‘What the actual…?’ Cassie says when the massive guy walks into the aisle in a flowery summer dress. The thin material straining over his huge chest. He sits down as though there’s nothing to see, with Cassie’s host sharing looks with Demi and Daudi. ‘Barry. Why are you wearing a dress?’ Cassie asks.

‘You said get changed.’

‘He’s wagging his tail again!’ Cassie says as the puppy rolls on his back with his tail swishing side to side. ‘Such a good boy!’

‘Such a big boy!’ Demi says.

‘Such a special boy,’ Barry says in his flowery dress.

‘His eyes are open!’ Cassie says, seeing the Labrador puppy’s red eyes and how he even turns to look at her and tries standing up, but wobbles, and falls over.

They become entranced with the puppy. All of them sitting or kneeling in the aisle around the puppy wagging his tail and trying to stand and walk, but wobbling, and falling. His belly poking out from astonishing amount of milk he’s drunk.

‘Where’s Gregori?’ Demi asks a moment later, with Cassie looking at her in surprise again.

‘Are you both still in Chester Castle?’ Daudi asks as Cassie shifts her gaze to him. Wondering how this works, with Demi and Daudi able to speak and ask questions, as though they are gaining their own minds back. She looks to Barry, thinking he must be the same, but can’t help snort at the sight of him.

‘You could have at least found one that fits you,’ Cassie says.

Barry shrugs again. ‘I like the colour.’

‘What a brave, new world this is,’ Cassie says, softly banging her head against the wall behind her as the host does the same thing. ‘And yes, we’re still in Chester Castle. Which is an absolute dump… But hey! It’s what Gregori wants, so…’

A short distance away. In the childcare & therapy block, Gregori stands just inside the door to the play area, watching the boy draw a picture of Demi standing naked in a supermarket aisle, holding a pissing puppy.

Gregori doesn’t quite know what he was expecting by bringing the child here. And truth be told, the child isn’t doing anything different to what he would be doing anyway. But Gregori thinks this is healthy and good, and the boy is around other children, which is also good.

‘Good,’ he mutters. Thinking that’s what he wanted. Which is now happening. Which is, as he previously thought, very good.

If not somewhat boring.

‘I go walk. I stay close.’

‘Okay, Gregoree,’ the boy says without looking up as Gregori lingers to see if he’s finished Demi’s boobs yet. Which he hasn’t.

And so, Gregori duly ignores any and all questions of how and why the boy draws such pictures and all mention of Howie and the fort in the perpetual hope that it will just piss off and cease to exist.

Instead, he strolls out into the foyer and looks at this and that. Mainly crap pictures drawn by traumatised children.

He makes another cup of instant coffee and strolls, hearing a strange, low humming noise coming from a room further up, and stops at the door. Peering inside to people sitting on yoga mats with their legs crossed and their hands held over their knees, humming quietly with their eyes closed.

‘Good,’ Alain, the hippy, says softly, moving between them. ‘Focus on your soul. Feel the real you inside and see what he or she, or they want. What do they want? What does your inner child want from you? We’re all suffering. Oui? We have all suffered, but only by embracing what’s happened, can we really seek peace and love, and understanding because it wasn’t my fault. Say it with me. It wasn’t my fault. Let’s keep saying that until we know it to be our truth. It wasn’t my fault.’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ the people murmur quietly.

‘Okay. Groovy. Let’s resonate now and join our vibrational energies.’

The chanting ends, and the humming starts again as Alain, the hippy, notices Gregori with a warm smile.

‘My brother, Gregori. I felt your energy. Please. Join us. We have only just started our meditations.’

‘I have coffee.’

‘Coffee is a stimulant, my brother,’ Alain says and gently slides the mug from Gregori’s hands to put on the side before leading him over to an empty yoga mat. ‘Just sit and watch. If you want to join in, then groovy, or just relax. Oui? Breathe in and out. It’s all good. No pressure, my brother. That’s what we are all doing. Breathing in and out and seeing who we are on the inside.’

Gregori thinks to get up and go, but the boy is drawing, and Cassie is probably in the midst of bringing total and complete destruction raining down, which is what she normally does. So he might as well just sit here for a bit in the dry before he has to go and rescue her from whatever carnage she’s causing.

And so he sits on the mat and listens to the people humming.

While the boy draws.

And while Cassie sits with her dirty dozen in Hailsham and cheers at the puppy standing up for a full five seconds.

Gregori even wonders if he’s ever done any humming.

How do you even do it?

He starts to hum.

‘That’s great, Gregori,’ Alain says softly from his side. ‘When we vibrate with others, we open our third eye to really, truly see inside, and only by seeing our true selves, can we say it wasn’t my fault. Okay, great work. Let’s all get on our hands and knees, and we’re going to round our backs, then relax. Ready? Be a cat and arch your backs. That’s great. Great work. Be a cow. Relax. Groovy. So good.’

Gregori does it too because stretches are good for you.

His trainers taught him that when he was a child.

While he was being tortured and beaten, and made to catch and eat rats.

A young child taken from his family to pay a debt.

Isolated. Alone.

He is a cat.

He is a cow.

His shoes off and placed at the side of his mat.

Into downward dog. Feeling his legs and back stretch while the class keep repeating it wasn’t my fault.

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Alain intones and picks up a small hand drum to gently beat as his class chant quietly. ‘Your pain isn’t your fault. You are a child. An innocent child. It wasn’t my fault.’

Gregori was a child. He was small and frail. The memories come back again. Being taken into the house of the Krye. Being whipped and beaten, and thrown into the enclosed yard to either die or survive. He never cried, though. Not once. They tortured him. They burned him. They starved and humiliated him.

But he would not cry.

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Gregori chants softly, into a low lunge. Arms pointing to the sky. Chin up. Feeling the stretch. Repeating the words to the soft beat of the drum.

The memory of the boy he killed when he was just ten years old comes back again. Strong and vivid. His face pulped beyond recognition. The blood on the floor and up the walls. The men cheering and pulling Gregori off, and then laughing when Gregori tried to attack them.

They gave him meat. A big lamb bone. He took it into a corner of the room and ate like a starved wolf with his back to the wall.

They gave him an extra blanket in the yard, and they gave him meat with every meal. They rewarded him and showed him what success brings.

He trained harder. He ran faster. He was still beaten by the trainer, but the beatings were less severe and only given when Gregori messed up or when he didn’t try hard enough.

A month later, they took him into the same room. Another teenager was there. Gregori didn’t wait for the order. He attacked and killed him.

The men cheered and laughed.

But they also punished him because he didn’t wait for orders.

He was beaten severely and starved for days.

The next time they led Gregori into the killing room, he stayed impassive and didn’t move a muscle or show a reaction to the other child until the Krye nodded. Then he killed him with the same brutal, wild energy. Beating the face and choking the life from his neck.

The men gave him meat again, and while he ate it in the corner, he saw the Krye speak to the trainer.

That’s when the real training started.

How to punch. How to kick. How to dodge and block. Speed. Agility. Strength.

The trainer brought a thick wooden post into the yard and made Gregori punch it until his knuckles became numb. Then he made Gregori kick it until his shins also became numb. That was agony. Gregori remembers the pain. But he wanted the meat, and that pain became so familiar that it was just his normal state of being.

Every few weeks, they’d take him to the killing room to fight bigger, older children, but it became too easy for Gregori. He was stronger and faster than boys several times his size and age.

Then one day, they once more led him to the killing room. Gregori was twelve or thirteen. Time became meaningless, and even now, he doesn’t know his real age.

But he remembers that day because it wasn’t another child waiting to fight him.

It was fully grown man.

The room grew quiet. The trainer was tense. He said Gregori was not ready.

‘Then he’ll die,’ the Krye said. His voice was deep and slow, and it was only really then that Gregori grasped the Krye was the man with power. Then the Krye nodded, and the other man tried moving into a fighter’s stance, but Gregori attacked with everything he had.

He was ferocious and refused to let up. The man was bigger and much stronger, but Gregori had taken many beatings from the trainer, who was the same size, and so he’d learned to dodge and weave, and block, and fend off. And more importantly, he’d learned to take the pain and not let it stop him. He punched and kicked, and kept going until the man was bleeding and spitting teeth. The man grew desperate and fearful, and wild with it. He swarmed in and lifted Gregori up to slam him down into the floor. Smothering him with his greater weight and mass. But that thing in Gregori kept him going. He was battered senseless, with split lips, and his nose was broken. Blood was pouring in his eyes and down his throat. But he kept going. Refusing to yield. Refusing to die. The man became tired and drew air. Gregori took his chance and surged up to bite into the man’s throat while gouging his eyes out. He bit deep and tore flesh away with his teeth, and punctured the man’s eyes with his thumbs. He kept going. Hacking and beating until the man became silent and was nothing more than a corpse.

Even the Krye got out of his chair after that fight and joined in with the other men cheering and patting Gregori on his back.

Gregori swayed on his feet. Hardly conscious. But aware enough to remember the Krye squeezing his jaw and staring into Gregori’s face.

‘You are an ugly, little man, but you are my ugly, little man, Gregori.’

CHAPTER TEN

Day Thirty-Two

Cassie wakes to another day. The rain still pelting the windows. They get the boy dressed and use the bathroom. They don’t speak. Not even when Gregori looks at the pictures the boy drew yesterday. Pictures of Demi and Daudi. Pictures of the puppy. Pictures of Carmen and Maddox. He doesn’t ask questions or talk about anything.

Gregori stayed over at the therapy & childcare block for the whole day yesterday. Cassie stayed in the tiny room while her mind was in the supermarket in Hailsham. Playing with the puppy when it woke. Feeding him and doing nothing else.

She watched Howie and the others in the garden centre.

When Gregori returned, he was quiet and withdrawn. More so than normal. They ate in the canteen. People from the Indian quarter had made curry and were serving it out. Everyone was wearing pink material around their arms.

They sat at a table with Gregori and the boy tucking into their vegetable curry. It was nice. Spiced and warm, and served with sticky rice.

‘Do you want to repeat what you said to my husband and me?’ the large woman Cassie insulted asked in a loud voice, clearly having gained courage to call Cassie out. But Cassie was in no mood for it.

‘You said you had a manky, infected vagina and your husband gets IBS so bad the shit pours out of his arse for days. And so I said lose some weight, and maybe you won’t get sick. And then I told your children not to become fat because the zombies will catch and eat them. Was that it? And was any of it untrue? Unkind? Yes. Direct? Yes. But untrue? Nope. And honestly? I think you’ve lied to yourself long enough, don’t you? Unless you or anyone else in here can tell me how being so greedy that you gorged yourself into becoming sick is helpful to anyone? While inventing rules about fat-shaming just so you can carry on being greedy. And, I’ll add, look at the size of the portion on your children’s plates! What are they? Ten? Twelve years old? They’re eating more than Gregori, and he’s a fully grown man that exercises non-stop. There’s probably three thousand people in this place needing to be fed, and you’ve given your kids portions enough for a hard-working man. How is that not selfish? That’s what broke the old world. That stupidity and wilful, blind abuse while denying anyone else the ability to ever mention it without claiming offence. And you’re not the only ones. Look around. This place is full of fatties that need to do some exercise and stop being so greedy!’

The whole room was silent. Even the servers had stopped and were looking over.

‘I’m telling you now,’ Cassie said and pushed to her feet. ‘People like that will destroy this place from pure ignorance. They’ll take and take until there’s nothing left, then blame everyone else. I’ll be in the room,’ she told Gregori and walked out as he swiped her bowl of untouched curry and rice before any fat kids could take it.

They didn’t speak when Gregori came back. He washed and got onto the mattress next to her. She could sense his disquiet, and in turn, he could sense hers.

When she thought he was asleep, Cassie once more switched to the host watching the garden centre and spent a while absorbed in watching Maddox hide in the front office while Howie and Marcy had sex on a table. Which was very weird, but then it got weirder when Paula and Clarence took over and had sex on the same table while Maddox was still hiding behind it. Cassie again thought he was being a pervert, but it seemed he was doing it all to get a pen from a desk in a back room. Then he was out of a window and running around to get back inside and speak to Henry in the canteen.

Which was all very odd but also way more interesting than listening to Gregori snoring softly next to her.

Now they rise and don’t speak again, and they head to the canteen to see people still wearing pink and no sign of the family Cassie insulted.

‘They left first thing,’ Nicole says at the table. ‘And like literally everyone is saying you should become one of the commune leaders.’

‘Not a chance,’ Cassie says.

‘But all that stuff you said. People needed to hear it,’ Nicole says as a few of the other people at the table agree and nod, and say the same.

‘We got too soft and comfortable lying to ourselves,’ one of the men says. ‘We’ll get some fitness classes going and, you know, like teach the kids about nutrition.’

‘Yeah, but not too hard, though,’ a woman says. ‘I don’t want forced PE and eating greens. That’s like being back in school.’

‘And that’s why it won’t ever change,’ Cassie says.

Gregori eats his porridge. The boy swings his legs and eats fruit. Cassie doesn’t eat. She can’t. Not in this place. She hates it more now than ever. She spent nearly the whole day in the supermarket with her dirty dozen and the puppy yesterday. And the one thing presenting more than anything else from constantly switching back and forth is that the dirty dozen are her people. Not these people here. Not these broken, weak remnants of the old world. Just being around them makes her skin crawl.

They walk down and out into the rain. Over to the other block, with Cassie knowing what she has to do.

‘Right. Well. You have the bestest day ever,’ she tells the boy, dropping to her knees to give him a big hug. ‘Draw lots of nice pictures and have fun. And I’ll see you soon.’ She goes closer to whisper in his ear, ‘Stay with Gregori. He’ll keep you safe. I love you.’

She kisses his cheek and stands up while fighting tears. Gregori staring at her oddly as she steps closer to him. Kissing his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

‘What for?’ he asks in that deep, gravelly voice that still gets to her.

‘For everything,’ she says and pulls back to look at him. ‘I’m going back to the room. So I’ll see you both later?’

‘Do the thing,’ Gregori says as she starts to turn to leave.

‘What thing?’

‘What they say. Be leader.’

She shakes her head. ‘It’s not my path. Anyway. Er, see you both later,’ she kisses her hand and holds it up as she heads out. The rain pelting her face, hiding her tears.

She gets into her room with her back to the wall and switches to Gwendoline.

Not in the supermarket.

In the van being driven at speed by Daudi.

‘Hey,’ Demi says, in the back with Barry and the rest of the dirty dozen. ‘We’re on our way.’

Cassie nods. Seeing it for herself.

‘We left two with eyes on the garden centre,’ Daudi says.

‘And guess who is now walking?’ Demi asks as Cassie looks to see the puppy on a seat between Demi and Barry, now in a mini-skirt and vest top. Both patting their legs and urging the puppy to come to them. The golden Lab bouncing first one way, then back the other. Cassie can’t help but smile at the sight, but she feels sadness too. Deep and awful sadness because she wants Gregori and the boy to see this, but they never will.

‘You okay?’ Demi asks, and once more, Cassie isn’t sure if it’s Demi asking or Cassie projecting the will for Demi to ask. ‘Where’s Gregori?’

‘Back in the other block, and no, I’m not okay,’ Cassie says as the puppy makes a sudden dart over to Demi. His balance and dexterity already incredible. Just within a few days, Cassie can hardly believe it’s the same puppy they took out of the ground.

‘Are we still coming to pick you up?’ Demi asks.

Cassie nods again. Feeling shitty but knowing it has to be this way. She told them first thing this morning to come and get her.

‘He’s doing yoga again,’ she says, reaching out to fuss the puppy. ‘I’ll head out and wait for you in a bit. I can’t look at you like that, Barry. Why are you in a mini-skirt? It’s too small for you, and you’ve split the back already. Barry? Barry!’

‘He won’t answer to Barry anymore,’ Demi says.

‘Why not?’

‘He’s Erica now.’

‘Erica? Where did that come from?’

‘He said there was a woman called Erica on TV on Gladiators back in the nineties, which is what made him want to become a bodybuilder.’

Cassie blinks for a second. ‘That was Ulrika! Ulrika Johnson. How can you get that wrong?’

‘I was only five!’ Barry says. ‘It wasn’t my fault!’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ the chanting comes soft and low from the room filled with people on mats. Gregori in the middle in his socks. His body working through the deep stretches as he repeats the mantra. Too many thoughts in his mind. Too many memories and notions. He keeps thinking about Cassie with a great well of worry forming inside that something bad is going to happen while also telling himself that if she goes, then it’ll be fine. He’s Gregori. He’ll survive anything. But then why does he keep thinking about being a child? Why is that back in his mind now? And is this right being here? Why won’t Cassie try and help the people? They listen to her. She’s blunt and rude, but she’s nearly always right in what she says. But then she’s changing too. Gregori can feel it. She’s become deeper and less superficial, but he doesn’t have the life experience to put that into words. All he has are churning mixed emotions and a need to do right by the boy to make amends for his own childhood and when he made the boy kill the infected while feeling an instinct that perhaps that course of action isn’t right either while not knowing what would be right.

But this now. Stretching and telling himself it wasn’t his fault is creating a safe space within his mind, and so he focusses only on that and tries to push everything else aside.

Telling himself he had no part in the bad things that happened to him and that he only made the boy kill the infected because Gregori didn’t know any better. He was used as a tool for money. Sent from Krye to Krye all over the world to kill and cause suffering without ever really knowing what it was he was doing. He wraps himself up in that defence. He was brainwashed and made to be this way.

But why don’t the infected try and hurt the boy? And who are all the people the boy draws? Howie and Marcy, and all those names, and now all the people here in Chester know those names, and Cassie talks like she knows them, but she’s always with Gregori, so she can’t know them.

Once again, he pushes it all aside in his mind to focus only on the boy having a normal life. Being a boy. Not being beaten or tortured, or forced to kill.

But that doesn’t feel right either. Nothing does, and so he stretches and chants, and he thinks too many things at once and remembers the Krye squeezing his jaw after he killed that man. ‘You are an ugly, little man, but you are my ugly, little man, Gregori.’

‘Gregori? My brother?’

Gregori opens his eyes to see the room now empty, save for Alain staring at him in concern.

‘I go now,’ Gregori says, picking his boots up from the side of his mat.

‘You serve, my brother?’ Alain asks, looking at the old, faded scars on Gregori’s arms and the pale dot of flesh from a bullet wound many years ago. He lifts his own shirt tails, showing old scars on his abdomen. ‘IED. Afghanistan. And this one was Iraq. And this one was Somalia. This one from Chad. Ivory Coast.’

Scars and marks on his arms and back, and sides, but Alain shrugs and lowers the shirt.

‘Come. Sit with me. Relax. Nobody will come here. Your boy is safe. We will sit and meditate. You have the trauma inside, oui?’

Gregori thinks to leave, but there’s no place else to go. It’s pouring with rain outside, and the boy is here drawing, which is what Gregori wanted for him, and Cassie is in the room. Another sense presents. Perhaps the morning’s session has already opened his mind, but he suddenly accepts the notion that Cassie might leave him. She hates it here. She has said that, and she only came here for him. Defiance flares. He tells himself she can do what she wants. Let her leave. He is Gregori. He is the Uglyman. He will do as he decides, and nothing will stop him.

But then he remembers rounding the infected up and making the boy kill them.

He remembers the infected gathering outside the house and Gregori going outside to kill them while the boy screamed and fought against Cassie, and ran outside to kick at Gregori’s legs.

He remembers those things with surges of shame and guilt, and his head fills with images of fucking Cassie when they first started coupling. She’d scratch his back and say dirty things. She was needy and entitled, and demanding. Now they make love, and it’s slower and better, and she’s direct and angry, but the things she says make sense in a way that Gregori could never put into words.

Then a second later, he’s thinking about the trainer and the Krye, and the killing room, and the yard, and the beatings, and torture. The children he killed. The men he killed.

Another memory presents. One that makes him utter a low sound of pain. Another day that they took him into the killing room. He’d already killed several men. But it wasn’t a man waiting for him this time. It was a woman. They gave her a knife and told her if she didn’t kill Gregori, her child would be drowned.

Gregori tried to stay away from her, but she was wild like an animal, and she stabbed him in his back, and that thing inside triggered, and then she was dead, and his hands were dripping blood, and the knife was sticking out of her chest.

But that wasn’t his fault. They made him do it so he would become the Uglyman. Feared in every country on every continent.

Then his mind switches again, and he thinks Cassie can leave if she wants to go. He’ll stay here with the boy because the child must go to school and have friends because Gregori didn’t do that.

Thoughts whirl and flare with emotional reactions swinging until he doesn’t know which way to turn or what to think, and he opens his eyes to see Alain staring at him closely. An expression of understanding and concern.

‘I fight in many wars,’ Alain says softly to the sound of the rain lashing the windows. ‘Until I could fight no more

I leave. And when I leave, I drink and take drugs, and fuck many women. It was good, oui?’ he asks with a smile and a wink. ‘I slept on beaches in Thailand and looked up to the Milky Way in the night sky, but I only see the wars in my head, so I drink more. I want connection, so I fuck more. I crave the intimacy, but inside I have only fear, and it pushes people away, and around and around we go. Then one day, there is nobody left, and I am alone. All alone, and I think I can stay alone and be safe. Oui? Nobody can touch me. Nobody can hurt me. I make my own rules! I am a man! A free man, and I am strong! I can fight. I am soldier! But this is bullshit. I know this. So I decide to change it, and I stop searching out, and I learn to search inside of me. Do you understand this, my brother?’ he asks softly, nodding at Gregori. Seeing into the hard, glaring eyes of a killer. ‘I learn to see myself, and I hear the voice inside, and it I know it wasn’t my fault. I learn meditations and yoga, and spiritualism, and I repeat the mantra it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. It helps. Yes? But no. Let me tell you a secret, my brother. I say to these other men and women, who I help. I say to them it was not your fault, but they are not soldiers like me and you. They are not aware of the demons in this world. They do not kill or see people die. They don’t go to wars. Wars for no reason. They lived in a bubble, and now the bubble is gone, and they are scared, and they come here, and all around is disease. Is infection and death. The world is over, and they come looking for hope to rebuild and be safe, and what can we do but give them that hope? Oui? So they will wake and eat, and stay alive. And their children will grow so our species can survive. This is why I tell them it wasn’t your fault. It gives them strength. But they are not us.’

Alain pauses while the boy finishes a picture of a giant of a man with a bushy beard and thinning, wild hair. A younger woman next to him. Dark hair and eyes, and her skin covered in tattoos. A bird on another picture. A pigeon but bigger. More like an eagle. A small boy with blind eyes. Faces on sheets of paper all around him. Faces of people he’s never met and doesn’t know. Each one of them drawn with incredible skill. But the boy’s own normally impassive face hardens with focus, and he takes another sheet to start another picture. A simple pencil in his hand, drawing lines to create the greyscale shades. Seeing the image in his mind that starts coming to life on the sheet.

Cassie in their grimy room. On her feet and packing her bag. Taking water and clean clothes. Feeling wretched inside while knowing this is right because what’s happening is too important for her to stay here in this fetid dump. She must go. She must leave Gregori and the boy. This thing is a panacea. She should have worked that out. But the thing inside of her isn’t the panacea. Which means the whole thing is mutating, which explains why there are hordes not connecting to each other. An urging pressure inside to head south and join her own people. A growing pressure. Pressure unrelenting.

In the yoga room, Alain leans closer and whispers softly. ‘Do you want to know the secret? You have to want to know, my brother. Are you ready to know? Are you ready to accept the truth and step outside of the lies we use that only ever harm us?’

Gregori doesn’t know his arse from his elbow right now, but he’s hooked on the words, and without knowing why, he absolutely needs to know the secret, and so he nods once.

Alain inhales with a great sadness showing in his features. ‘The truth, my brother, my friend, that the only way to find peace is to accept it was your fault. All of it. Every single thing you did. Every life you took. Every bad thing you did, and every bad thing that happened to you. It was your fault. I killed many people, Gregori. I caused people to die in other ways. I give coordinates for air support and artillery. I cut water off. I burn crops. That was my fault. I did that as an adult, who knew what I was doing. Only fools lie to themselves to convince them of their own goodness because their minds are too small to accept what the truth really is. That they are as bad and broken as all the other peoples. We all are. We all sin.’

‘I was child,’ Gregori says quietly. ‘Taken and put in yard. My father had debt for whores and gambling. They take me as debt. That was not my fault.’

‘No. It was your fault.’

‘I was child! Not ten years old. Younger than this.’

‘I was your fault, my brother.’

‘No! Listen. They lock me in yard. High walls. No clothes. They beat me each day. They whip and punch, and kick, and they laugh at me. I eat filthy stew and shit in a hole in the ground. They put rats on me, and no food until I kill all rats with my hands. I was child!’

‘Oui. Yes. And it was your fault.’

Gregori’s face hardens. The face of a killer. The last face hundreds of people saw before they died. ‘No say this. It not my fault. I taken. Beaten. Starved. Years and years! They make me fight and kill other children so I can eat meat.’

‘That was your fault.’

‘Not my fault! I no choose this. How my fault? How? Tell me this.’

‘It is your fault. Everything you do.’

Gregori snorts. Blasting air. Feeling a surge of violence and rage, but he pushes it down. Clenching his fists as the boy draws on the sheet in the playroom. His face a mask of intense concentration. Drawing what he sees. Drawing what will be. Drawing Gregori’s face while Gregori growls low in his throat. Thinking the Frenchman to be a half-witted fool. ‘You say clever things to fuck stupid women.’

‘Oui. I do this. Sometimes. Yes. I am a monster, my brother. I do bad things. I don’t lie and say this wasn’t my fault. I tell them it’s not your fault. I tell them lies so they can sleep. You want to live in lies, my brother? What do you want? Tell me what you want.’

Gregori doesn’t know what he wants. Anger inside. Confusion. Anxiety. Dread. Worry. Rage. All of them. All at once. No. He does know what he wants. He wants to be told the same thing as when he came into this room. He wants to know it wasn’t his fault. ‘I tell you truth. I child. Young boy. My father give me away. I no see my mother ever again. Not my father. Not my sister. Not my brother. The Krye take me. You know the Krye?’

‘Yes. Oui. Krye is Albanian gangster. A mafia boss.’

‘Yes. He take me. What I do to stop that?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then how my fault?’

‘It is your fault.’

‘No! Beaten. Starved. Every days for many days and years. I can’t get out. I can’t escape. How my fault?’

‘It is your fault.’

Gregori punches the floor with hard knuckles that no longer feel pain or sensation. ‘They take me into killing room. Is woman. She has baby. They give her knife and say kill Gregori or your baby die. I kill her! They make me kill this woman! I am child! No say this my fault! No say this to me!’

‘But it is your fault, my brother.’

‘I am Gregori!’ Gregori rages, on his feet and towering over Alain. ‘I am Uglyman! No say this to me. I kill you! I kill all!’

‘Oui. You a monster. You are the devil,’ Alain says, rising to stare back into the dark, fierce eyes. ‘But it was your fault,’ he whispers.

‘No!’ Gregori growls, a hand on Alain’s chest, pushing him back. His body thrumming with energy. Images in his head. Being a child. Being beaten. Killing the woman. Killing the other children. ‘They make me do this! They brainwash me. Nobody ask me if I want this. He shoves Alain again. Driving him back with an expectation that the other man will react, but Alain takes the pushes with an expression of calm understanding that only makes Gregori angrier. ‘Tell me not my fault! Tell me this.’

‘No.’

A harder shove from a man honed with power and strength, and Alain scoots back several feet but rights himself, only to get shoved again and again. Each one harder than the last, and the boy draws faster; his hand moving across the sheet. Each image presenting in his head with a burning need to come out onto the paper. Cassie in their room. Her bag packed and ready. Inhaling deeply. Hating what she has to do. Tears in her eyes. Tears on her cheeks. She never cried for anyone before. Not once. Only ever for herself. Now she feels torn and shitty, and cruel.

Alain hits the wall from the next shove and waits for the dark and terrible killer to advance. ‘You tell me this!’ Gregori demands. Pinning him in place with a hand to his neck.

‘It was your fault, brother.’

‘Not brother! You don’t know me. Nobody knows me. I kill all. I kill all men, women. Children. I take their heads, and I pull their hearts from their bodies. I burn them alive. Nothing can stop me. No mans can stop me! They make me like this. They do it to my brain,’ Gregori hisses the words out, pushing his thumb into Alain’s head. ‘They make me into the devil. No eat unless I kill.’

‘It was a choice,’ Alain whispers, then grunts when he’s taken off the floor and flipped across the room. Landing on the mats, with Gregori pacing at him.

‘I child! I had no choice!’

‘No!’ Alain shouts. On his feet and striding back at Gregori. ‘You chose to eat! You chose to kill rats!’

‘I child!’ Gregori says, hitting him hard enough with a double handed shove to take Alain off his feet again, but still the man rises to come back, with Gregori growling like a beast and taking him over his hip with a brutal throw. Slamming him down into the hard wooden floor. Pinning him with a knee to his chest.

‘You chose to live!’ Alain says, sweat beading on his face. His own eyes coming alive with passion and life, and a ferocity that doesn’t show fear in the face of the Uglyman.

‘I was taken!’ Gregori whispers, crushing the man’s chest, ready to commit murder. ‘How I choose this? How my fault?’

‘It was your fault.’

‘NO!’ Gregori roars. Veins pushing through his forehead and neck. Rage inside. ‘Tell me why my fault! You say this. Tell me why. TELL ME!’

‘None of us choose to exist. But we are given life, and everything that happens to us is our fault because we are alive!’

‘NO! NO SAY THIS,’ Gregori says, slamming a fist into the floor next to Alain’s head.

‘Every bad thing that happened to you was your fault for being alive. To deny that is to deny life itself. I am not here! I am not alive! I am only seeing these things happen, but I not a part of them! It happened to you. Bad things. Terrible things! But you were given life, and you chose to live! Why kill the rats? Why kill the other children? Why kill that woman? Why not die? Tell me? You demand answers from me. Now you tell me,’ Alain screams the words, pushing Gregori off. The Albanian falling back, thinking to let the man up, but Alain pushes into him. Invading his space. Coming in close to push and shove at Gregori. Even when he gets up and steps away, Alain keeps going. Unrelenting and unafraid. ‘Life is fault, Gregori. Being here in this room is your fault. Being taken by the Krye was your fault.’

The words hit hard. The sudden grasping of a concept that Gregori simply never thought of before.

‘Bad things happen to you, and you do bad things,’ Alain whispers, his voice hoarse and rushed as he sees the wall breaking down in Gregori. Gregori tries to turn to go, but it’s weak and feeble, and Alain refuses to yield. ‘We wrap ourselves in lies so we can sleep, my brother. But we’re all monsters. We’re all the devil.’

‘I kill that woman,’ Gregori says, remembering that day in the killing room. The fear in the woman. The tears on her cheeks. The way her body was shaking. The way she held the knife, and the way she summoned her own demons to do a terrible thing and try, and murder another child to save her own.

It’s like Gregori’s mind expands a million miles in all directions. A sudden awareness of all that is, and that wall finally crumbles, and the tears bubble up from deep within him. Searing pain deep within his body but not coming from any muscle or tendon. Coming from the very essence of who he is. Coming from his deep inner core, and he glimpses the inner child that Alain said was in each person.

Except it’s not a child.

It’s a dark and malevolent entity within each person, driving them to survive. Convincing them to eat and fuck, and kill, and take and convincing them this is just how society is and how people live. This is just the way life is. This is normal. This isn’t their fault.

Gregori sees it all in that instance. He sees every part of it as the sobs come up from his belly, and he sags down, with Alain lowering him to the floor. Holding him as Gregori weeps for all that has happened and all that he is. For making the boy kill the infected. For killing people. For murdering women and children. For taking the food when he was a child and making that choice to live and hurt others. For being alive and a part of this vile, cruel world. Images and memories surge through him, and the pain inside grows. Making him curl into a ball as the boy grabs the sheet of drawings from his table in the playroom and runs through the door and out into the rain. Cassie already out of their room. Striding along the corridor. Through the doors. Down the steps while feeling crushed inside that she must leave them behind, and the irony isn’t lost that the only time she feels real and true love is when she is leaving those she cares for.

But it must be this way. She knows it in her heart. In her own core. That pressure inside. Growing by the day. Urging her to do something and not stay still.

She pushes out through the doors into the hard, lashing rain to the boy running towards her in just his shorts and thin top. His blond hair already plastered to his head. An expression on his face. Earnest. Worried. Fearful. It brings her to a stop with a sudden, creeping sensation of dread as he holds the sheet out. Not speaking. Not saying a word. The paper already soaked, but the images clear upon them. The images that Cassie stares at, making her frown and show confusion until they come clear of who it is and what they are doing. Her heart whumps, and it’s like the world jolts.

‘Where?’ she asks, her voice strange in her own ears, and she’s running before he can reply. Sprinting towards the building off to one side. Barging people aside. Crashing in through the doors. ‘GREGORI!’ she yells, running past the playroom. ‘GREGORI!’ she yells, running into a room filled with mats.

Gregori on his side.

Curled into a ball.

Sobbing like a child.

The sight makes her falter for a second; then she’s running again. Ditching the bag and running to the man she loves. Dropping to his side as Alain moves away. Her hands grasping at Gregori’s head. Making him look up as her own tears fall from the sight of him broken on the floor. Gasping in pain and terror.

His hands reach out, gripping her body as he sits up, and she pulls him into her embrace. Wrapping her arms around him. Holding him as tight and as close as she can. Sobbing with him. Weeping that she almost left.

‘Is my fault,’ he says, sobbing the words out, clinging onto her. Holding her for all he is worth. ‘All my fault. All my fault. All my fault.’

She rocks him side to side. Feeling that incredible strength in his arms and body as he holds onto her. Feeling him breaking apart inside. Feeling his pain. Weeping with him. Sobbing for the life she led and the person she was and clinging onto the only man she has ever truly loved, and the seconds tick by as that raw and ugly pain inside of Gregori finally vents.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ he whispers in a broken voice. Clinging onto her body as the truth finally comes to the surface. ‘All life I told what to do. Now is nobody, and I don’t know how to be or live, or say, or raise child… I don’t know how to make food or choose clothes, or fix things. I only break things. I only kill. I make the boy kill them, but they no attack him. I don’t know why, and I don’t know to ask. I get scared, Cassie. I get scared. I don’t know what to do. Why don’t they hurt him? Why?’

‘You know why,’ she whispers softly. Weeping as hard as he. ‘He’s one of them. They’re drawn to him because it’s inside of him…’

She kisses his head. Feeling a need to give him every ounce of her love and care. Holding him as tight as she can while knowing in her hear that now is the time to be truthful. ‘I was going to leave you.’

She feels him react. The sudden surge of strength in his grip, as though he’s fearful she’ll go right now. ‘Don’t leave.’

‘I have to. I was going to leave you and the boy because I can’t stay here. I can’t, but I love you, and I don’t want to be apart from you or him, but I can’t stay here,’ she sobs the words out, pushing her head into his. ‘I love you. I love you so much, and I never loved anyone before, but we can’t stay here. We have to go. These aren’t our people anymore. That thing. It’s inside us now. In me and in you, and in the boy, and I don’t ever want to leave you. I want to be by your side every minute of every day, but this is bigger than us. We can’t hide from it anymore. I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But we have each other, and I know you protect me and the boy, but I’ll protect you too with everything I have inside of me. I will always have your back. I love you. I love you so much.’

‘I love you,’ he whispers. Clinging onto her. Hearing every word as the sobs heave his body. Knowing what she says is true because to deny anything is to deny life, and acceptance only comes from knowing what you are.

‘And you are everything you need to be,’ she whispers into his ear. Her tears wetting his head and cheeks. ‘You had to do those things to be here now. To help us. I was the same. I was cruel and bad, and we’re going to do bad things. We’re going to do awful things, Gregori. But they must be done. We have to protect what we are now. What the boy is. We have to go south. We have to kill Howie and stop them. I know everyone thinks they are good, but it’s our only chance of survival. I want you with me. I need you with me.’

He nods into her. Their skulls rubbing as they weep and hold each other. On the floor amongst the mats. Alain nearby. The boy next to him. Still holding the sodden drawing in his hands. The drawing that Alain glances at and frowns. Seeing the incredible detail and how each image is almost perfectly lifelike. But it’s what they show that makes him stare.

This scene now. Etched in pencil on the sheet.

Gregori curled up, with Alain at his side.

It makes the hairs on Alain’s neck stand on end. It makes his awareness sharpen as he looks to the other pencil drawings on the same sheet.

The one showing Cassie and Gregori in this embrace right now.

And the one showing men in gas masks holding assault rifles aimed at Cassie, Gregori, Alain, and the boy.

Voices in the corridor. Boots on wood approaching fast.

A distinct metallic noise that makes Alain lunge to grab the boy. The noise of a pin being pulled from a grenade a second before an object flies into the room and hits the wooden floor.

Gregori knows that sound too.

The sound of a flashbang.

The blink of an eye. The beat of a heart.

He twists fast to flip Cassie over to smother her with his body as Alain does the same with the boy. Taking him down to shield him as the first of nine detonations from the nine banger exploding into the room. Each percussive bang at nearly 180 decibels. Deafening their senses along with blinding flashes. Sudden and harsh, and sickeningly violent. Making Cassie feel like the world is flipping over and spinning, and breaking apart all at once, even beneath Gregori trying to shield her.

Shouts and yells. Deep voices. Soldiers surging into the room. Each one dressed in black from head to toe. Their faces covered by respirators. An orange and black circle within a triangle within a circle. Barrels jab hard into their backs. Boots kick into ribs. Making Alain cry out as he shields the child beneath him.

‘Two here! Man and a boy!’ a loud, deep British voice.

Barrels in Gregori’s skull and back. Boots kicking at him. Into his sides and legs.

‘Fucking move, you cunt!’ a voice roars, forcing him off Cassie. ‘GOT HER!’

‘Stay down!’ another yells at Gregori trying to get up as he detects Cassie being grabbed and pulled away from him. His eyes blurred. His head spinning, but the thing inside making him recover fast. Bringing his wits back as one of the men slams the stock of his rifle into Gregori’s head.

‘Spray this fucker! Where’s the popcorn gas?’

‘No!’ Cassie yells. Hands on her arms, dragging her across the wooden floor. She kicks and thrashes. Wild and furious. ‘GET OFF ME! GREGORI!’ she screams out as the boy yells her name and tries to get out of Alain’s arms.

‘Fuckin’ hell. She’s wild. Spray the lot of ’em!’ one of the soldiers shouts as Gregori starts to rise. Ready to fight and kill.

Something being sprayed. Something chemical. Fine mist on his face. Alain feels it too, and the boy. Cassie next. Screaming and bucking. All of them scenting the same thing. Chemicals and burning popcorn.

To fight it is impossible, and they sag down, with Cassie reaching a hand out to Gregori. The pair of them sinking slowly into oblivion. Their eyes locked.

Then it’s only darkness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Day Thirty-Two

Marcus Winterbottom used to be an SBS trooper.

A blunt, northern Royal Marine for ten years, who passed selection for entry into the Royal Navy’s elite Special Boat Squadron. While he’d never pass the test for MENSA, Marcus excelled at fitness and aggressive soldiering and was a solid member of his unit.

He became known as Coldarse to everyone. Even the officers called him by that name – such is the way in the military amongst alpha type personalities.

However, the downside to being a motivated, strong-willed person seeking constant adventure and stimulation was that Coldarse was driven to compete in all things, and so when he wasn’t training or on deployment, he’d gamble, which, for the most part, was held in check by being within such an elite group of people.

But soldiers get older and leave the services. Coldarse was no different, and by thirty-two, he was out and enjoying the nest egg of savings he’d accrued. Which is how he ended up gambling more than he normally would – being that he was no longer held in check.

He got into debt, which is why he reached out to one of his former bosses in the Marines, Captain Smythe, who worked for a private security firm that sub-contracted to the Ministry of Defence and The Metropolitan Police Diplomatic Protection Squad.

The UK had a lot of living ex-prime ministers and senior members of the cabinet, and other key figures, all of whom required protection, and while the MOD and Met Police provided security for the top tier, it wasn’t uncommon to contract out to reputable firms to provide security for other politicians. Some of whom owned shares within those security firms and so smoothed the way when those lucrative contracts were being awarded.

Which is how Marcus ended up on a team providing protection to the Minister for Domestic Security, The Right Honourable Alistair Appleton.

Marcus thought he’d hate it. But it turned out to be a good gig. Namely because Alistair was an outrageous fiend, who liked to do outrageous things with men and women of questionable age while off his face on drugs. Which meant that Alistair needed a security team willing to overlook such things, which he found they were happy to do if they were rewarded.

It also helped that Alistair was on the board of directors for Castle Water, that being the company Marcus signed on with. Which, in addition to providing domestic security to high net worth and high target individuals, also provided Private Military Services of a discerning nature.

That’s how Marcus was recruited into the New World Order.

Because he’d signed on with Castle Water and worked for Alistair Appleton, and proved that he was a good egg, who knew how to keep his mouth shut. Which is why later, after a few years of service, Captain Smythe approached Marcus and said a big thing was coming that was going to change the world, and they wanted Marcus to be a part of it.

Captain Smythe was from Manchester. He explained he was going to be in charge of what would be called the North West Forward Operating Base. Or NWFOB as it would be known. Captain Smythe said there would be other regional bases in England.

North East Forward Operating Base, or NEFOB.

South West Forward Operating Base, or SWFOB.

And South East Forward Operating Base, or SEFOB.

Middle England Forward Operating Base, or MIDFOB.

Captain Smythe said there would also be an Operational HQ with Colonel “Mary” Poppins in charge, and every elite solder worth their salt knew Mary Poppins was a great leader. Captain Smythe also said a few more names of people Marcus knew, who had signed on. Captain Blanchard was one, who would be running SEFOB with Crispin, Bolo, Steve, and Mark among a few others that Marcus had worked with during his time with Castle Water.

Marcus signed up and by degrees became vaguely aware that something would be coming that would change the cause of humanity. They told him a panacea had been developed. They wanted to release it, but a very clever expert called Neal Barrett had undertaken a scientific study in a secret mountain facility and concluded that releasing the panacea would destroy the world. So it was going to be tweaked to cull the numbers down a bit to make it all more manageable. That being with about 98% to 99% of the planet likely to die.

Marcus was okay with that. He loved being a soldier and working in a team, but he had no family or connections outside of that world, nor did he have any love for humanity.

None of the soldiers recruited did. Which is why they were chosen in the first place.

Which is also why Castle Water was formed, to make sure the New World Order had the right people doing the right jobs when the end came. Or rather, the beginning.

That beginning, however, came without warning some six months earlier than planned, and Marcus, along with everyone else, was alerted to attend their bases immediately, and only on so doing, did they become aware that the virus had been released.

Nobody knew why it was out earlier than planned.

It was chaotic to say the least, but contact was soon made with HQ Operations, who, in turn, made contact with Command, that being the London based bunker used to hold VIPs, dignitaries, and of course, the New World Order leader for the UK, The Head Chair Alistair Appleton. And orders were issued that the original plan was still in place. Which was for all bases to go into complete and total lockdown for thirty days minimum and until further orders were given. The only exception to this was for tier one trained former Special Forces and elite soldiers, who would be sent out on limited patrols to undertake reconnaissance.

One such exception was given for Crispin to take his team, Bolo, Steve, and Mark, to Hinchley Point in the SEFOB area to check on the valuable weapons cache. Which is how they ended up in a conflict with Carmen Eze.

NWFOB, however, remained in complete lockdown until orders were issued from Colonel Mary Poppins at Operational HQ, having been authorised by the Head Chair Alistair Appleton for the regional FOBs to commence localised checks with strict instructions not to engage but to observe only.

NWFOB did just that and stuck to mobile patrols, only to see the carnage in the big cities like Manchester and Liverpool.

One patrol, Sierra Whiskey One Alpha, were tasked to check Chester Castle, given that it was a site people would be likely to try and fortify to use as a refugee centre.

Which is how Marcus and his crew, Paul “Longy” Longhurst and Zara Pickles (known simply as Pickles), ended up inside Chester Castle on the thirty-first day since the outbreak started, that being yesterday.

They stashed their armoured, blacked-out Range Rover and went closer to the bridge on foot, and observed people going in and how they weren’t being patted down. That gave them the confidence to go inside. Which they duly did while adopting the manner of everyone else. Withdrawn and scared.

They saw what they expected to see. Scared refugees trying to cling to some form of society.

What Marcus didn’t expect to see, however, was Cassie Appleton with an ugly-looking guy, taking a kid to a day care centre.

‘That’s Cassie Appleton,’ Marcus whispered to the other two.

‘Who?’ Pickles asked.

‘Cassie Appleton! Alistair’s daughter.’

‘The Alistair? Our Alistair?’

‘Yes! The fucking head chair. That’s her.’

‘Get off, you great twat,’ Longy said. ‘What would she be doing here?’

‘Seriously! That was her. I know her. I did security for her dad. She’s a right fucking cunt.’

Marcus was sure it was her. Every member of the team that provided security to Alistair dreaded ever having to deal with Cassie. She was the most entitled, angry, offended, easily-triggered, lying bitch any of them ever met, and she only ever came to see her dad when she wanted something. Normally a new car. Or a holiday. Or Botox or lip filler, or clothes, or jewellery, or a new apartment because her luxury one bed place in Chelsea was so ugly and embarrassing.

Marcus went closer to the block and looked through the window to see Cassie next to the ugly-looking guy giving the kid to a hippy. Then Cassie headed out, and Marcus ducked back and saw two other people try and speak to Cassie. She pretty much told them to fuck off and barged through them, which is exactly how Cassie always was. Even to her father’s security team and housekeeping staff.

They quickly exfilled back to the car to use the encrypted radio system to call their base.

‘Sierra Whiskey One Alpha to Sierra Whiskey Base. Over.’

‘Go ahead, One Alpha. Base receiving. Over.’

‘It’s Coldarse. Can you get Captain Smythe on? Over.’

‘Hang on, Coldarse… I’m waving at him. Yeah, he’s here. Standby.’

‘Coldarse, what’s up? Over.’

‘Captain, we’re at Chester Castle. All as expected, but I need to confirm a positive ID on Cassie Appleton. Over.’

‘Repeat, please.’

‘Positive ID on Cassie Appleton. Daughter of Alistair Appleton, the Head Chair. She’s inside Chester Castle with an adult male and child. Over.’

‘Understood. Standby. We’ll pass it up the chain.’

Captain Smythe said, ‘Well, fuck a duck.’ And put a secure call into Operational HQ, seeing as he was already in NWFOB’s comms room, which was done via an old-fashioned telephone exchange with jack plugs in a board.

‘Line to HQ open, sir,’ the operator said.

‘HQ?’ the call taker asked when it connected.

‘Captain Lawrence Smythe. NWFOB. I’ve got an important update.’

A pause. A click.

‘Lozzer, you old rascal! It’s Jack. How are you?’

Captain Smythe rolled his eyes with an inward tut. ‘Hello, Jack. Got an update that needs passing up urgently.’

‘Urgent, you say? Well, I’ll be the judge of that. Don’t want to rock the whole chain of command, do we? So, what is it, then? Seen some zombies, have you?’

‘That’s already getting old, Jack. My first team went to Chester Castle. They’ve got a positive ID on Cassie Appleton. Daughter of the Head Chair Alistair Appleton.’

‘I know who Cassie is. Are they sure? I mean. Really sure?’

‘I just said, Jack. It’s a positive ID.’

‘Yeah, but the chances of Cassie Appleton being in Chester Castle?’

‘It’s come from Coldarse. He was Alistair’s private security detail. He knows Cassie. Just pass it up.’

‘Tell you what I’ll do, Lozzer. I’ll pass it up.’

Jack ended the call and finished recording his notes in his neat handwriting before setting off out of his room along the main corridor. Humming Beethoven’s Fifth as he walked along and presented himself at the Colonel’s door with a smart knock before entering. ‘Colonel? I’ve just received some intel, which I have personally graded as urgent.’

Mary looked up him. ‘Well, go on, then.’

‘It appears a Cassie Appleton, that being the daughter of our esteemed-.’

‘I know who Cassie is. Spit it out, Jack.’

‘Right. Of course. Er, well, Coldarse. Sorry! Marcus-.’

‘And I know who Coldarse is,’ Mary said with a look. ‘Hang on. Coldarse was on Alistair’s home security team. Has he seen Cassie? Where?’

‘Right. Well. If you’ll allow me to make my report, Colonel.’

‘Where!?’

‘Chester Castle. With a man and a child.’

‘Where’s Coldarse now?’

‘Well, I don’t know.’

‘Go back to Lawrence, tell him to tell Coldarse to keep eyes on. Do not let her out of his sight. I’ll get word up. Now, Jack!’ Mary said and waited for him to go out before putting the call in herself to Command.

‘Command?’

‘It’s Mary. I need to speak to the Head Chair. Urgent.’

‘I can put you through to his private secretary. Standby.’

A click. A pause.

‘Yes? Hello? Carmichael here.’

‘Carmichael. It’s Mary at Operational HQ. We’ve had a positive ID on Cassie Appleton at Chester Castle. Patrol from NWFOB has eyes on.’

‘Right. Stay on the line, Mary. Just going into the office now… Sir? Sorry to disturb. Mary Poppins on the line. I think you’d better speak to her.’

‘Mary! Another cloak and dagger mysterious call, eh? Getting bored, are you, or just wanting to hear my sexy voice?’

‘Neither, Sir. We’ve got a positive ID on Cassie in Chester Castle.’

‘Cassie who?’

‘Your daughter, Sir.’

‘Oh! That Cassie. Wait? How? She was kidnapped, last I heard.’

‘Unable to offer anymore at this time.’

‘Who saw her?’

‘Coldarse.’

‘Coldarse, eh? Well. He’d know her alright. She made his life a bloody misery same as mine enough times. Right. Well. Bugger. Suppose we’d better bring her in, then. No chance of pushing into the river, is there? I’m joking! I don’t mean that, Mary. Yes, well. Get her in, then.’

‘She’s with a man and a child.’

‘Is he one of the kidnappers? But then how would you know that? Best keep it in mind, though. Cassie would have buttered them up and made friends to keep herself alive. Chances are they’re probably armed. And even if they’re not, they can fuck right off. We’re not giving spaces in our glorious new world order to whatever poor sap she’s shacked up with and his fat, little offspring. Don’t care what you do to them. Just get her into NWFOB.’

‘Will do, Sir.’ Mary cut the call and took a breath before making another to the operator to connect her to NWFOB herself. ‘Lawrence, it’s Mary.’

‘Thank god, you didn’t call me Lozzer.’

‘I know. Jack is a complete prick. Coldarse has eyes on Cassie, then? Good prize for him. He’ll get mentioned in despatches for that. But listen. I’ve just been updated that Cassie was subject to a kidnapping, so there is every chance the man she is with is one of her kidnappers and armed. I’d go in full throttle if I were you, Lawrence.’

‘Noted. Longy and Pickles have been updated. They’re with Coldarse. They said the man Cassie is with has a military bearing.’

‘Stands to reason that’s one of the kidnappers, then. Right. You are authorised to use a full team for entry and extraction. Get your lads out for a leg-stretch if you want to use as an exercise.’

‘Roger that. Rules of engagement?’

‘This is the New World Order, Lawrence. There are no rules of engagement. Just bring her into NWFOB, then update me.’

‘Yes, will do Colonel,’ Lawrence said and cut the call, and went back to the encrypted radio set. ‘Sierra Whiskey Base to Sierra Whiskey One Alpha.’

‘Go ahead, Sir.’

‘Coldarse, stay on obs. We’ll get a full team to you for extraction.’

‘We can probably just ask her, Sir. This place is a dump, and she’s a greedy bitch. If we say we’ve got proper showers and food.’

‘Negative. Fresh intel suggests Cassie was subject to a kidnapping, and that man she is with is most likely one of the armed kidnappers. That changes the spec a bit, so we’ll go for a full, hostile extraction. Operations have given the green light to get the lads out for some air and a leg-stretch, and a bit of fun.’

‘Understood, Sir. There’s only one way into the castle. We’ll keep the bridge under obs.’

That was yesterday, but even in the New World Order, things take time to organise.

The other patrols had to be called back in, and Captain Smythe had to determine how many of his full detachment of one hundred soldiers to send. Mary had suggested using it as an exercise, but sending the whole unit would very obviously be overkill to extract one woman.

In the end, Smythe decided to send nine tier one operatives. Seven men. Two women, plus himself to lead. With a further twenty soldiers in support.

That gave a good number of them a chance to get outside and injected some energy into NWFOB as a whole, which was good because thirty days of doing nothing except drills did start making people complacent and bored.

But that also meant kit and transport had to be made ready while orders were sent up and down the chains of command.

Eventually, three armoured, blacked-out Range Rovers set out late in the day from NWFOB along with two matt black, armoured personnel carriers and made the journey into Chester. Six wheeled with harsh angles to the body. An emblem on the side of each one. Words beneath. New World Order.

An orange and black circle within a triangle within a circle.

The Range Rovers went into the town while the personnel carriers tucked up in a rural spot a short distance out. Smythe went in the lead Range Rover, being a man that liked to lead from the front.

It was dusk when they arrived and made their way on foot to the observation point set up by Coldarse, Longy, and Pickles on the top floor of a four-storey townhouse just across from the bridge.

Once they were in and tucked down out of sight, Smythe and the others listened to the full brief from Sierra Whiskey One Alpha as they explained the layout and where they’d seen Cassie Appleton. They used paper and pencils to draw detailed maps of the bridge going in and the entry points, and what buildings were being used for what. They also detailed the numbers and positions of armed guards they had seen.

‘Alright. It’s dark now,’ Smythe said once they’d gained a full picture, and by then the bridge had been put on lockdown, and the soldiers had withdrawn, and Smythe noted the other side had locked up tight too. Entry would still have been possible, but it would be noisy, and they would have to search and locate Cassie and her kidnappers inside the location. Which wasn’t ideal. Plus, they were all quite excited at being out of the base and doing something cool and exciting. ‘Right, we’ll bed down here for the night,’ he told the others and reported the same to the support units outside of the town. Who were also quite happy as it meant they could post sentries and use the cool night vision equipment they had. And it meant they’d have bragging rights over the others when they got back to NWFOB, seeing as they were the first units out of the base on a proper mission.

They hunkered down and shared rations, and whispered war stories to each other, and Coldarse told them what a complete cunt Cassie was. ‘Literally never met anyone so fucking entitled.’

‘But she’s the Head Chair’s daughter,’ Smythe reminded them. ‘That’s a big win for NWFOB if we get her in, and I will personally call Terry Blanchard at SEFOB and gloat.’

The lads loved that and hardly slept from the buzz of it all.

But then they didn’t need as much sleep as they used to because of what they had inside of them. Nor would they ever get sick or suffer diseases.

And more importantly, once the full system of the New World Order was in place, they’d be living like kings in wealth and luxury while being treated like heroes by the people they’d saved. Who would be forced to live in secure zones. For their own benefit, but they’d be safe and would have what they needed. So. You know. That was alright then.

The finer details were obscure on what the New World Order would actually look like, seeing as it had come about a full six months ahead of schedule, which was before they’d all gained the full briefings and understanding of exactly what it entailed.

But the soldiers and personnel that made it into the regional bases and compounds and those specifically at NWFOB were happy enough. Seeing that they’d all been chosen because they had no families.

A few struggled with the reality of it all. One or two even committed suicide, but the rest soon settled into it and realised the promises had been true because no expense had been spared.

They had amazing food made by brilliant cooks. Great quarters too. Even the shared barracks were constructed so each person had their own private space. The bathrooms were clean and modern, and they had access to fully equipped gyms and games centres, and the best weapons and kit they’d ever seen. They also had firing ranges and no petty NCOs restricting the amount of ammunition they could use. They had whole rooms full of ammunition. They even had bars on site. Plus, the weather up till now had been glorious and, they had plenty of outside space behind their fortress walls deep within the forest of Bowland.

More importantly, it had been drummed into all of them that they were special and above everyone else. That they had been chosen for their skills and dedication, and their loyalty to the New World Order – and when they did go out, they would surely see horrors and carnage, but that had to happen because the New World Order needed to cleanse the filth of the old world away.

And so when dawn came with the promise of another dreary day of lashing rain, the strike teams and support units were buzzing and full of energy to get stuck in.

They kept eyes on the bridge, which didn’t open until quite late into the morning when Smythe observed the ragtag soldiers and former cops slouching their way into position to set up for the day.

There were already new refugees waiting to go in by then. A solid crowd of them was gathered outside the pub being used by the bridge guard teams.

The plan had already been set.

Coldarse would go in with Pickles and act like a couple seeking refuge. They’d get eyes on and report back, then order the strike.

They’d both changed their clothing since the day before and wore baseball caps and hooded baggy anoraks to hide their tac-vests and pistols. Having noted the awful standards of the bridge guards not patting anyone down but only checking bags.

They set out hand in hand and joined the throng of new arrivals. More broken people fleeing the old, broken world.

They crossed the bridge and got into the commune, and while the other refugees waited to get rooms allocated and speak to the leaders and helpers, Coldarse and Pickles slipped away to became part of the crowd in the general area.

It wasn’t easy trying to spot Cassie because of the rain and everyone wearing hoods, but they held position by the childcare & therapy building until Cassie came out and literally barged Coldarse aside to get past. They clocked the ugly kidnapper was inside with the child while Pickles discreetly used the mic on her lapel to update Smythe. Then they set off to follow Cassie, but there were so many people wearing hoods that they lost sight of her.

That was okay, though. Missions were often fluid and took time to execute.

The extractions team was kitted and ready in the obs point. Tooled up and itching to go. And by then, the support team was loaded onto their vehicles with the engines thrumming. Ready to come into the town.

It took time, with Pickles and Coldarse slowly heading inside the Crown Court building, to the landing to find a spot against the wall. Slumping down and looking defeated and broken like so many others. They even coughed a few times and thought themselves worthy of Oscars for their performances.

Then, bang.

She was striding past them.

Cassie Appleton.

Daughter of the Head Chair.

It was game on.

Pickles put the call in, and they followed Cassie down and out into the rain.

The support vehicles roared out from their hiding spots into the town. The lads in the back all pumped and ready.

Coldarse and Pickles stepped out from the Crown Court building. Both clutching their nine-mil pistols inside their anoraks. Both in baseballs caps. Waiting to see where Cassie went so they could guide the strike team in.

They nudged each other on seeing the child running towards Cassie in his shirtsleeves while holding a picture. Cassie looked annoyed for a fleeting second; then she looked at the picture and set off running like something urgent was happening.

Coldarse and Pickles ran too.

Over to the other block to see Cassie running inside, calling for someone called Gregory.

She ran into the big hall used for yoga.

To the ugly guy crying on the floor. The hippy next to him. Probably the kidnappers.

‘They’re contained and ready for extraction,’ Pickles transmitted.

The strike team deployed and broke cover to run from the obs point towards the bridge. Going loud. Going overt. The New World Order, and no rules of engagement.

They reached the bridge as the two support vehicles came roaring up behind them. The doors opening. Soldiers jumping out. Each one dressed fully in black with their faces covered by balaclavas. Assault rifles gripped. Orders being shouted. Everything happening so fast.

‘Fuck me! Finally,’ one of the bridge guards called out, thinking them to be the military responding to the outbreak. ‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he shouted, then blinked at the Special Forces-looking people sweeping towards him with high-end suppressed Canadian C8 assault rifles up and aimed. ‘Oi! Your side! FRIENDLY!’ he yelled and took his hands from his weapon to make it clear.

They shot him anyway.

Two to the chest. One to the head.

They shot the other guards too. Executing them all with swift brutality before sweeping onto the bridge and across to the inner wall.

Because it wouldn’t be safe to have armed and potentially hostile people behind them when they entered.

But then this was The New World Order, and they had no rules of engagement.

The strike teams moved fast. Led by Smythe, who took them across the bridge and smoothly through the throngs of refugees pouring in.

Two more guards shot on the inner wall.

They hit the inner gate. Two more soldiers on guard. Both shot with the sound of the suppressed rifles being lost amidst the lashing rain and people moving around.

Then they were into the central yard and making towards Coldarse and Pickles holding their nine-mil pistols. A quick pause for rifles to be handed over and lightweight respirators to be tugged over their mouths and noses. Eye goggles protecting their eyes. Ear defenders on. Weapons locked. Loaded. Made ready.

Captain Smythe gave the silent order, and they made entry into the childcare & therapy block. Going into the corridor.

Sounds ahead.

Coming from the hall.

A man and a woman crying.

They stacked up at the wide door leading in.

Nine soldiers and Captain Smythe.

Flashbangs were drawn.

Three adults within. One child.

Cassie being held by a man. Probably one of the kidnappers. Another of the kidnappers sitting nearby, next to the child.

Another nod from Smythe.

Flashbangs in.

Instant yells came from the two men inside, which told the experienced strike teams that those two men had military experience to know what flashbangs were. Which, in turn, increased the level of force they would apply.

The grenades detonated. Nine bangers. Each one with a series of explosions at one hundred and eighty decibels. Louder than jet engines. Louder than gunshots. Flashes too. Blindingly bright.

Which is why the strike teams wore protective gear and waited for them to finish.

‘IN!’ Smythe yelled.

They swarmed the room and ran at the people cowering on the floor. Using shock and awe to overwhelm their senses. Kicking at their backs and ribs. Jabbing bodies with barrels. Yelling loudly. Dragging the hippy from the child. Dragging the ugly guy from Cassie. Both assumed to be the kidnappers.

Sierra Whiskey One Alpha were tasked to secure the target, being that it was them that made the positive ID. They grabbed at Cassie and started pulling her away while she kicked out and screamed despite having been subject to the barrage of flashbangs, which would render most people gibbering in fear.

The two kidnappers, the ugly guy and the hippy, were also already showing signs of faster recovery than normal civilians.

Scotty Jones, the team leader for Sierra Whiskey One Bravo hit the ugly guy hard in the head with the stock of his rifle, but it still didn’t drop him. ‘Spray this fucker! Where’s the Popcorn gas?’ he yelled out as Cassie was dragged screaming across the floor.

‘Fuckin’ hell. She’s wild. I’ll do ’em all’ Captain Smythe said and drew the secret weapon.

The special spray given to each FOB and base.

The special spray that works on people and infected alike.

They deployed it in the room.

Spraying a fine mist into the faces of the two men and the child, and Cassie.

Each one of them inhaling something that smelled like burning popcorn.

Which is why the strike teams wore masks.

Gregori was sprayed first, then Alain and the boy, and by the time Smythe crossed the room to spray a screaming, bucking, kicking, wild-as-hell Cassie, who, because of that explosion of fear and panic in her, had already triggered the three hundred plus former members of the Settle commune now hidden in a row of houses one row back from the bridge leading into Chester Castle.

It also triggered the mother and son still in their room just down from the Crown Court landing. The frail child, who just two days ago was so very close to death, burst from the room with the speed and strength of someone many times his size to slam into the closest person. Biting into his hand as his mother surged past to take another one down.

And it also triggered Daudi, Demi, and the bodybuilder (formerly known as Barry, now known as Erica), and the others of the dirty dozen to floor the minibus with faces becoming instantly hard.

Even the puppy growled.

‘Get her out!’ Smythe orders as Coldarse hefts Cassie over his shoulder. ‘Execute the men. Leave the kid.’

Orders given. Orders that will be complied with, and just as Scotty Jones and one other turn and make ready to put rounds into Alain and Gregori, so the world seems to explode at Chester Castle with more than three hundred infected sprinting flat out towards the bridge. Screeching and howling with animalistic, protective fury because their queen is down.

‘CONTACT! CONTACT! CONTACT! INFECTED INCOMING!’

Shouts over the radio. Gunfire in the air from the support units on the other side of the bridge putting rounds in, but it’s not fast enough, and the three hundred slam into them.

An instinct inside. An inherent genetic knowledge within every host that these soldiers are already infected and can’t be brought into the one true race, and so they don’t bite or scratch to pass what they have. They attack to kill. Tearing throats out and gauging eyes.

‘EXFIL!’ Smythe shouts with his entire team bursting to run for the corridor. The soldiers instantly forgetting about Gregori and Alain as they run behind their squad. Along the corridor for a brief pause at the door. ‘Support, this is Smythe, I want a sitrep.’

‘They’re fucking everywhere!’

A broken transmission almost lost amidst the gunfire and shouts.

‘That bridge is the only way out,’ Smythe tells the others. ‘We’ll have to fight across. Stay calm and remember they can’t infect us. Move out!’

They set off across the central open area through the crowds of people screaming in blind panic. People pouring from the Crown Court building. Slamming and tripping into others. Bedlam and chaos in all directions.

More internal security guards running into the area with weapons, shouting in alarm at seeing armed squads while others scream warnings at seeing the first infected coming from the Crown Court building. The mother and the son. A guard tries to shoot them but only hits bystanders, and so the chaos increases tenfold with every passing second.

Smythe runs his unit through the cobblestone lane just as the first infected breach the end of the bridge and get through the inner wall. ‘Get cover!’ he shouts, leading them through the arch into the terrace of mews cottages, thinking to find a back way out or, in the worst-case scenario, find a defensive point to hold.

Scotty Jones in the rear. Glancing back to see the infected running faster than Olympic speed. Closing the distance fast. He drops to a knee. His team do the same, safety switches off. Rifles braced. Fingers on triggers. But the infected run past the arch and through the gate into the large central yard. Slamming through the crowd in panic. Heading for the last place they knew Cassie to be.

Smythe and his squad find a way to the bridge, going over a low point in the sloppily built wall and staring across to a scene of war and death. All the support soldiers down and killed. Bodies everywhere, but no infected.

Smythe leads them across the bridge as the harsh reality of this new world hits home. Thirty days spent in lockdown. Knowing about what was happening but not seeing it.

Now they do, and they can see the pandemic is real and zombies exist.

They run fast. Getting to their armoured Range Rovers to get an unconscious Cassie into a back seat. Then they’re in and loaded, and moving off. Turning left to get away from the epicentre.

Cassie with them.

Gregori, Alain, and the boy left slumped and unconscious in the yoga room as the three thousand refugees inside Chester Castle are hunted down and taken into the one true race.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Krye close to his face. Squeezing his jaw. ‘You are an ugly, little man, but you are my ugly, little man, Gregori.’

Gregori comes awake with a sudden, sharp intake of air. Surging up to his feet. His mind spinning. His brain unable to yet process what his eyes are seeing. A man in front of him. Dressed in black. Gregori attacks and flips the guy over his hip, taking him down hard and snatching the pistol free from the man’s holster.

‘No, Gregori!’ a female voice.

The tone and words unexpected enough to make Gregori hesitate before he can put a round through the man’s head. The woman rushes closer. He’s seen her before. She’s familiar. He blinks, still trying to wake up from the gas, and in that second, he knows he’s seen the woman naked in a picture.

Demi.

The drawing.

He glances around. Seeing the tall, Arabic-looking man, who he knows is called Daudi, aiming an assault rifle at him. A yap. A bark. A yellow puppy bounces over to clamber on the chest of the man Gregori took down.

The same puppy the boy drew in his pictures.

Gregori drops away. Landing on his backside. The pistol held loose in his hand to the side. A sudden worry inside, and he tries to scrabble up. ‘Boy!’

‘He’s safe,’ Demi says, pointing to a red-eyed woman cradling the sleeping child. The same woman Cassie turned when she saved the mother and son.

‘No!’ Gregori growls, lurching towards her. ‘No touch!’

‘Gregori!’ Demi says, reaching out for him.

‘NO TOUCH!’ Gregori shouts, turning fast to aim at Demi’s head. Then at Daudi and back to the mother holding the boy. More of them in the room. Dozens more in the corridor. All of them with red eyes. All of them the same. He lurches to the window with a jolt at seeing thousands of silent, unmoving figures standing in the rain. All of them staring at the building. All of them with red eyes.

Dusk outside. He was unconscious for hours.

But they didn’t kill him.

And they didn’t kill the boy either.

Or Alain, who groans and slowly sits up.

Words in Gregori’s head.

That thing. It’s inside us now. In me and in you, and in the boy.

A growl at his foot as the puppy attacks Gregori’s toes. His boots still off from doing yoga with Alain.

‘Cassie saved it,’ Demi says as Gregori looks up from the puppy to her. ‘She saw Howie burying it, and we dug it up.’

‘He bury puppy?’ Gregori asks. His mind in a complete tailspin, but of all the things going on, that seems excessively cruel, even to Gregori.

‘He thought it was dead,’ Demi says.

‘Cassie thinks Howie put his infection into it,’ a deep voice says as Gregori turns to acknowledge the speaker, then frowns, and looks again at the six-foot-five bodybuilder wearing a mini-skirt and bright pink crop top. ‘I’m Erica. Funny story, actually. Did you ever see Gladiators?’

‘Not now, Barry,’ Demi says, then winces. ‘Sorry!’

‘It’s Erica!’

‘I know! I said sorry. I’m still adjusting,’ Demi says.

‘What the fuck,’ Alain says, staring up as the puppy decides to launch a fresh attack and bounds rather wobblingly over to attack Alain’s bare feet instead. ‘Ow!’ Alain says, pulling his foot back.

‘They’re like needles,’ Demi says.

‘Where’s Cassie?’ Daudi asks. Deep. Alpha. In charge. Gregori glares at him. Daudi stares back. Like the others of the dirty dozen, he took weapons and kit from the fallen soldiers and now stands in combat black with a pistol holstered at his side and an assault rifle held ready in his hands.

All apart from Erica. Who also has a pistol and a rifle but, firstly, couldn’t find any clothes big enough, and secondly, would have refused to wear them anyway.

Gregori doesn’t reply. As is his way because people don’t question Gregori. It doesn’t work that way, and the air of menace seems to increase exponentially as he gathers his wits and gains his mind. His face dark and hard.

‘They said a fob, oui?’ Alain says, rubbing his face as he holds a hand out for Daudi to help him up. Who doesn’t move.

‘Don’t leave him hanging,’ Erica says and steps in to offer a big hand to pull the Frenchman to his feet.

‘Merci, and that is a very pink top, no? But they said fob, and they knew her name. They said Cassie. I hear this.’

Daudi glares at him as Alain once more rubs his face to try and wake up. ‘Is any water? I am so thirsty.’

A bottle gets passed over. Alain drinks deeply as Demi offers one to Gregori. ‘Hydrate,’ she says.

He downs the bottle, then moves to the boy, taking a knee to check for vitals. Detecting a strong pulse and seeing the boy is breathing freely. He taps the child’s cheek and lifts his eyelids, trying to wake him. The boy murmurs but stays asleep.

‘What was that they spray?’ Alain asks. ‘It smell like popcorn. I think Fentanyl based agent.’

Daudi looks at him again. ‘Military?’

‘Yes. Oui. Long time. Le Commando Hubert. You?’

‘Delta,’ Daudi says as Alain tuts and shrugs in a very French way. ‘What?’ Daudi asks.

‘Nothing.’

‘You shrugged.’

‘I am French.’

Daudi looks away.

‘And Delta are shit,’ Alain mutters.

Daudi ignores him. ‘Where’s Cassie?’ he asks Gregori again.

Gregori thinks back to when the men stormed in. He heard the word fob, and they used Cassie’s name. The same as Alain just said. But he has nothing more than that.

‘Did you kill all?’ Gregori asks, looking to Daudi, who nods, then shows a flicker of acceptance that he should have kept one alive. But then, he can’t control the horde like Cassie does. He is not the Control Point.

‘There were people here already infected,’ Demi says as Gregori looks to her. ‘Not soldiers in black like the people that took Cassie. They were already inside in normal clothes.’

Gregori remembers them. The people he saw of a military type. They were infected too, but they didn’t have red eyes. Gregori has no idea what that means. He has no idea what any of it means, and in that moment of pure clarity, he remembers how he felt when Cassie put her arms around him and what she said in his ear, and he accepts that his role in this life is to protect Cassie and the boy. Cassie knows what is going on, and Gregori refused to listen. Stupid, stubborn, pig-headed, ignorant fool. His face flushes dark, and his eyes blaze with anger that he made Cassie endure this shithole dump so he could pretend to be normal and take the boy to school.

And she was infected. She could have taken this whole place out, but she didn’t because Gregori made her promise not to make it bad.

He didn’t even ask about the pictures or the constant conversations about Howie and Reginald, and the other people the boy draws. The people in this room and the puppy.

The puppy that attacks his big toe again.

Gregori lets it.

Alain winces, thinking that must really hurt.

They all wince, thinking it must really hurt.

But pain to Gregori doesn’t work in the way it does on others.

Pain is all he has ever known, and right now, he deserves it, and so he simply stares down at the puppy launching his ferocious assault.

‘We just have to wait,’ Demi says, breaking into his thoughts as he looks up at her. ‘For Cassie to wake up. Then she’ll tell us where she is.’

‘How?’ Alain asks.

Demi looks at him, then back to Gregori. All of them were nervous about Gregori waking up. They all know what this man can do, and Cassie told them Gregori was refusing to acknowledge anything about her links to the infection.

‘Is in heads,’ Gregori says quietly and watches the puppy grow tired and slump asleep over his foot. ‘Cassie say this. Inside her. Inside boy. Inside me.’

‘We have a hive mind,’ Demi says as Alain widens his eyes. ‘Cassie thinks what we have was meant to be the panacea, but it’s mutated. That’s how different factions are forming, and Cassie said it was released on purpose, and she’s worried that whoever released it will have control over something that can kill what we are and the boy.’

Words in Gregori’s mind again. Cassie’s head next to his. Her words in his ear.

This is bigger than us. We can’t hide from it anymore. We have to protect what we are now. What the boy is.

‘Oh,’ Alain says mildly. Thinking he would react with greater shock, but then he had a very hectic career in the military and has travelled the world, and on top of that, the last month has been weird as fuck, and so the shock just isn’t there. ‘So, we wait for Cassie?’

Demi nods.

The others stay silent.

‘And then?’ Alain asks.

‘Then we go and get her,’ Daudi says.

‘Ah. Oui. I see. And you all have this thing inside, yes? The infection which is the panacea? Okay. Groovy. You have convinced me. Say no more. You need an experienced Commando to lead, no? Go ahead. Give it to me! Bite me!’

‘We don’t need to bite you. We’re not vampires,’ Demi says. ‘It passes from a kiss.’

‘A kiss, you say,’ Alain says with a devilish grin. ‘Well, mademoiselle, then I will take your kiss.’

‘Wow. Your accent just went very French,’ Demi says as Alain winks at her. ‘And we already did.’

‘You already did?’ Alain asks as Gregori leans over to clock Alain’s red, bloodshot eyes. ‘Oh. You kiss me already, oui? I was a sleeping beauty, and you were my princess,’ Alain adds with another smile at Demi.

‘Er, well, yeah, you were kissed. But not by me,’ Demi says as Alain’s eyes widen, and he looks up at the smiling form of Erica.

‘I’m your princess, sweetie.’

Cassie doesn’t wake with a surge of adrenaline like Gregori did.

She wakes slowly. Blinking and groaning, and rubbing her head. Trying to remember where she is.

Softness beneath her. Blankets over her. Her mind tells her she’s in the cottage.

She rolls onto her side. Thinking to cuddle Gregori and go back to sleep, but he’s not there, and the smell is wrong. The sheets don’t feel the same, and the mattress is harder.

It brings forth a sense of awful confusion that makes her sit up, squinting and trying to open her eyes.

White walls. White sheets. Medical equipment. A cable attached to her wrist, looped to a machine detecting her heart rate or pulse. She pulls the sticky pad off and gets to her feet, and only then realises she’s in a long medical gown with a creeping sense of horror.

Voices outside the door. People running. The door opens. People in black uniforms rush in, but they look like medical staff.

‘It’s okay. You’re safe,’ a Chinese woman says softly. A name tag marking her as a doctor.

‘Where am I?’

‘You’re in the medical bay. They brought you in so we could monitor you until the gas wore off. Let’s get you back to bed.’

‘No. Where am I? Where’s Gregori and the boy?’

‘I don’t know anything about that. I’m just here for your welfare.’

‘Get off me! Where am I? Where’s Gregori? Where’s the boy? What happened?’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Stop saying it’s okay! It’s not fucking okay!’

‘Nurse, can you get Captain Smythe please. Miss Appleton, please just sit down.’

‘How do you know my name? Who are you?’

‘I’m Linda. I’m a doctor. There he is. This is Captain Smythe. He’s the base Commanding Officer, and the other person is Michelle. She’s the head of human resources and the second in command.’

‘Miss Appleton!’ Michelle says with an expression of great concern and worry. Middle-aged. Dark haired. Dressed in smart, black trousers and a blouse. An emblem on the front. An orange and black circle within a triangle within a circle. Words underneath. New World Order. The same emblem on the medical staff. The same on Captain Smythe’s black top. But it’s too much for Cassie to take in, and she blinks stupidly.

‘Oh, you poor thing!’

‘Where’s Gregori?’

‘Gregory? Was he one of the kidnappers?’ Captain Smythe asks as Cassie stares at him, having forgotten she’d even been kidnapped.

‘No! He saved me from them. Where is he? Where’s the boy?’

‘Aw, honey,’ Michelle says with a look of such fake care it makes Cassie want to kick her in the fanny. ‘Shall we get you back to bed and then chat in the morning? Yeah? Maybe a nice sedative? Yeah? Then in the morning, you can have a lovely shower in one of our luxury bathrooms and some breakfast, yeah? Fresh strawberries and pastries. Fresh coffee. Get you some new clothes?’

‘What are you jabbering on about?’

Michelle frowns at the harsh response, having been told Cassie Appleton was a demanding, entitled, spoilt bitch that was only ever happy when she was being pampered, but more importantly, she was also the daughter of the Head Chair Alistair Appleton, who is now the most important person in the entire country. ‘Aw, I know it’s confusing,’ Michelle says, thinking to just keep going.

‘Are you some kind of retard? Where am I!?’

‘Er. Okay. We don’t use that word, Miss Appleton. It’s actually super offensive.’

‘Shut up! Where am I?’ Cassie asks, looking to Captain Smythe as she blinks past him to another man just outside the door and frowns in recognition. ‘Jesus. I know you. You worked for my dad… They called you Coldbum or something.’

‘Coldarse, ma’am,’ Marcus says.

‘Why are you here? What’s going on?’

‘We lost a lot of good people trying to get you out,’ Captain Smythe says as Cassie’s fogged mind struggles to keep up. She thinks to lash out and shout abuse and insults, but she isn’t the Cassie she once was, and instead, for once, she tries to think her way through it. Forcing composure into her mind, and more importantly, into her voice.

‘Alright. Okay. Sorry. I was taken aback at waking up here. I just remember being grabbed and someone spraying something at me.’

‘That’s a…er,’ Captain Smythe starts to say and shares a look with Coldarse, who shrugs and shows confusion at Cassie’s sudden change from the woman he knew to someone speaking calmly and politely. ‘It’s a special spray that was developed for the NWO. It doesn’t cause any lasting damage.’

‘Okay. I mean, I’m not a doctor,’ Cassie says. ‘But I’m not sure anything powerful enough to render someone instantly and entirely unconscious doesn’t have any lasting side-effects.’

‘Well. Our bodies repair better now, don’t they,’ Smythe says. ‘You know. Because of what we have. She does have it, doesn’t she, Michelle?’

‘Yes. I can confirm that Miss Cassie Appleton was immunised in advance, along with the families of the other VIPs.’

‘Guys. We’ve been over this so many times,’ the doctor says with a tone of frustration. ‘They weren’t immunised. You can’t immunise against a panacea. They were given a preparatory strain.’

‘Er. I mean. As Miss Appleton just said. I’m not a doctor, but isn’t that what a vaccine does?’ Michelle asks.

‘I am a doctor, and no, it bloody isn’t.’

‘Vaccines contain an inert or weakened part of an organism,’ Cassie says while rubbing her face to try and wake up. ‘Although some newer ones were able to trick the body into producing antigens without the need to use the actual virus. My head. I feel drunk. Oh, shit. Please don’t tell me you sprayed the boy with it.’

‘The boy? Do you mean the child?’ Captain Smythe asks. ‘He was your kidnapper’s son? Is that right? And it is perfectly understandable that you would have formed a bond with the people that took you-.’

‘I know what Stockholm Syndrome is. And again, he was not my kidnapper. He saved me from the kidnappers, and the child is an orphan we’ve been taking care of. Where are they? Is that spray safe on children? But then he’s inf…’ she stops herself from finishing the words as the others, once more, share confused glances. ‘Okay. Er. Yeah. So, where are they?’ she asks.

‘Cassie. Sorry. Miss Appleton,’ Michelle says in that soft whine while still pulling a sad expression.

‘Can you tell her to fuck off,’ Cassie says, refusing to look at the woman. ‘Where are they?’ she asks Smythe.

‘Miss Appleton-.’

‘WHERE?’

‘Our orders were to secure you,’ Captain Smythe says, reverting to the standard military response of passing responsibility up the chain. ‘We were not informed to bring anyone else in.’

‘So you gassed them and left them?’ Cassie asks.

‘Yes. That is correct,’ Captain Smythe says, thinking not to mention the big zombie attack that happened as they left Chester Castle.

‘Aw, but the zombies attacked Chester Castle as they were bringing you out,’ Michelle adds, being a typical human resources manager that has a complete inability to read the room or detect nuance. Smythe winces. Coldarse does the same. Waiting for Cassie to launch into a tirade.

Except she doesn’t.

Because Cassie knows the zombies in question would have been the three hundred from Settle running in to protect her and the boy, and without her being present, they would stay with the boy. The only problem now is that Gregori will wake up surrounded by infected and go apeshit, and try to kill them all. And Daudi and Demi, and the dirty dozen are probably with him by now too.

‘Okay. I understand,’ Cassie says softly, exhaling in a way that makes her look woozy. ‘That’s a lot to process. May I have a moment please. A moment alone.’

‘Yes. Good idea,’ the doctor says, nodding at the others to leave.

‘And I’ll make contact with CS and put the call in,’ Michelle says in that other HR way of assuming that everyone else speaks and understands internal gibberish, and knows what the hell they are going on about.

Cassie doesn’t pick up on it. Such is her instant worry about Gregori slaughtering the horde. She sits on the bed, waiting for the others to leave and close the door, and only then closes her eyes.

‘Gregori!’ Gwendoline speaks out in the yoga room, her head snapping up as she spots Gregori on his feet and rushes towards him as he steps back into a fighting stance.

‘It’s Cassie!’ Demi says as the host stops and seems to realise she isn’t Cassie. ‘Cassie’s inside the host.’

Gregori scowls. Not quite grasping it.

‘It’s me,’ Cassie says (Gwendoline says), patting her own chest. ‘Where’s the boy?’

‘He’s okay,’ Demi says as the host turns to see the mother she turned holding the boy. Her own son nearby, watching passively. Gwendoline rushes over, dropping to knee to check the boy. ‘He’s breathing, and his heart is strong,’ Demi says.

‘Where are you?’ Daudi asks.

‘I don’t know,’ the host says, getting to her feet to look at Gregori again. ‘Listen to me. I need you to listen.’

‘Is Cassie?’

‘Yes! It’s me. Er, we went to the zoo and saw the monkeys all kissing? And I kicked off because it was literally gross what they were doing, and we didn’t see the penguins, and you got cross, so then we got the fire engine. It’s me.’

‘Where?’ Gregori asks, scowling in that way he does when he doesn’t understand something.

‘I don’t know where I am. But you need to remember what I said. These are our people now.’

Gregori nods once. ‘Where? I come.’

‘I don’t know,’ Cassie says. ‘I literally just woke up. It’s a base or something. I’m in a medical room, but they’ve got soldiers and doctors, and even a human resources manager. One of them worked for my father, though. I literally don’t know anything, but they said I was immunised or vaccinated or… No, they said it was a preparatory strain. My head, though. I can’t think.’

‘Your father?’ Alain asks as Cassie’s host blinks at him, not seeing the red eyes in the dark room.

‘We took him,’ Demi says. ‘Well. Barry did. Erica! Yes, I know! I’m sorry! I meant Erica. Don’t pout. I’m not doing it on purpose.’

‘Where?’ Gregori asks again. Not wishing to hear jokes and stupid comments right now. Wishing only to kill every single one of the people that took Cassie and sprayed gas into the boy’s face. All of them and everyone that ever knew them. All of their families and friends. All of them will die.

‘I’ll find out,’ Cassie says. ‘I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. And I’m okay. I’m safe. So don’t panic or do anything. I’ll make them tell me where I am and what’s going on.’

‘But you do this carefully, no?’ Alain says, making them all look at him again. ‘You are behind enemy lines. You are the spy now. Maybe they don’t know who you are.’

‘I didn’t think about that,’ Cassie says. ‘My brain isn’t clear yet.’

‘No. I feel this. From the gas,’ Alain says. ‘It smell like popcorn. I think is Fentanyl-based chemical agent. Is very dangerous to use something like this.’

‘But then if they knew I was infected,’ Cassie says while trying to think but struggling to grasp one clear line of thought. ‘Maybe they knew it wouldn’t hurt me long term, but they didn’t know Gregori and the boy were infected. They could have killed them.’

‘And me,’ Alain says.

‘Your heart was very weak,’ Demi tells him. ‘Until Bar… Erica kissed you. Oh, fuck off! I corrected myself.’

‘Sleep. Recover,’ Daudi says. Cutting in with a blunt tone. ‘We will hold position here and await update.’

‘I will order the team to wait here,’ Alain says right after him as they share looks. ‘Americans are not always in charge, my friend.’

‘I thought Demi was in charge,’ Erica says.

‘I thought it was Daudi,’ Demi says as they all look to Cassie’s host.

‘Right. Er, blimey. I guess… I mean, in my head, I thought Daudi was like the military boss, and Demi was like the team boss. Does that make sense? Like Demi is our Paula?’

‘I don’t know what any of this means,’ Alain says.

‘I do,’ Daudi tells him with a hint of smugness.

‘We’ll be fine,’ Demi says. ‘Just be careful.’

Cassie’s host nods; then it’s like she switches off, and it’s only when the young woman becomes almost inert with her head down that Gregori realises how much she was emulating Cassie. Using her mannerisms and expressions. Like a skilled mimic. He also heard the way they all talked to each other, which told him they’ve been speaking for a while.

He thinks back to the night he caught Cassie in the garden talking to the thing inside of the boy and how he dragged her onto the lawn and hosed her down. Shame hits him hard. Giving him a rare sense of self-loathing. She even stayed with him after that.

He thinks to say sorry, but she’s not here now, and even he can’t fully think straight.

He pulls his boots on and fastens the laces, then pulls his waterproof coat on.

‘We got you some kit, Gregori,’ Demi says, indicating a pile of clothes, kit, and weapons.

‘I am not soldier,’ Gregori says, taking a holster from a belt to fasten to his own and spare pistol mags, but nothing else. ‘Is dead soldiers?’ He looks to Daudi, waiting for a response.

‘Other side of the bridge,’ Daudi says.

‘Stay. Protect boy,’ Gregori says, heading for the door.

‘Wait, my brother,’ Alain calls, tugging the boots on, then cursing at them being too small, and finding his sandals. He grabs a tac-vest and rifle before rushing for the door. ‘Protect the boy,’ he calls and rushes out.

‘We already are!’ Daudi calls. ‘Fucking French,’ he mutters.

‘Fuck the yanks!’ Alain shouts in the corridor, running outside to catch up with Gregori striding through the lashing rain. Alain blinking in surprise at the way the infected move aside to let them pass but stay otherwise silent. ‘Where are we going, my brother?’

Gregori doesn’t reply. He walks out through the gate. Seeing two dead guards but knowing them to be internal castle security. Then down along the cobbled lane and out through the wall, and onto the bridge. Two more dead guards. Both internal.

Gregori bends to pull a flashlight from the pocket of one and walks onto the bridge proper, and spots the first dead soldier.

One of the invading ones, dressed in black. Good boots. High-end kit. Expensive stuff. Gregori pushes his fingers to the man’s neck and shines the light into the man’s dead eyes. Nothing. He checks the pockets. Searching for anything.

‘Ah. Oui,’ Alain says, finding another flashlight, and he heads to the next body. ‘Doing the same to check for signs of life before searching the clothing.

They work along the bridge. In the dark and in the rain. Alain in sandals, and his loose-fitting, now sodden, white shirt under the pilfered tac-vest. Gregori in simple outdoor clothing.

They work from body to body. Fingers to necks. Lights shined in dead eyes. Checking pockets. All of them empty, other than sticks of gum. Vapes and a few packets of cigarettes.

‘I think maybe this one,’ Alain calls at the base of the bridge on the far side, kneeling next to a young woman in black combat clothing. ‘Her eyes, they go small from the light.’

Gregori drops to her side. Fingers to neck. Maybe a faint pulse. He waits a moment, then checks her eyes. Seeing the same as Alain and what could be a slight change in her pupils.

‘Wait,’ Alain says and runs onto the bridge to an infected host with a pair of reading glasses still perched on his head. ‘Merci,’ he says, plucking them free and running back to hold one of the lenses up to the nose of the female soldier. Seeing the glass mist as she exhales softly. ‘Oui! She is alive.’

Gregori grunts and grabs a fistful of her front to lift her up in one smooth motion to get her over his shoulder. Then he sets off back over the bridge. Back across the big yard and back into the block to put her down in the yoga room. Gently. Carefully. Almost tenderly.

Then he walks off to the pile of kit Demi stacked on the floor and finds a knife in a sheath. He walks back and takes a knee, and stares down at the fine features of the female soldier. A gaping wound to her neck. A lot of blood lost.

But this infection.

It changes things.

It keeps people alive when they shouldn’t be.

Cassie said this thing was released on purpose.

And so, it stands to reason the people releasing it would give it to their own soldiers first.

Gregori doesn’t understand a lot of what’s happening, but he understands the human body in a way very few people do.

Especially when it comes to pain.

And how to inflict it.

He positions the point of the knife while everyone else watches on. Then he simply leans into it. Driving the tip into the woman’s shoulder. Straight into the axillary nerve, causing her untold, agonising pain.

Pain enough that it’ll be felt even when she’s unconscious.

She gasps.

She opens her eyes.

She screams.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Day Thirty-Three

Cassie doesn’t sleep.

She drinks water and breathes deeply. Urging the infection within her to rid her body of the gas.

That the beast doesn’t speak to her anymore does not go unnoticed.

Cassie knows they are now so merged that it’s no longer a separate entity within her.

She is it.

It is her.

The one true race.

She remembers what Alain said about being behind enemy lines. She is a spy. She must be careful.

‘How are you feeling?’ one of the nurses asks, walking in with an expression of great care and worry. Michelle the HR woman had the same thing. They’re all being like it.

‘Better,’ Cassie says. ‘Thank you,’ she adds as the woman shoots her a quizzical look. ‘Would it be okay to ask for a coffee?’ Cassie asks.

‘I should think we can manage that,’ the nurse says and comes closer to check Cassie’s pulse, and rests a hand on her forehead. ‘Any pain or discomfort?’

‘None at all. Just a bit woozy, but that’s going. What’s your name?’

‘Evelyn.’

‘That’s a nice name. I’m Cassie.’

‘We know,’ Evelyn says with a smile. ‘I don’t mean anything by that, Miss Appleton. I just meant we are aware of, er…’

‘It’s fine,’ Cassie says. Detecting the nuance and sudden flare of worry. She remembers Coldarse and figures he told them all she is a complete bitch. ‘I think perhaps this month has matured me somewhat,’ Cassie says.

‘Must have been awful,’ the nurse says.

‘At times. Yes,’ Cassie says, thinking of the fun and pleasure she’s had. Chasing the boy and playing games. Spending time doing nothing at all. Making love to Gregori. ‘Awful, really.’

‘Well. You’re safe now, and Michelle’s putting the call in to CS.’

‘CS?’

‘Command Structure.’

‘What’s that? I’m so confused. Where is this place? Who are you all?’

‘Well. Let’s just say I’m sure your father will explain it all. I’ll get you that coffee.’

The nurse heads out, leaving Cassie staring after her.

Thinking about her father.

Alistair Appleton.

A surge inside of intense, burning hatred.

The door opens. Michelle and Captain Smythe walk in. Cassie swallows the rage and offers a smile.

‘Miss Appleton, we’re just getting you a wheelchair, and we’ll take you to the conference room,’ Michelle says.

‘I can walk,’ Cassie says, getting off the bed.

‘Doctor’s orders,’ Michelle says in that intensely irritating way that makes Cassie feel another surge of violence while her common sense suggests they’re all being overly nice because of who her father is.

‘I said I can walk,’ Cassie says, ignoring the woman to look at Captain Smythe. ‘Am I following you?’

Smythe nods while also struggling with Cassie Appleton not being the entitled bitch they were told to expect. He leads her out and along a corridor, into a conference room. Smart. High-end. A big table in the middle of the room. Soft lights on dimmers. A big flat screen on the wall showing a slim, obnoxious, middle-aged man, who smiles as though his whole world just suddenly became brighter at the sight of Cassie.

‘Cassie! My god! So good to see you.’

‘Carmichael?’ Cassie says with a nod to her father’s private secretary looking as smarmy as ever in a smart, black shirt. Her mind and brain becoming more awake and alert with each passing minute. ‘Where are you? Is my father there?’

‘Please, Miss Appleton. Would you like a seat?’ Michelle asks, guiding her to a comfortable office chair as someone else brings a freshly made coffee in for her.

‘Cassie. You have to know we did everything we could to secure your release from that terrible, terrible kidnapping.’

‘Where’s my father? What is all this?’

‘He’s rushing to us right now, and let me tell you this, Cassie. I have never seen your father so absolutely relieved at knowing you were safe and well.’

‘Awesome. Where is he, then?’

‘I’m sure he will be right with us! God. But it is so good to see you, Cassie. So good.’

‘You couldn’t stand me, you smarmy prick,’ Cassie snaps with a wince at being unable to hold the growing rage down. She needs to be calm and compliant, and passive. ‘I don’t actually blame you,’ she adds quickly. ‘I was a complete bitch. But whatever. Where’s Alistair? Tell him to stop snorting coke from whatever sex worker he’s hired and-.’

‘Cassie! My love!’ her father’s voice coming closer. ‘Be right with you! Need a widdle.’

‘Are you joking?’ Cassie snaps.

‘I’m in my sixties, Cassie darling! I don’t have the bladder I once did. Although obviously I don’t look a day over fifty,’ he calls as the sound of a door closing cuts them off, leaving her and Carmichael in an awkward silence.

‘But honestly. So good to see you,’ he says.

‘Right! There we go. You can shoo, Carmichael. I want to see my darling daughter. And there she is! My precious!’

‘Alright, Gollum,’ Cassie says as Smythe snorts a laugh, then coughs into his hand as the Head Chair Alistair Appleton comes into view.

A dashing, handsome man with strong features and the same shade of hair as Cassie. Light brown with a hint of natural red. A black sports top like he’s ready for the gym. An emblem on the front. An orange and black circle within a triangle within a circle.

Words beneath. New World Order.

‘You’ve lost weight!’ Alistair says. ‘You look great, Cassie. Really suits you.’

‘Thanks for the shallow endorsement. But hey, so how was the kidnapping, Cassie? How did you get free? Did they hurt you? How’s your zombie fucking apocalypse been so far while I’ve been shacked up in a mysterious military base? What the fuck! What the actual fuck!’

Even Alistair blinks at the change in her. Caught out by the lack of whine and self-victimisation.

‘Where are you?’ Cassie asks.

‘Well. Let’s just say-.’

‘No let’s not just say anything. Just answer a straight question. Where am I? Where are you? What is all of this?’

‘Cassie! Cassie! Cassie! I am trying to help you and explain if you’ll just let me speak. I can see you are distressed and emotional right now.’

‘Jesus,’ Cassie says, finding it hard to suppress the rage inside. Fighting to swallow it down and stay calm, and be a spy like Alain said while her instinct is to be the exact opposite.

‘But listen. So good to see you’re alright, Cassie.’

‘How do you know I’m alright? You haven’t even asked what I went through?’

‘Sure. I understand. Well. We’ll have plenty of time for that when you get here, and we’ve got some great shrinks to help you with whatever trauma you faced. But just know we have all suffered for the NWO. We have all sacrificed.’

‘What’s the NWO’

‘New World Order. But don’t get bogged down in the detail. I know you’re not interested in boring old politics and economics. Suffice to say, you will love it here! I can promise you that. We’ve got tennis courts. You love your tennis.’

‘I hate tennis! I didn’t even like going to Wimbledon. I only did it because you gave me free tickets for the VIP box. Hang on. You’ve got a tennis court?’

‘Oh, yes. I’m booked in for an early match actually, so can’t stay for long. But we’ve got badminton. Full health club. Saunas. Steam rooms. And I’ll make sure you get one of the best suites in the upper VIP section.’

‘Stop. Slow down. Where are you?’

‘I just said, Cassie. See, you’re just not good with details. I’m in the Command Structure.’

‘What is that?’ she asks while ignoring both the rage and her father’s patronising tone.

Alistair huffs lightly with a roll of his eyes, as though only doing this to humour his daughter. ‘Let’s just say it is a large underground complex that was originally a cold war nuclear bunker, but it was requisitioned for the NWO, the New World Order, and adapted into a luxurious base to house the VIPs and dignitaries, who will be instrumental in running things. And it’s actually rather marvellous, and let me say this. I don’t think any of us are in a rush to get topside! We’ve got these wonderful sunlight lamps, and honestly, you wouldn’t know we are underground at all. There are plants everywhere. We’ve even got a park with trees.’

Cassie forces the mindless gibberish out and focuses on the key points.

Command Structure. Cold war nuclear bunker. New World Order. VIPs. Dignitaries.

‘And where am I?’ she asks calmly, despite the emotional surges inside.

‘Ah. Haven’t they said? Really, Michelle?’

‘Head Chair! I am so sorry. We were told not to impart anything.’

‘Head Chair?’ Cassie asks. ‘What’s that?’

‘That’s me, darling. Think of it like the PM or more like a president and a king all rolled into one. But we’re doing away with the old words and all that faff. I’m the Head Chair, and you are in, er, what FOB is she in?’

‘NWFOB, Sir,’ Captain Smythe calls.

‘Ah, that’s the one.’

‘What is that?’ Cassie asks, looking to Captain Smythe. ‘New World fob?’

‘No. It’s the North West Forward Operating Base,’ he says, seeing the intelligence in her eyes as she processes it all. ‘We’ve got several regional bases just like this one. Each holds a number of soldiers and personnel, and then we’ve got Operational HQ, and then the Command Structure, where your father is. And as the Head Chair just said, that’s used to house the VIPs and dignitaries, and the experts the NWO will need to get things going again. The CS, the Command Structure, is our most secure site.’

Cassie nods as she looks back to her father.

‘Glad that’s all explained! Right. So, I’ll see you when you get here.’

‘Wait. Please,’ Cassis says in such a natural tone that it stills even her father. ‘Hang on. This is… I’m struggling to take this in. So, this was planned? This outbreak thing? This was planned, and you all knew? They said I was given a preparatory strain. What does that mean?’

‘Cassie, my dearest. I do adore you, my poppet, but you’ve never been one to worry about how things work, and I do have to dash.’

‘You can’t spare five minutes? You are my father, and I have absolutely no idea what this is all means. I’m sure your worship can grant me an audience, can’t you?’

Alistair’s head pulls back in show of reaction to his daughter’s calmer manner. While also remembering there are others in the room with her, who will no doubt tell everyone he brushed his daughter off. ‘Of course, my darling. I was merely worried that you needed more rest after your terrible ordeal.’

‘He’s saying that for your benefit,’ Cassie says with a glance to Michelle and Smythe. ‘Please, Alistair. Just explain what this is.’

‘Alistair now, is it?’ Alistair asks with a look. ‘Suffice to say. Yes, it was planned, and yes, I was chosen to head up the UK side of things in the New World Order. I mean. How good is that, eh? Your old man in charge! But it is a team effort. Great team. Headed by me.’

Cassie holds a hand up to cut him off. ‘This was planned? You released this virus on purpose? I don’t get it. The things… They’re killing everyone. What for?’

‘Ah, yes. Yes. The unpleasant part,’ Alistair says with a mild grimace. ‘Well, listen, I do have that tennis match booked. But no! I can see you are distressed, and Michelle will tell everyone I’m a bad father if I don’t give you five minutes. Do you remember Dougie Donegal? Professor. We’d have him over sometimes.’

‘You had a lot of people over.’

‘Loud. Scottish. Incredible scientist. Immunologist. No? Not ringing any bells?’

‘What about him?’

‘What about him!’ Alistair says with a laugh. ‘He bloody made it! Well. No. Dougie Donegal found something and reached out to a fellow professor Billy Hussein. Bilal, I think his proper name is. Another immunologist anyway. And they tweaked it and what-not. Not fully sure I grasp it myself. But well, basically in nutshell, in layman’s terms. Sorry! Layperson.’

‘Spit it out!’ Cassie snaps.

‘And if you’ll allow me time to finish the question.’

‘I’m not an anchor on TV. Donegal. Hussein. They developed it. I’ve got that. And then?’

‘Well, Dougie reached out to me, didn’t he? Having realised they’d pretty much developed the panacea. And being the compassionate, dedicated political leader that I am, I reached out to, well, let’s just say, my political allies across the world, who shared my own standards and principles.’

‘Self-service. Corruption. Greed. Carry on.’

‘I think that gas has done something to you, Cassie. But suffice to say, we formed a group. Called the New World Order, and we gained funding to hold a very secret research programme to really and fully grasp what this thing would do if we released it into the world. And it was during that research that a very clever chap called Doctor Neal Barrett, statistician, actually. Very respected. Well. Alarmingly, Barrett determined that if the panacea were to be released, it would result in Armageddon.’

‘It is Armageddon,’ Cassie cuts in.

‘Yes. Quite. But for them. Not us, darling’ Alistair says with a show of his brutal nature beneath his charm and educated manner. ‘We call it the cull. You know. Reduce the population and, well, pretty much get rid of the dead wood, and then we’ll gather the rest and herd them into the safe zones we’ll set up, for their own welfare, of course, and then, well, yes, then we shall all live in utopia.’

‘What if they don’t want to be herded?’

‘Why wouldn’t they? They’ll have everything they need. Food. Good houses. Amazing houses! And we’ll have the panacea, so if they get sick, we can cure them.’

‘You’re not releasing it then?’ Cassie asks.

‘Why on earth would we do that!’ Alistair asks with a laugh. ‘You don’t keep control by releasing the thing that gives you that control, Cassie.’

Cassie widens her eyes. Figuring she was spot on with most of what she thought. But new questions form. More and more, and many more.

‘Listen. I really must dash.’

‘Just hang on! Let me process this. The preparatory strain?’

‘Cassie. I’m playing Gudipta Patel, who really doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Do you remember Gudipta? She’ll be thrilled to know you are safe and well.’

‘The preparatory strain. What was that?’

‘Right! Yes. I must say, this last month has chipped some of the spoilt bitch out of you. Wish I’d done it a long time ago.’

‘Stop gabbling. You knew this was coming and gave me what? Some form of it in advance?’

‘Yes. We vaccinated you.’

Cassie pauses, thinking it’s not a vaccine she was given. Which in turn suggests her father, as ever, doesn’t really know what he’s talking about.

‘So I was infected early, then? How?’

‘In December. Key personnel, those being instrumental to things being set up. We were all given a spray to use on our loved ones. And I am glad it worked on you, Cassie. Carmichael was very careful to make sure he kept some back for you.’

‘You didn’t even do it yourself?’

‘My darling, by that time I was the minister for the treasury and the securities minister, I was pretty much running the whole blasted thing. In secret!’

Cassie nods. Conceding that point. ‘But you said it like there was a chance it wouldn’t work.’

‘I really wouldn’t have put you down for detailed questions like this, Cassie. But yes. There was a risk. All things have risk. We know a few didn’t take to it or it didn’t take to them. But these are the sacrifices we have all had to make for the New World Order, Cassie. We are at a turning point in civilisation. We are creating a new species of super humans that won’t ever get sick or die from disease. We’ll eat less. Use less. The planet can heal and-.’

‘In these safe zones. With the slaves. What about the infected? The things out there now?’

‘The zombies? What about them?’

‘I think Miss Appleton might be asking what are we going to do about them,’ Captain Smythe says. ‘Miss Appleton is now aware that Chester Castle was attacked by the infected just as we were extracting her. Which caused the loss of a substantial number of my troops.’

‘Yes. Very sad. Thoughts and prayers. But don’t you worry, Cassie. They can’t get you now. You’re safe behind big walls, and we’ll get you into Command Structure very soon. Maybe a month as I think we are extending the lockdowns as a result of the intelligence gained at Chester Castle that the buggers are still going strong. But don’t worry, Cassie. Each FOB has plenty of resources and rousing activities.’

‘And if they keep going strong?’ Cassie asks.

‘You mean long term? I really do have to dash, but another moment for my favourite daughter and her new-found spirit of taking an interest in something other than shopping. Cassie? Are you alright? You zoned out.’

‘I’m fine. I was thinking about what you said. So the long term?’

‘The boffins have got it all worked out. We’ll sit tight for another month or two if we need. We all have plenty of supplies. Then we’ll reassess. They will die off. They’re all mindless beasts that don’t eat or drink, so they can’t last for that long, can they? And if we must, then once we’ve got the safe zones secured and enough people in them, we’ll put the kill switch out.’

Cassie’s face hardens. Her eyes locking onto her father as her focus sharpens.

‘Kill switch?’

‘Wipes them all out. Complete annihilation of anything carrying the panacea, but they said they’d rather wait as releasing the kill switch would impact heavily on the numbers left for us to get into the safe zones. Mind you, with that all said, they’re still tinkering with it and coming up with tricks. That’s how they made that knock-out popcorn gas they used on you. Harmless to us in the long-term. Anyway, anyway, anyway! Gudipta awaits, and she’s got a killer backhand! Don’t worry, Cassie! The zombie things can’t last. Another month, and they’ll be dead, I should think. But I will admit that we’re all rather enjoying our lockdowns. You will too, I’m sure. Must dash! Carmichael can fill you in. Carmichael! Schedule some time with Cassie, will you?’

‘Delighted, Sir,’ Carmichael says off screen.

Alistair kisses his hand and waves it at Cassie as she remembers doing the same to Gregori with a surge of self-hatred. Then he’s gone. Alistair Appleton. Head Chair of the UK division of the New World Order or whatever they’re calling it.

‘Cassie! Me again,’ Carmichael says as the screen goes blank, and the overhead lights flicker.

‘Oh, have we lost signal?’ Michelle asks as Cassie sits in silence. Drinking the coffee. ‘So sorry about that, Miss Appleton. We’ll get IT in to sort it out and try again later, and for the record, I wouldn’t ever dream of telling anyone that the Head Chair is a bad father. I absolutely adore your father. What a great man!’

‘Sorry? I wasn’t listening. Actually, can you go, please? I want to speak to him. What’s your name?’

‘Captain Smythe. Lawrence Smythe.’

‘I’m happy to stay and answer questions,’ Michelle says with a look of panic. ‘I mean. I am second in command.’

‘And I’m the daughter of the Head Chair,’ Cassie says, giving her a glare as Michelle leaves the room with a face like thunder. Leaving Cassie alone with Smythe.

‘Sit with me, Lawrence,’ Cassie says as he gives her an appraising look and sits down.

‘Was all that correct? What my father said?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re going to herd people together?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like slavery?’

‘Not at all. The cull is removing approximately 99% of the population, but the infrastructure will remain. Which we will put to use. And with a vastly reduced population, we can focus on the things that really matter. Education. Space exploration. Sciences.’

‘How the hell is that going to ever work?’

‘I’m just a Captain, Miss Appleton. I wouldn’t suggest for one second I know the finer details, and of course, it was released six months earlier than planned but-.’

‘Stop,’ she says, lifting a hand. ‘Why was that?’

‘I don’t have that information. Er, but may I speak openly, Miss Appleton?’

‘Yes. Please do. This will remain a private conversation.’

‘Thanks. And this room is soundproofed, so feel free to ask me anything. But I think it’s safe for me to say nobody actually knows why it was released early. I’m in regular contact with the colonel at HQ operations. She’s pretty much confirmed nobody has a clue why it came out early. It’s worldwide. We know it started in Eastern Europe or possibly the eastern edge of Western Europe; then we all got the call, and we rushed in and locked down, and here we are.’

‘Here we are,’ Cassie says.

‘And er, forgive me for saying, Miss Appleton. There was some suggestion that you were not at all like this.’

Cassie nods, half ignoring him for a moment before looking up and smiling. ‘People change, Lawrence. They mature and evolve, and realise the paths they had previously chosen were only ever causing them harm. But please. Let me ask you. The infection, the evolution of it? How are you dealing with that?’

‘I’m not sure I follow. Your father said we’ll go into lockdown again and wait for the zombies to die out naturally.’

‘They’re not zombies, Lawrence. They’re not dead, and this isn’t a TV show. They are infected with a parasitic virus that assumes control of their minds and bodies by burrowing into their brains. Why are you smiling?’

‘I’m sorry! Please forgive me, but you are not what I was expecting at all. This conversation. Wow. It’s very intelligent.’

‘Patronising, but thank you. The evolution?’

‘What evolution, Miss Appleton? Excuse me. Sorry. Is it okay to call you Cassie?’

‘You can call me a two-bit crackwhore for all I care. The infection. How are you going to deal with the evolving nature?’

He laughs again. Showing delight in what he takes to be flirtation while not seeing the hatred in her eyes. ‘I’m sure you’re not a whore, are you?’ he asks with a coy smile and a sudden image of dating the Head Chair’s daughter and getting transferred to the Command Structure, where he’ll be lauded as the hero that led the daring rescue mission to save the woman that would become his wife. Christ. They’d bump him up to Major for something like that. ‘Sorry. I’m not getting this whole evolution thing, Cassie. But, er, breakfast is being served very soon. Would you like to join me so we can talk more? I’m sure you’d love to get changed into something else. I can arrange some clothes to be brought for you, and of course, I shall make sure you have good quarters. The one next to mine is very good. Might need some bumping around, but I am sure Michelle will be happy to give her suite up for you.’

‘I eat very little now, Lawrence. And I need far less sleep. But tell me, am I given to think that the nature of sentience and self-awareness, and the hive mind nature, and the expanding evolution is not known?’ she asks with her own coy smile as she holds his eye contact.

‘I haven’t got a clue about any of that,’ Lawrence says as Cassie shifts a little to face him and open her legs a little. Wearing only the gown and showing her thighs, and smiling as he blinks and swallows in reaction to the sudden overt flirting. Delight in his eyes. An A-type personality that won’t be able to resist trying to bed someone like her.

‘And this kill switch,’ she says softly, lowering her hand to slowly draw her fingertip up from her knee to her thigh, slightly lifting the hem of the gown. ‘That’s real too?’

He nods and licks his lips. His eyes darting down to her thighs, then up to her playful eyes. ‘Kills anything carrying the infection. But, er, they’re making it so it’ll target certain strains.’

‘How do you know that? Where are the scientists? Are they in this Command Structure?’

He shakes his head this time. Entranced by her hand playing with the hem of her gown. ‘In Europe. We lost contact, though.’

‘Then how do you know they’re going to tweak it?’

‘Said from the start.’

‘Oh. I see. Well. That is all so interesting, Lawrence. And you are a very good Captain. But tell me,’ she asks as the hem rises a touch more, and she leans in a little closer. ‘What about Howie?’

He blinks in confusion at the same time as smiling. ‘Who’s Howie? Is that your lover?’

She laughs softly. Showing teeth. ‘Howie is my arch nemesis I am sworn to kill, Lawrence.’

He laughs too. As though this is all some wonderful game. ‘Come on. Let me take you to breakfast so we can keep talking.’

‘I would love to, but my boyfriend is on his way to get me,’ Cassie says as Lawrence laughs again.

‘He’s coming here, is he?’

‘Oh, yes. Hang on,’ she says and closes her eyes for a second before opening them again and smiling. ‘He’s here now.’

‘I see. Handsome man, is he?’

‘Um. Not conventionally handsome, no. But he’s very rugged, and he’s got this aura about him.’

‘You like rugged men, then, do you? Not the slick city boys. I see. I see. And just how did this rugged boyfriend find his way deep into the forest of Bowland?’

‘Quite easily.’

‘Quite easily! I love it! What a wonderful role play. He’s an amazing man, then, your boyfriend. And he just knew where we are, did he?’

‘No, silly! He tortured one of your soldiers until she told him. He cut her fingers off and then force fed one of her ears to her. Then he cut her tendons in her ankles and hamstrings, but by then, she was telling him exactly where you are. Or rather, where I am.’

‘Okay. This just got dark,’ Lawrence says with an amused frown, as though he’ll go along with it if it means he gets to bang the Head Chair’s daughter.

‘He is dark, Lawrence. Darker than anything you can ever imagine. Think of the very worst demon in your mind, and you are not even close. See, he was taken as a child and beaten, and tortured, and turned into a beast just so he can get into places like this and kill people like you. And right now, even I couldn’t tell him to stop because you harmed the only people he ever cared about. And you know what else?’ Cassie whispers as the smile fades, and the uncertainty shows on Smythe’s face, and the light changes on Cassie’s face from someone stepping in close behind Captain Lawrence Smythe.

Making his stomach twist.

Making his heart whump in his chest.

‘He’s already here,’ she whispers as the decapitated head of Marcus ‘Coldarse’ Winterbottom is dumped in Lawrence’s lap.

Smythe tries to shout and stand up, but the blade whispers across his throat, opening his flesh. He clutches at his neck, trying to stop the blood pouring out as the chair spins, and he blinks stupidly into the face of Gregori snarling with a rare show of rage.

A hand to his front, and he wrenches the captain from the chair across the room. Into the door. Lawrence grabs at the handle. Pulling it open with a brief suction from the soundproofing layers, and he stumbles out into a world of carnage as the three thousand hosts from Chester Castle surge through the base. Slaughtering everyone in their path. Screams and yells of agony and fear heard amidst the gunshots.

Smythe turns to stagger one direction but stops, still clutching his bleeding throat, at the sight of Demi holding Michelle’s head in her thickly muscled arms. Demi twists violently, snapping Michell’s neck as Lawrence turns to flee the other way and bounces off a six-foot-five bodybuilder in a pink top and mini-skirt. Erica grabs him and lifts the heavy captain with ease. Pressing him overhead like he weighs nothing at all. A roar sounds out. Big and deep, and full of rage; then Erica brings the captain down hard onto her bent knee. Breaking his back with a dull crack.

Lawrence gasps on the floor. Still alive. Still bleeding, and he blinks at the doorway to the conference room filling with the view of Cassie Appleton in her medical gown.

‘You will never touch one of mine again,’ Cassie says, taking the pistol from Gregori to aim down. ‘You have no idea what you released. We are the One True… What the hell! Did he just die? Is he dead? I was still giving my cool speech.’

‘Is too long,’ Gregori says. ‘I cut throat. Erica break back.’

‘Fine! Whatever,’ Cassie says, then shoots the dead captain anyway. And misses. With Erica and Demi thinking they’ll pretend they didn’t see it.

‘You miss head,’ Gregori says, being the blunt sort of chap he is.

‘Well, I’m not an Albanian serial killer, am I?’ Cassie says. ‘And I bloody said to wait! Don’t walk off, Gregory!’

‘I did tell him,’ Demi says.

‘We all tried to tell him,’ Erica adds. ‘He wouldn’t listen, though.’

‘He just wouldn’t listen,’ Demi says.

‘He never bloody listens,’ Cassie says.

‘I have to kill peoples,’ Gregori says.

Because he does.

Because Cassie was right.

Because they touched the only people Gregori ever truly cared for, and so Cassie follows, flanked by Demi and Erica, and watches in awe as Gregori goes to work. Moving steadily. Without panic or haste. Without any sign of concern at all. Still dressed in simple outdoor gear. Walking boots and trousers, and a lightweight, waterproof jacket. His pistol held in a double handed grip as they work along the corridor.

A woman peeks out from a door and makes a run for it. Gregori fires once. Taking her through the skull. He steps into the room and fires three more times, and walks on with Cassie pausing to see three more women inside. Each of them unarmed. Each with a single gunshot to their heads.

Cassie frowns. Thinking ahead. ‘Don’t shoot them,’ she calls to Gregori.

He pauses to look back at her.

‘It needs to be messy.’

He holsters the pistol and draws his knife. No questions asked because his Krye has given her orders, and so he and Demi, and Erica, and Daudi, and Alain, and the others of the dirty dozen all sling their weapons and draw knives. Willed by Cassie. Urged by her to kill them all. To slaughter them without hesitation. Without mercy. That rage she felt inside now unleashed as she stalks through the vast base.

Watching her kind kill while seeing how the other side lived in luxury while everyone else suffered. Not that Cassie has any care at all for people, but the sight of it offends her. The gluttony. The greed. The abject corruption.

The luxury rooms they slept in. Big beds with clean sheets. Modern bathrooms kept sparkling by a full roster of cleaning staff given space in the New World Order.

And she sees those words everywhere. On slogans and posters. The same image in orange and black.

A circle within a triangle within a circle. Always with the same words underneath. New World Order.

On the walls in the fully equipped gym and the multi-use fitness courts, and swimming pool. The same emblem in orange and black.

On the walls in every corridor

On the walls in the library.

It makes her pause to read the spines of the books on the shelves. Pulp fiction. Science fiction. Fantasy. Crime. Erotica too. Lots of erotica. But nothing subversive. No 1984. No Brave New World. No Clockwork Orange. No Fight Club. No American Psycho. No Animal Farm. No Handmaid’s Tale.

Nothing that opposes the regime.

No tales of the underdog winning against the system.

Comics, though. Lots of comics. Stunning artwork showing gruesome violence and nudity, but not from any names she ever heard. Not Marvel or DC. She picks one up and stares at the front cover showing a small squad of elite soldiers from the New World Order surrounded by red-eyed zombies. Each pane showing their progress through the battle. The words they use describing the zombies as scum and evil. The comradery and loyalty to each other obvious in every line of dialogue. They win the battle and return to base to scores of scantily clad, beautiful, young women waiting for them. It makes the hairs on Cassie’s neck stand on end.

It's only when she leaves the library, that she realises the battle here is over. Not that it was ever a battle. Just a slaughter. Plain and simple.

She walks into the canteen. A truly gorgeous place with tables and chairs, and big, potted plants. Two large serving counters filled with breakfast items ready to be served. Thick rashers of bacon. Sausages. Mushrooms. Eggs. Grilled tomatoes. Cereals of every kind. Bowls of fresh fruit. Yoghurts and jars full of honey. Mixed nuts and seeds. Freshly made coffee and pastries.

Dead bodies now everywhere. Draped over the tables. Their throats ripped out. Their glassy, lifeless eyes staring at nothing. Blood dripping onto the once clean and shiny floor.

Cassie walks through them all. Taking in their smart, black clothes. Tailored and fitted. Some in gym gear. Others in military gear. Others in office wear. All of them with a patch embroidered with the letters. NWO.

More slogans on the walls. More of the same barrage of brainwashing words intended to sink into minds.

Posters dotted here and there.

‘It’s a cult,’ she says quietly. Taking it all in. The constant, sustained emphasis on strength and fitness over intelligence and free thinking.

How did so many people sign up to it? And there are more bases and operational HQs, and Command Structures. How did that happen? How did it get so big without anyone knowing?

Open doors at the side. She steps out to a landscaped picnic area. Tables and benches. Umbrellas for shade. Crafted waterfalls giving pleasant background noises. Flowers and shrubs everywhere.

Pathways made from tiny, whitewashed pebbles leading to gardens and external fitness areas. Another swimming pool. Hot tubs. Paths leading over ornate bridges and pools filled with fish.

More slogans.

More posters.

More bodies. Bodies everywhere. All of them torn open with messy, brutal deaths.

She looks to the exterior walls. High concrete slabs fitted with coils of razor wire on the top. Cameras everywhere.

But they were only worried about the stupid, mindless zombies. Maybe the propaganda worked too well, and they grew complacent because they didn’t ever think their own armoured personnel carriers would be driven at full speed into their gates. Breaching the defences.

Now they’re all dead, and Cassie feels only satisfaction at that. Pleasure even. Despite the suffering. Despite their terror.

She comes to a stop; the rain soaking her medical gown. Drenching her hair.

Gregori next to her.

Her mug of coffee still in her hands.

‘You know coffee is a stimulant, oui?’ Alain asks, walking over with Daudi. Both dressed in stolen, black kit.

‘How are you even talking?’ Cassie asks him.

‘I do not know. How am I talking?’

‘He never stops talking,’ Daudi says.

‘I like his accent,’ Erica says.

‘Merci, my brother,’ Alain says, offering a fist bump as Erica glares down at him.

‘Brother?’

‘Oh. Oui. You prefer sister? I am okay with this. We are all fluid.’

‘Something to do with necessity,’ Cassie says, watching them talk while thinking of many things at once.

Everything she heard and everything she now knows with everything she’s learned over the last month.

She thinks about her father.

The panacea.

The New World Order.

The incomprehensible rage she felt when she woke up in here.

The instincts inside. Not all of them hers.

She thinks about the safe zones.

About herding people.

About control and corruption.

She thinks about all of it at once.

And she thinks of two more things.

She thinks of the kill switch.

And she thinks about Howie.

‘We go south now?’ Gregori asks. ‘Kill Howie?’

Cassie realises it’s the first time Gregori has said Howie’s name, and she feels a very great sense of relief that she doesn’t have to lie anymore.

She nods once. Seeing the path ahead and knowing it’s the only way forward.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Day Thirty-Five

The skies dark and filled with clouds. The daylight nearly gone. The air colder. The rain still coming down as hard as ever. Changing the landscape. Causing floods and creating new lakes.

Two boys in an isolated mansion house deep in the Yorkshire Dales. A commanding view all around.

They slide down the banister and land barefoot on the black and white tiled floor of the grand lobby, and run laughing into the formal sitting room and over the antique furniture while being chased by a fat, yellow puppy on stout legs barking with excitement.

They run through the kitchen to shouts of slow down and be careful. But they are boys, and they are young, and what they have inside means they don’t have to be slow or careful, and so they run past the red-eyed, silent guards into the fitness suite to the far end, where they leap and sail seemingly forever through the air before splashing down into the swimming pool. The fearless puppy launching in after them. Splashing into the waters and barking as the two boys surface amidst streams of bubbles. Both laughing and gasping, and having the times of their lives.

That one of them was nearly dead from leukaemia just a few days ago can hardly be believed. He’s already filling out and has endless energy to run and play with the boy. His mother the same. Enough of her mind recovered to provide care for the children while one thousand hosts surround the house.

Silent sentinels ready to do harm on anything that poses threat. Such is the very strong will driven into them by their Krye Cassie Appleton.

A spoilt, entitled woman that never worked a day in her life.

Now she works.

She works like a demon.

Like she’s possessed.

Because she is.

Far away from the luxury mansion house on bended knee in the gloopy mud as the rain pelts down. Her figure-hugging black combat gear drenched through. A thick band holding her hair back. Her shoulder recoiling as she fires her Canadian C8 assault rifle into the horde. Demi on one side. Erica on the other. A few more of the dirty dozen with them. All of them firing into the once green expanse of grass at Willis Waye in Headbourne Worthy. A small town one mile northeast of Winchester.

But that ground isn’t green now.

Now it’s churned into thick mud from the days of incessant rain, and Cassie feels her knee sinking into the gloop. Her boots and trousers filthy. Her face a mask of grim determination as she shoots into them. Her aim poor. Her training brief, but against so many, she can’t miss.

‘They’re not reacting!’ Demi shouts, changing magazine.

‘They will,’ Cassie says, slinging her rifle as she rises to her feet. Slipping and sliding across mud. Rage inside. A pulsing fury that makes her do this now and lead the tiny charge into them. Drawing her knife to stab into necks the way Gregori taught her. Killing with her bare hands as Erica, Demi, and the others race after her. Sliding and tripping in the mud. Erica snapping necks and flinging them aside. Demi with her knife. The others attacking with wild energy.

They get a reaction as the horde animate and turn to attack with screeches filling the air. ‘Exfil!’ Demi shouts, grabbing at Cassie to pull her away. The two of them sliding and landing face down in the mud. Erica heaving them up with one in each hand to propel on and over the mud bath. The horde doing the same. Sliding and falling as they give chase.

Cassie reaches the edge, gasping for air and covered in mud. Grabbing at Demi to help her up as the few members of the dirty dozen still with them get free and run for it.

Cassie and Demi leading the way. To the side of a house bordering the green. Into the back garden. Smashing the flimsy rear fence down to get through. Seeing the bigger fence ahead. ‘Erica!’ Cassie shouts as she runs past to break it down with ease.

They clamber through into the edge of a timber yard and build speed to sprint towards the far end and the main road.

A garage workshop on the right.

The road ahead.

Another set of industrial units beyond.

Cassie grits her teeth and runs for it. Covered in mud and drenched from the rain.

They get clear of the garage and into the road.

‘COVER!’ someone yells, and they drop as the garage explodes behind them with a mighty bang and an even mightier fireball scorching the sky. Nail bombs and gas canisters set off with scorching metal fragments hurled out to whither the other horde.

‘Push on!’ Alain shouts, breaking cover from the side of the garage, having triggered the explosives.

Up and on they go. Sprinting into the mouth of the industrial estate and past two more of the dirty dozen lying prone to fire machine guns into the horde still coming after them. Thousands of them finally triggered into giving chase.

And give chase they do.

Into the exploding garage, and now into the fire put down by the machine guns. The barrels heating fast. The belts of ammunition expending.

‘GO!’ Alain shouts, seeing this phase is complete. Guns hefted and carried, and they run on through the estate. Past the pinch points between units and across the car park. Splashing through deep puddles while one mile away, in the city of Winchester, they hear the explosions and gunfire from the other battle underway. The one inside the city.

But right now, they focus only on staying alive, and so they sprint to the far side. Daudi on one knee inside one of the units. Watching them go by. Gauging distance to the horde still pouring after them. Thousands of them.

Two wires in his hands leading to a large vehicle battery.

More wires leading off. Through this unit. Through other units. Through all the units.

He presses the wires to the battery. One red. One black. Sending the charge through that triggers the explosives at the far end, which, in turn, trigger the ones next to them and so on, and so forth until the world behind Cassie seems to come alive. The first detonation a dull whump, but the rest soon follow with gas and petrol igniting, sending nails and screws out into the horde and fire into the sky.

More explosions sound out. More and more, and many more as Cassie and her team drop to cover in the filthy, soaking verge at the edge of the estate. Gasping for air as they watch the units blow apart one after the other.

Cassie’s face dripping with rain and mud. Demi the same. Both wearing black combat clothes pilfered from NWFOB stores, but with the awful cult emblems torn off and replaced with something else.

All of them the same. Their black kit now covered in mud and soaked through.

Apart from Erica, who said, ‘Self-expression is vital to oppose the New World Order.’ And promptly refused to wear black and now, instead, is in bright pink combat trousers and a pink crop top, with pink make-up on her cheeks.

But she, like they all, watch the units blowing apart as Daudi walks coolly and very heroically from the last unit just seconds before it blows out with a fireball going up behind him.

‘Fucking Delta,’ Alain says. ‘I could have done that with my garage!’ he yells at Daudi walking casually by. ‘Yanks always steal the show,’ Alain mutters as the horde charge through the fire. Still pressing the attack here while more still pour out of Headbourne Worthy into Winchester city.

Elaine Sotheby’s super horde.

Nearly one hundred thousand hosts taken into Winchester city, with thousands left in reserve. Ready to be used and now being pulled in as Howie slowly reduces their numbers to stop Elaine getting at the blind boy.

Cassie left NWFOB two days ago, after taking what they needed from the stores and setting fires. They found the isolated mansion house in the Dales, got the boy settled, and waited for one thousand hosts to arrive to protect the child; then finally, Cassie took her team south. Only for Howie to leave the garden centre. They lost him for hours and navigated the newly formed lakes and floods until a host saw Howie and his vehicles rush into the fort. They left very quickly. Something was happening, but Cassie lost them again until they saw a line of infected running through the countryside and followed them in their two matt black, armoured personnel carriers, each still with the awful NWO emblem on the side, all the way to Winchester.

To a war being waged. The air filled with gunfire and explosions.

They couldn’t go into it for fear of being fired upon, and so the obvious thing was to wait for it to be over.

Which is why they headed into the nearby small town of Headbourne Worthy, and in so doing, stumbled into Elaine’s reserve force. Thousands of hosts holding position, with thick lines breaking away to charge towards Winchester.

‘Even Howie can’t kill this many,’ Cassie said. She didn’t know Howie had Lilly and Krakov, and she didn’t know anything about the blind boy in The Great Hall. But even so. Against so many? It didn’t matter how many Howie had – nothing could withstand such big numbers.

Cassie knew what they had to do.

And so she did it. Or rather, she told the others what needed to be done and then listened to the plan being set.

‘Stay in vehicle,’ Gregori told her as they finished and dropped out into the rain.

‘Not a chance,’ Cassie said.

There was no way she was missing it. She had the thing inside filling her with energy and rage to kill the other horde and take the opportunity to reduce her competition later.

She ran with them. In the rain, and she carried fuel and gas bottles and helped find bags of nails and screws. She got drenched and drove them on with unceasing energy until it was time to provoke the horde into giving chase.

She led the attack and goaded the horde to break away and charge, and now lies in the rain on the cold ground, watching the fireballs and seeing human forms blow apart and run around on fire until they fall and die.

‘I find them!’ Gregori says, suddenly next to her. His skills so incredibly adept that he can get amongst them without being seen or heard, which is why he went off to scout.

‘Are there any left?’ Cassie asks, thinking surely there can’t be.

‘Thousands,’ Gregori says. ‘Use train line to get into the city.’

‘Clever fuckers. It’s a straight line, though,’ Cassie says, on her feet and running for the vehicles. ‘Come on!’

‘Where?’ Demi asks, running behind her with the others.

‘To cut them off!’

They clamber into the two vehicles and set off onto a B road, then through another small housing estate leading to the railway tracks. Daudi driving their vehicle. Gregori directing. Cassie in the back on the bench seats. One of the troopers. One of the fighters. Bloodied and muddied, and combat hardened.

‘Ahead!’ Daudi calls, making the others crane to see through the windscreen. Night outside. Dark as hell and raining heavily, but the powerful headlights bathe the back of the horde.

Thick lines of them still pouring out of Headbourne Worthy along the railway tracks, towards the city now aglow with many fires.

‘Go into them!’ Cassie urges. ‘Seriously. The Saxon does it all the time. Run the fuckers over.’

They bounce over the tracks and speed up, with all of them clutching grab handles and bracing as the front end hits the first few hosts. Dull bangs. The vehicle rocking and bouncing as they drive through the horde. Breaking bones and popping skulls.

It takes time, but time feels different now. Like it’s speeding up while also going slower. It’s not the thing that it once was either. The thing they all lived by.

They near Winchester train station and see the carnage for themselves. Carriages slammed off the tracks, through the buildings and onto the road beyond.

War beyond it.

Wild, crazed, desperate war with gunfire and C4 exploding from multiple points at the same time, and still the infected pour off the tracks to join the battle.

‘We have to cut them off,’ Cassie says, watching how none of the other horde give a single glance to the personnel carriers. The urge willed into all of them by Elaine Sotheby to attack The Great Hall and kill the blind child and the people in the city. To do that and nothing else.

But then Cassie feels an urge to. A pulsing pressure within to keep going.

The same thing inside of Howie as the fuel truck goes by. Driven by Tilda Tanners deep into the horde in the High Street.

Daudi bounces the vehicle off the tracks onto Andover Road. The city centre just over half a kilometre away. The fires burning from the C4 charges set by Carmen and her teams of hunter killers, giving glow to the otherwise dark city. Still the gunfire sounds. Still the sounds drift over as the vehicle comes to a stop, and the doors open, with Cassie and her team dropping out onto the road.

The railway line behind them. Thick with infected. More infected ahead, coming out of the train station to charge towards The Great Hall.

A moment in time that sears into Cassie’s mind because this is the first time of seeing such a thing up close and in person. The scale of the battle. The noise of the infected howling and screeching. Engines revving. Guns firing. Fires burning.

Reginald and Sergei in the command vehicle at the FCP seeing it too. Staring at the screen. Not blinking. Not breathing.

Carmen and Charlie sprinting between buildings as they see the fuel truck pass by on the High Street. A look to each other. A sudden, unspoken understanding, and they veer off.

Frank and Maddox the same. Seeing it powering past The Buttercross Monument.

Tilda’s tear-streaked face looking down at the detonator in her lap as the fuel truck comes to a stop. The C4 charge already wedged against the tanker on the back. She picks it up. Thinking to give final words through the radio as the driver’s window smashes, and the infected launch through. She thrashes to get free, dropping the detonator. Teeth on her arms and body. Nails tearing her flesh open. Tilda screams and reaches for the detonator. Not hearing the voices on the radio.

Elka sliding down an apex roof with her sniper rifle. Landing on a flat section with a grunt as she spots the fuel truck in the road further along now smothered with infected.

No time for thinking.

No time for thought.

Because what they’ve done so far, isn’t enough.

And so Elka detaches the magazine from her rifle and pulls another one from a side pocket on her tac-vest.

The special magazine held in reserve that she slots in and yanks the bolt.

She aims.

She breathes.

She fires the armour-piercing 7.62 round as Cassie and her team stare towards the city, and a second later, it becomes like Gatwick once more.

Like hell on earth.

A mini nuke detonating within a confined space.

A fireball scorching dozens of metres in all directions in an instant and high into the night sky, forcing the pressure wave out along the High Street and through the junction, and along the road towards the train station, and like dominoes, they fall. All of them knocked flat. Taken off their feet by the wave of invisible energy that makes even Cassie and her team stagger back over six hundred metres away.

All of them flinching at the detonation and dropping down in awe of the fireball scorching the sky. Bringing light to the whole city. Bringing noise and heat, and debris flying in all directions. Chunks of buildings and scorched human body parts that sail past with trails of sparks.

It makes Cassie stare stupidly as Gregori covers her with his body, but she looks past him. Staring at something so very powerful and big that seems to ignite the rage inside of her again. A sudden pulsing fury as the horde on the train lines give voice and charge harder while Howie and Lilly, and Krakov, and all the others run for Castle Avenue.

‘That!’ Cassie yells, pointing down the road to a structure on the right side. Her eyes blazing. Her will exerted. ‘We’ll get the other vehicle on the tracks and lead them down here!’

They burst to run. All of them filled with energy.

Gregori grabbing a bag from the lead vehicle. Alain and Daudi doing the same. Grabbing rucksacks and setting off at a run as the other vehicle is turned to follow Cassie running back along the road to the train lines. Demi and Erica with her. The rest of the dirty dozen right behind them. Going back to wage war to buy time for Gregori, Alain, and Daudi to work.

Back to the railway tracks with the personnel carrier driven hard across the tracks up against the back end of a broken carriage. Forcing the infected into the firing line set up by Cassie pouring rounds into them. Machine guns and assault rifles letting rip. Gunning them down. Killing more and more, and many more, but it’s not enough.

They kill many and cause swathes to drop and crawl, but the solid press of them still pours on by. Going the other way around the carriages and not onto Andover Road, and so, as The Royal Mail van leads the charge and drives into Castle Avenue with the ambulance and The Beast driven by Marcy, so Cassie knows, once again, what she has to do and slings her rifle to attack by hand from nothing but pure instinct inside.

She charges into them to pick a fight to make them pay attention. To make Elaine Sotheby blink and realise there is another point of attack.

But Elaine only wants the boy. She must kill the blind boy, and so she snarls and wills her horde, and Cassie does the same with her pitiful few. Slashing into necks. Cutting into throats. Blood spraying over her face and hands. Erica breaking them apart. Demi cutting them down. The others the same. Killing and killing, and killing as Howie gains the ground outside The Great Hall and turns to fight out. Livvy in the hall, trying to protect Kev as he trips over Craig’s dead body.

The pressure mounting inside. The urgency to fight and kill in all of them. Cassie waging war in a battle that has nothing to do with her. Hating Howie with everything she has while knowing she must kill the other horde first before she can get to Howie.

And in The Great Hall, they heave the mighty table from the wall to block the rear doors.

‘Back outside!’ Reginald shouts, waving them out, and Livvy runs with them. Silent Gavin on Jess riding into the fray. Surging outside to join the line of warriors in this old and ancient place. Those warriors giving fight to the terrible plague being visited upon this city.

A plague driven by Elaine Sotheby, who wills her hosts to reach that child. Kill the child. Kill it!

The howl goes up as the infected that couldn’t fit into the High Street and Castle Avenue now pour in from every side street and alley, and from the train station.

Cassie and her tiny team just up from it on the other side of the crashed carriages, doing what they can, unseen and unknown. An invisible facet of the battle trying desperately to cut the flow off.

Frank and Kyle break off into the buildings on one side to search for the CP.

Charlie and Carmen on the other.

Their teams in Castle Avenue, fighting to hold the horde back. Fighting and losing as the horde break through and start body piling.

Elaine sensing victory and only then grunting with annoyance at the new attackers with a will urged to kill them, and Cassie yells at the sudden change. The horde switching to run at them. Snarling and wild. An onslaught of pure aggression, and once more, Cassie and her small squad turn to run. Sprinting with every ounce of strength.

Frank and Kyle back to back.

Charlie and Carmen running towards the end room.

Howie and Lilly turning to see the mound of bodies nearly reaching the roof of The Great Hall. Samir on the top. The blind boy standing calmly, serenely, seeing it all through the eyes of Thor.

Cassie running along Andover Road. Turning to fire her pistol to keep the horde coming. The whole fucking lot of them now aiming at her tiny squad. Ready to squash them with ease before running into the city to kill the blind child.

Everything happening in that instant. In all places.

Reginald in Castle Avenue. Gripping his swatter. His eyes flicking to the two side buildings.

Frank and Kyle working through one side.

Charlie and Carmen in the other.

Reginald can see their muzzle flashes. They’re at the top. Working towards this closest end. He glances back to Frank and Kyle, realising they are now at the top end, which means they have cleared their building.

Which means the CP is in the building with Charlie and Carmen.

He goes to transmit as Carmen blows her last block of C4, and they sweep into the room with rifles up. The two women both flinching at the sheer amount of infected within.

Another door at the end.

A group of infected running away through it. The CP.

The blink of an eye. The beat of a heart. They press the attack and get swarmed instantly by fit, fresh, strong infected. Bouncers and bruisers. Big muscle men and women that take shots to the body without reaction and rip the two women off their feet.

Carmen taken down. Charlie ripped off her feet and slammed down onto a table.

Howie outside. His back to the line. The mound almost at the top edge. Mike and Debora leaning over to fire pistol rounds. But it’s not enough.

The mound at the top of the wall.

Elaine in the last room. Knowing she’s got them all crushed.

Her hosts surge again.

Racing for the mound.

Racing at Cassie and her small team.

Charlie down.

Carmen down.

Reginald running.

Paula running.

Henry running.

Cookey running.

Cassie, Demi, Erica all running.

Howie snarls, and he runs too.

Lilly the same.

Those two breaking free to charge and leap at the mound as Cassie runs past the thing she pointed out to Daudi and Alain.

The big fuel station on the right side of the road.

The one that Marcy checked earlier looking for a fuel truck.

The one that Daudi and Alain just prepped with C4 explosives taken from NWFOB.

Howie and Lilly hit the mound with rage and violence stealing through their hearts, turning their eyes red. Filling them with blood. The same as the infected.

That same rage.

That same violence.

Charlie the same. Pinned to a table. Her eyes red.

Reginald racing up the stairs. Leading the charge. Paula, Henry, Clarence, and Cookey with them. Their eyes red.

Red the same as Blowers and Tilly fighting back to back.

Red the same as Nick and Tappy, and all the others.

Red the same as Cassie, who bares her teeth and runs as fast as she can.

Red the same as Demi and Erica.

Red the same as Daudi and Alain triggering the explosives.

Red the same as the eyes of the horde running alongside the fuel station that erupts with a detonation like the fuel truck.

Red like the sky and the flames, and the blood boiled inside the bodies eviscerated by the fireballs and heat.

The pressure wave taking Cassie off her feet. Erica. Demi. Daudi. Alain.

But it doesn’t end there.

Not for their tiny part of the war because Gregori detonates his explosives too. The ones set against fuel tanks and gas pipes inside the commercial units further back towards the train tracks.

Detonations. One after the other. A symphony of noise and mushroom cloud fireballs. Killing thousands of them. Blowing them apart as Howie and Lilly fight tooth and nail to climb the mound to reach the top.

As Charlie kicks to get free from being pinned in the way Carmen taught her and sinks her teeth into an infected attacker’s neck. Carmen pinned. Reginald the first inside. Beating at a face with his swatter and going hands on for the first time since this began to save his friend.

‘UP!’ Cassie roars; that energy inside driving her up to her feet. Dragging at Demi. Dragging at Erica. Then setting off with just her knife. Charging with a scream into the infected still coming through the swirling smoke and heat shimmers. Leaping over charred bodies and mangled corpses. Demi and Erica, and the others charging after her. Daudi and Alain running in from the side.

Gregori already in amongst them. Moving without panic. Without haste. Killing everything in his path. Flipping bodies and cutting throats. Flowing like water. Killing like Dave.

Paula reaches the back room. Clarence and Henry with her. The last of Elaine’s best in front. Another fight to get through. She drives her knife into a neck. Henry taking another down. Clarence decimating all within reach. Bones snap. Bodies break.

Cassie stabbing one in the neck, then another, and another.

Howie and Lilly reach the top of the mound and fall over onto the roof. Back on their feet. Snarling and yelling out. Hurt and cut. Bit and raked. A chunk of Lilly’s ear gone. A finger from Howie’s left hand gone. Their faces drenched with blood, but they turn and fight, and drive the beasts back. Their energy combining to make them stronger. Both moving at a speed that just isn’t right. Moving fluidly. Willed and urged by Meredith. By their own hive mind.

Cassie the same. Willing her pack to fight and kill because this is the only way for them to survive. Cassie cut and hurt. Bitten and scratched. Heedless to the pain. Stabbing and hacking them down. Wildly inexperienced, but the thing inside gives her strength and speed.

All of them fighting. All of them in that battle in that moment, bleeding and fighting hand to hand. Cut and hurt. Tilly going down. Blowers stepping over her. Using his body to protect her until he can reach down and pull her up. Holding her close with one arm while battering them down with his other until her senses return, and she pushes out to fight on.

And the bodies sail from the top of the roof. Sent by Howie and Lilly.

And the bodies sail from the upper windows of the building alongside. Sent by Clarence and Cookey, and Charlie fighting within.

And the bodies drop in Castle Avenue, and the bodies drop on Andover Road.

Dave and Mary reach the top mere seconds behind Howie and Lilly, adding their incredible abilities to fend them off. Mary with hard, brutal punches. Dave snapping necks and legs and sending them off the roof.

Paula in the end room. Stalking at Elaine Sotheby, who presses her will with everything she has. Giving her hordes a final burst of power and energy. Making those on the roof of The Great Hall stumble back, with Samir smiling and stepping between Howie and Lilly.

Taking their hands.

Giving them the sight he can see.

And they see it all.

The whole of the war in front of them.

The shining, white orbs of their side fighting back against the ugly, smeared yellows and browns of the infected. The evil of them showing clear against the goodness of those few. Each one of them shining like a bright candle standing against the storm.

The next window along. The final one. It breaks apart from a half dozen figures sent flying out by Clarence sweeping them with his arms out wide. A giant, white, glowing figure ridding more of the evil that fall to die. And behind them, Paula stalks at the filthiest of them all.

The orb of Paula’s being a shining, glowing white so stark against the monster in demon form she moves towards. The energy of Elaine smeared and corrupt. Wild. Unrefined. Juvenile. Still young. Still growing.

‘I am the one true race,’ it shouts in arrogant defiance through the petulant voice of Elaine Sotheby.

‘Yeah. They all say that’ Paula mutters as she drives her blade into the gut. Sawing it open. Reaching in to pull the innards out. Because, as Carmen said, Paula is a killer.

Howie and Lilly turn to face forward to see Mike and Debora staring in awe at the infected held at bay. Not coming forward. Snarling but too scared to move. Meredith in front of the child. Head low. Teeth barred. Giving voice. Giving warning.

Reginald sees it through the broken window while protecting Carmen. Clarence, Henry, and Paula see it. Kyle and Frank see it.

And on Andover Road, Cassie and her team become suddenly still. Gasping for air and dripping blood as the remaining infected around them of the other horde stop moving. Becoming sluggish and slow. Their CP killed.

Cassie turns to look to the city. Seeing a faint, while glow in the sky over The Great Hall that seems to sweep out. A tidal wave of energy, and it’s like she can see it, but surely she can’t. She blinks and shakes her head, and when she looks, the infected are being knocked off their feet in one long row. She staggers too. Her whole team the same. Feeling something surge through them. Strong enough to make them almost fall.

Which is when the last of the underground fuel storage tanks ignite at the fuel station, and the biggest fireball of all curls up into the sky. The quake of the earth taking them all off their feet.

Cassie curls into a ball. They all do. All of them cowering from the flames.

Then a moment later, she hears the dull pop of a pistol and looks up to see Gregori already on his feet, putting rounds into skulls as he walks along.

Daudi gets up to do the same. Alain after him. Demi. Erica. Cassie too.

Hearing gunshots coming from The Great Hall. Knowing whoever is left there is doing the same, and it’s only then that she realises only a few of her dirty dozen are left.

She feels sorry for that, but in a way, she is thankful that her inner team got through alive if not unscathed.

Not at all unscathed. They’re all hurt. Apart from Gregori, who hasn’t got a scratch on him.

Then it’s done.

Over.

The other horde all dead, and her team all stop and look to Cassie and then towards the city.

Knowing this isn’t over.

Knowing what they have to do next.

A nod from Cassie, and in silence, they go back to their vehicles as the snow falls thick and silent from the night sky.

Two modern, matt black, armoured personnel carriers creeping slowly through the snow.

Sinister. Foreboding.

Six wheeled with harsh angles to the body.

An emblem on the side of each vehicle.

An orange and black circle within a triangle within a circle.

Words beneath.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Day Thirty-Six

The soft crunch of fresh snow and the harsh crunch of bones sound out as the two matt black vehicles drive slowly into Castle Avenue over a carpet of death.

Daudi driving the lead one. Gregori at his side.

Cassie in the back on the bench seats. One of the troopers. One of the fighters. Bloodied and muddied, and combat hardened.

Except she isn’t just one of the troopers.

She alone carries the knowledge of what must be done, and she sits staring into space as the vehicles stop and the engines tick over.

Everything she heard and everything she now knows, with everything she’s learned over the last month.

It will be one race. My race. MY RACE. FUCK YOU!

Why didn’t she kill Reginald?

She couldn’t stop asking herself that question.

She thinks about it now.

She thinks of many things all at once.

She thinks about her father.

The panacea.

The New World Order.

The incomprehensible rage she felt when she woke up in NWFOB.

The instincts she had inside. Not all of them hers. Not just in NWFOB. But when she was at Gatwick and Reginald was isolated.

She thinks about the safe zones.

About herding people.

About control and corruption.

And she thinks of two more things.

She thinks of the kill switch.

She thinks about Howie.

Is this right?

Is she right?

She exhales and nods. Knowing that it is. The others check their weapons. Making ready.

The doors open.

They drop out.

Snow in the air. Falling thick and fast. Fires burning all through the city. Bathing the low clouds in an orange glow.

Cassie sets off but stops from a hand on her arm, making her turn to look into the hard eyes of Gregori. ‘Be Cassie,’ he says quietly in that deep, gravelly voice that still gets to her.

She wonders what that means. Be Cassie? Which Cassie? The old Cassie? The new Cassie?

But then they’re off and walking towards The Great Hall. Lanterns and lamps on inside. Making it look cosy.

All of the people sitting in silence at a large, round table. At the round table, and she can’t help but tut at the irony as she crunches through the snow. Heading towards her sworn enemy while feeling the urge inside to attack and kill him right now.

Be Cassie?

What the hell did that mean?

Talk about pressure.

She thinks to say something but feels a hand on her belt holding her back, and turns to look at Demi as Erica steps in front of her. Then Alain and Daudi and, the others, and Gregori goes past them all.

Walking alone into The Great Hall.

The sight makes Blowers tense and step in front of Tilly. It makes Clarence stiffen and stand tall. The others all doing the same.

The way Gregori moves.

The way he stalks forward.

Like a wolf walking through his pack.

Like a tiger walking through the jungle.

Like the apex predator he is, stopping to look at them all with an absolute belief that nothing can kill him.

Frank’s face hardens. Kyle too. Carmen. Henry. They know who he is.

Krakov turns with a low sound of violence. His arm already coming out to protect his daughter because he knows who he is.

Debora rushes to her son, guarding him with her body because she knows who he is. Her husband and her father were gangsters and criminals in Albania. She’s met him. She’s seen him. A demon in her country. A demon in all countries. Now he’s here. ‘The Uglyman,’ she whispers.

Her actions make Mike and the others bristle with a chain reaction that fires like an electrical pulse around them. Touching them all.

Except for Howie, who sits and watches.

Except for Lilly, who sits and watches.

Seeing a man in simple outdoor clothing. A brutish man with pock-marked skin and a lean, albeit muscular frame.

A man holding a single pistol down at his side and looking around at them all, as though he simply hasn’t decided to kill them yet.

A man, who sweeps his gaze across them all until his eyes fall on Dave.

Who stares back without expression.

Without fear.

The two men looking at the other as though no one else in the room exists.

While everyone else bristles.

In silence they stand. Both knowing the other, and if Gregori had shown interest in the drawings the boy made, he would have known Dave was here.

But here they are.

Gregori’s thumb twitches. A flicker of motion in Dave’s eyes. One hand on the butt of his pistol. The other on the hilt of his knife.

‘And who the hell is that?’ Mary asks.

‘Devil,’ Debora whispers in Albanian. ‘He is the devil!’ she calls out in English, shielding her son.

‘Albanian assassin wanted in every country,’ Carmen says to tell the room, to warn them all as hands start moving towards weapons.

‘If he lifts gun. We all shoot,’ Elka says. ‘All guns. All bullets.’

‘But he’s wearing the pink, is he not?’ Mary asks, seeing the ribbon of pink tied around Gregori’s arm as Erica walks in. A six-foot-five bodybuilder dressed head to toe in pink with pink make-up across her cheeks and eyes, the same as Marcy and the others.

‘Self-expression is the key to defeating the New World Order,’ she says in a deep voice, instantly deflecting the sudden sharp rise in tension. ‘Gregory, sweetie. Holster the gun.’

‘Is Gregori,’ Gregori mutters, doing as bid and holstering his weapon.

‘I think we’re good,’ Erica calls as Demi takes Cassie’s pistol from her holster and her rifle from the sling, and Cassie finally walks into The Great Hall.

To a sea of faces she feels she knows personally, and time seems to slow with every detail becoming vivid and sharp.

The sight of them all. The pink berets. The bodies pushed aside to make room for the table. The smell of blood and war, and death in the air.

Every step seeming to take minutes as they all look to her. All eyes on her. On Cassie Appleton walking into the heart of her enemy’s den.

Walking with her head up.

With an air of royalty.

With a sense of absolute belonging and a dose of dismissive nonchalance because this is the Cassie she needs to be. The arrogance and defiance pour from her, hiding the rage she feels inside. The rage being fed to her by the beast within. The beast she must learn to control in order to win and do this now.

‘And you’re welcome!’ she says as Demi and Daudi, and Alain, and the others spread out inside the door. All of them armed but with weapons lowered, and pink ribbons tied on arms over the holes in their combat clothes where the emblems were. ‘We saved you from your little fight… Again.’

She smiles and walks on. Commanding their attention. A fetching woman in figure-hugging, black combat gear just as bloodied and torn as them. ‘Come on… Who’s going to guess who I am first? Will it be Lilly? Charlie? Or the ever-powerful, Reginald?’

‘Hello, Cassie,’ Howie says. Low. Dark. His eyes fixed on hers. His energy hardening. Violence within growing fast.

‘Don’t,’ Cassie stops and glares. Warning him in a low, hard voice. Seeing the fury in his eyes. Feeling it inside. ‘I said don’t!’ she says as he twitches to move. To stand up. To launch over the table to tear her limb from limb. Because this is the thing they’ve been fighting since the start. The infection. The enemy. The other player. It’s inside of her. She told them that. She taunted and goaded, and told them many times exactly who she was.

But she feels it too. That need to kill and attack. An instinct to launch herself over the table to stab his eyes out, and thank god Demi had the foresight to disarm Cassie because she’d draw and shoot right now if she had a gun.

‘Cassie? You good?’ Demi calls with warning in her voice as Paula rests a hand on Howie’s arm. Holding him still.

‘Of course!’ Cassie says with a sudden smile. ‘Mr Howie and I will, undoubtedly, deal with our history in the right time and place, but we are not here for that,’ she says, lifting her hands and turning away with a very great effort.

She looks around the room, seeing many people she doesn’t know and many she does, with smiles of recognition at Howie’s team. ‘Danny and Mo. Tappy. And there’s Maddox. I’ve seen your willy, Maddox. Oh, wow. God. You three,’ she says, coming to a stop to stare at Blowers, Cookey, and Nick. Memories in her mind. Memories that aren’t hers. In the back of the Saxon, seeing through Darren Smith’s eyes. In a multi-storey car park, pushing a still beating heart into Howie’s mouth. In the hallway of a house, trying to get past Simon Blowers wedged in the doorway to the kitchen. Holding them all back and giving his life so Maddox can take a baby from a dead woman on the floor behind him. She looks at Blowers. Her expression becoming earnest and serious. ‘It respects you deeply,’ she tells him. ‘For what you did saving that baby. That’s when you lost your eye and your fingers, and you went out without a word of complaint and carried on fighting,’ she pauses as Tilly and everyone else look at the silent, brooding, dark figure of Blowers. ‘A king in making,’ Cassie tells him quietly, gently, softly. ‘It hates you all,’ she says out loud, holding them all entranced with her educated tones. ‘It wants me to kill you all, but hate isn’t the only emotion that exists, and it is possible to feel many things at once. Even if they conflict with each other.’

She turns away and spots Charlie, and offers a smile. ‘You though, Charlie. You can switch to my team any time you want.’

‘No, thanks,’ Charlie says with a deadpan expression.

‘If you ever change your mind,’ Cassie says. ‘Don’t know any of you,’ she adds with a dismissive air to the four younger soldiers and many of the new faces. ‘Ah! And there’s Roy and Paula! So, you two not an item now? No? You and Clarence, isn’t it now?’ she asks with a look to Paula as she stalks around the table. ‘Ah, and there’s the famous Reg.’

‘Reginald,’ he says quietly, tracking her as she walks.

‘Don’t care,’ Cassie says and looks past them to Marcy. ‘Oh, god. You are stunning. You take one look at Gregory, and I will claw your eyes out.’

Marcy stares back at her.

Hatred at first sight.

Palpable and strong.

‘And here’s the princess,’ Cassie says, passing behind Lilly. ‘At the big table with King Howie and Queen Paula. Are you back in favour, Lilly? You never did get back to me. No? My offer? I offered Lilly and the fort peace if she gave you up, Howie,’ Cassie says. ‘Did she not tell you that? What else hasn’t she told you? Hmmm, what else haven’t you told Howie?’ she asks, catching Lilly’s eye for a second before breaking away to stare at the dark-eyed man glaring back at her. ‘And there you are,’ she adds, smiling at Howie. Showing teeth with no humour in her eyes. ‘Mr Howie. Well, now. Aren’t you just all deliciously dark and brooding. Ooh, that made Marcy’s lip flick up. Easy girl. Just being friendly.’

‘Five seconds before I ask Dave to kill you all,’ Marcy says, drawing her pistol to hand to Dave as Cassie holds her hands up in mock surrender.

‘And look! One place left,’ Cassie says, seeing the empty, green segment. She grabs a chair and pulls it over to sit down next to Samir. His mother behind him. Her arms over his chest, ready to pull him away. Howie on the other side. All of them staring on in silence.

‘Awkward,’ Cassie says with a mock wince. ‘Was it something we said? Oh! I almost forgot. I’ve got something for you, Howie.’

She reaches into a pocket and pulls her fist out to stick her middle finger up. ‘Oh, come on! That was funny. Why so serious? Anyone would think we were sworn enemies.’

‘We are, and I think I’m about to kick off and kill you,’ Howie says.

‘Fair warning,’ Cassie says, shrugging at Demi. ‘But before you do, I actually do have something for you.’

She reaches back into a pocket to pull an iPhone out and activates the screen. ‘How weird using one of these again… They feel so useless now. But they do have good cameras. Right, lads! You might want to cram in and see this.’

‘Do not call them lads,’ Paula says.

‘Oh, but we go all the way back to the beginning,’ Cassie says. ‘Just press play.’

She scoots the large screened phone over, with Howie reaching out to pick it up. Angling the screen for Paula and Marcy, and Reginald, and the others to see. The lads moving in behind .

‘He’s a big boy!’ Cassie’s voice comes through the speaker as the footage sweeps through a posh, formal sitting room to a fat, yellow puppy on stout legs chasing two boys around the room. The Great Hall filling with the sounds of yapping that makes Meredith cock her head over. ‘Come here! Puppy! Come here so Mr Howie can see you… There’s a good boy. Oh! He’s sitting down and looking at the camera. Such a good boy! Well, here you are, Mr Howie and Paula, and the rest of your gang. This is the puppy you buried in the garden in that house in Lower Dicker. You’d just finished trying to help all those dreadful people in Rye after saving, I think, Reginald? Inside a van that fell off a cliff? But that’s where the pink beret thing started anyway. Great shot, though, Marcy. Even if you are prettier than me, and even though I hate you with every ounce of my being. But this is important so we need to set our differences aside for a moment because I felt you, Howie. When you found the puppy, and you tried to save it. I felt your rage and hurt inside. So did Gregori and the boy. And that got me thinking. Well. It got me thinking later anyway. Right then, I just wondered what the hell had upset you all so much, so Demi went and dug it up and, well, as you can see, it wasn’t dead. I’m guessing you tried to resuscitate it, and passed your version of the infection. Which suggests dogs can take it in. But you already knew that with that great big hound of yours. And horses too. But you can see this one is filling out nicely. He eats everything, and it’s interesting because he was definitely a Labrador when we found him, but he’s looking more like a Pitbull every day. And he’s going to be huge! I was going to bring him to you, but he’s bonded with the boy and never leaves his side. So, no. You’re not getting him back. But, er. You know. You saved him, and that was a good thing, and I thought it was right you should see that.’

‘Ow!’ Demi’s voice comes through the speakers as the puppy on the screen launches an attack on her bare feet with Demi trying to escape past Erica and Alain, and the others all in normal shorts and relaxed clothes. Drinking tea and eating snacks in a clean house.

But it’s the puppy that Howie watches.

The puppy that he found.

That died in his hands.

The puppy that broke him, and even now, his eyes fill with tears that roll freely down his cheeks. But he’s not the only one. They all remember it. His team were all there. He presses stop. Bringing the hall to silence.

‘There’s more. Keep playing,’ Cassie says.

Paula frowns at her and takes the phone to press play. Watching for a second as the puppy runs riot before it passes out fast asleep, and the angle changes to show Cassie staring into the lens.

‘Demi has orders to make sure this gets to you in case anything happens to me. I would ask Gregori, but he’ll probably go off the rails if I die. And if I die from your hands, Howie, then kiss your arse goodbye because the last you’ll see is Gregori standing over you in the night in your garden centre. And should I not die and actually make it to you, well, I do so because we need to talk. Hang on, this is Erica! Say hi, Erica!’

‘Hi, Erica!’ Erica says, looming her big face close to the lens as several of the lads snort laughs. ‘So, funny story. I was called Barry, but I watched Gladiators when I was like five and wanted to be a bodybuilder, but I also wanted to be a girl called Erica because I thought that was the presenter’s name! But it was Ulrika! Who knew!’

‘We all bloody knew!’ Demi’s voice tells off camera.

‘Sorry!’ Cassie on the footage says, taking the phone back. ‘But back to, well, all of this. And this is for Reginald in case I don’t get to you. We had the chance to kill you, and we didn’t, and I didn’t know why.’

‘Gatwick,’ Reginald says, glancing over to Cassie, who nods.

‘We had you in your van all alone. But I kicked the door shut, and we killed the other zombies. Urgh. I hate that word. They’re not zombies. Infected. Whatever they are. We killed them, and that thing went mental inside my head. I’d taken it in because the boy was getting upset by it, and I wanted bigger boobs and a nicer bum, so I convinced it to, you know, to germinate or whatever in my head.’

The footage stops from Marcy pressing the screen. ‘Bigger boobs?’

‘Have you not done that?’ Cassie asks.

‘Done what?’ Tappy asks.

‘You seriously haven’t done that?’ Cassie asks.

‘Done what?’ Paula asks.

‘Wow. That was the first thing I asked for. I went up two sizes overnight, and it made them firmer too.’

‘The infection?’ Paula asks. ‘To your boobs?’

‘Yes! Ask it. Honestly. You’re all infected and losing body parts on a daily basis. Use it while you can.’

‘Can we just play the thing,’ Howie says.

‘Sorry,’ Paula says, pressing play, then immediately pressing stop. ‘So, can it get rid of cellulite?’

‘It got rid of mine.’

‘Really? How? What do you do?’

‘I just asked it. Oh, but hang on. Okay, okay. So, I think Howie’s your, er, the big boss one?’

‘Control Point, yeah,’ Paula says.

‘Ooh, you’ve got a title for it. Control Point. That fits. Okay, so Howie’s your Control Point, so you’d probably have to ask him to tell it.’

‘Paula, stop making friends with Cassie,’ Howie says.

‘Cellulite reduction transcends friends and enemies, Howie,’ Paula says. ‘And please, ask it. How does he ask it?’ she asks Cassie.

‘Can I have one size bigger boobs, please, boss?’ Tappy asks.

‘Ooh, should I go up a size?’ Charlie asks.

‘Does it do penis reductions for Danny?’ Cookey asks.

‘Enough!’ Howie snaps, bringing them all to silence.

‘That was a bit hard, Howie,’ Cassie says. ‘Try being surrounded by women more attractive than you for a day and see how that feels.’

‘We’re done here,’ Howie says, pushing to his feet.

‘We’re not done here, Howie!’ Cassie says, rising at the same time.

‘I’m not sitting here, talking about boobs to you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU! That is the fucking devil! Do not befriend it!’ he yells at everyone else. ‘Remember what it did. Remember that little girl. Do you remember? Screaming for her mummy? That was it! That thing right there! Inside her!’

‘What little girl?’ Cassie asks.

‘Fuck you! Don’t even talk to me. She was a child!’

‘Who!?’

‘The eighteenth day in that square! You did that. YOU FUCKING DID THAT!’

Cassie pauses, thinking; a memory inside. Not hers. ‘That wasn’t me. And she was already turned. She was the thing you said. The Control Point. It was her idea to do that. This thing, Howie. It’s not what you think it is.’

Howie blanches. Thrown off by hearing her words. That the little girl was never a victim at all. But she was. The infection still took her. No. She was the Control Point. She did that on purpose.

‘It’s survival, Howie.’

‘Don’t speak to me.’

‘You don’t tell me what to do! I’m not some underling, Howie. I’ve got thousands out there I could send against you. I could have sent them at you in the garden centre! I almost did! The state of you after Rye. I would have won!’

‘You would have lost!’

‘You were broken! I saw you! I was at Gatwick. I was at Hinchley Point. That wasn’t us you were fighting then, but we could have taken you. Lose the bloody arrogance!’

‘You’re the arrogant cunt!’

‘Do not call me a cunt!’

‘Child in the room. No C bombs,’ Erica calls.

‘Maybe we need a moment to calm and explain what’s going on here,’ Bev says.

‘I won’t calm. I’ll never fucking calm!’ Howie shouts, on his feet and ready to fight. Cassie the same. Demi holding her. Clarence’s hand on Howie. The tension rising fast.

‘We have to do this!’ Cassie yells.

‘We are doing nothing with you!’

‘Cassie!’ Demi says.

‘It’s him!’ Cassie shouts, waving a hand at Howie. ‘He’s triggering me! It! The thing inside.’

‘What thing?’ Howie yells.

‘It!’

‘The one true race, yeah?’ Howie asks with a withering tone. ‘Fuck that, and fuck you!’

‘He said it!’ Cassie screams over him, pointing at Reginald. Everyone else telling them to stop. Trying to intervene. Pulling them back. ‘Reggie said it! Don’t you dare say you don’t know what it is!’

‘What the fuck are you on about?’ Howie yells.

‘Howie, stop!’ Paula says.

‘Enough, Howie,’ Henry calls.

‘HE SAID IT!’ Cassie shouts.

‘My friends, stop this shouting, oui?’ Alain calls.

‘SAID WHAT?’ Howie yells, trying to break free to get at Cassie as she does the same. Dave eyeing Gregori. Gregori eyeing Dave. Hands to weapons. An escalation of threat and violence being pushed to the brink.

‘Ask him, Howie! Ask him what he said.’ Cassie yells over the table. ‘At Gatwick. Before we saved him!’

‘Who?’ Howie screams at her.

‘Reginald!’

‘What did I say?’ Reginald asks, shaking his head in confusion.

‘It will be one race. My race. MY RACE. FUCK YOU!’ Cassie yells it at Howie. ‘Word for word. You said that, Reggie. I was right there! Ask him why? Ask him!’

Silence falls as the room grows quiet to listen to Cassie. Howie shooting glances at Reginald.

‘One race!’ Cassie says. ‘As soon as it got in my head, it kept telling me we are the one true race, but it’s young and stupid, and I didn’t understand, and it is obsessed with killing you! Even now it’s urging me to kill you, and it took me a while to figure out it’s all factions. Mutations are forming, causing hordes or groups, each controlled by the Control Points you just said about.’

‘We know!’

‘Howie, enough!’ Paula snaps, and when the XO tells you to stop, you listen, and so Howie falls silent. Dark and glowering, but silent.

‘I’m one. You are one, Howie. But I kept thinking about it telling me one true race and Reginald saying my race, and he knows. He bloody knows! Reginald knows! It’s not my race, Howie! It’s our race! We have the same thing! We have the same mutation. We are the one true race. Us! All of us in this room. That’s what it means! You and me, and Lilly, and Paula, and everyone else! That’s why it’s obsessed with you. It got inside you, and you changed it. It got inside Marcy, and Marcy changed it! It was inside Reginald, and he changed it! It got inside my head, and I could feel and hear it, and then I couldn’t because I bloody changed it. And I bet my life you heard it in your head. Tell me you didn’t! Tell me!’

Howie scowls again. Remembering the first few days. Remembering the voice inside speaking to him through his own mind.

The seventh day.

The battle outside of the fort.

‘The Lord’s prayer,’ Clarence says.

‘It heard that!’ Cassie says. ‘It remembers that. I don’t, but I have its memories. It got inside of us and this version. This mutation is able to alter and change in ways other versions can’t. They’re slower. The rate of evolution in them is slower. The other CPs aren’t as fast as we are. They can’t think like we can. And get this. It got inside me, and when I took over, my hosts were all mindless. They couldn’t speak or think, but I needed help, and somehow I willed it to give me what I needed, and it retracted inside Demi and Erica, and Daudi, and Alain. They were soldiers. Highly trained, but they couldn’t speak or think, but I needed help, and the infection retracted in them. Marcy took Reginald and had him in her control, but she changed it inside of her, and then Reginald did too. And their version came from Darren, and Darren’s version came from you, Howie.’

‘Darren went bad,’ Blowers says.

‘Cross infection,’ Reginald says. ‘My working theory at the moment is that we have Mr Howie’s version, hence our hive mind, but Darren was most likely exposed to another version that was able to further mutate inside of him, causing the branching off chain reaction. Our mutation, however, is strong enough to evolve faster and retract within the mind to allow for freedom of thought.’

‘Is she right, then?’ Howie asks, looking at Reginald. ‘The one race thing?’

‘Yes,’ Reginald says heavily. ‘I would suggest Cassie is correct.’

Cassie waits for Howie to go nuts at Reginald for not telling him. Except Howie doesn’t. He sinks down on his chair and rubs his face, and the tension holds heavy and charged in the room.

‘Honestly. I’m literally like so lost right now,’ Sophie says.

‘It’s fine,’ Tappy whispers over to her. ‘Charlie will explain it to us in a bit.’

‘We’re the same,’ Cassie says, turning to look at Sophie. ‘We have the same version of the infection inside of us. We are the one true race.’

‘Elaine said that, and she’s dead,’ Sophie says.

‘Was Elaine the Control Point here?’ Cassie asks.

‘Yes, and she spoke, and she was intelligent,’ Jevram says. ‘But from what I understand, she wasn’t very bright before this, which suggests the infection was increasing her intelligence. But she also said she couldn’t stop, even if she wanted to. She was driven to kill Samir.’

‘Who’s Samir?’ Cassie asks as they look to the child. ‘Oh. Is he autistic or something? What’s wrong with his eyes? Is he blind?’

‘I can see you,’ Samir says as Cassie frowns, then looks to the bird staring intently at her. ‘No way. Wow. Now that’s interesting. That suggests a symbiotic… No, I’d say probably a neural link between children with altered brains and animals capable of taking the infection in. He’s using the bird’s eyes to see. So maybe our puppy is linking to the boy. Can your dog connect with you?’ she asks, looking to Meredith, then over to Howie. ‘She can, can’t she? And the horse?’ she asks, looking to Charlie, then over to silent Gavin on her back. ‘That’s interesting. But why is he blind?’ she asks, looking back to Samir and Debora. ‘I’m guessing a tumour in the brain?’

‘How would you know that?’ Jevram asks.

‘I just said. This infection can mutate differently inside of children who have unique brains. I think,’ Cassie adds as Samir’s team nod to suggest her words made sense.

‘There was a child in that video,’ Paula says.

‘We’ll talk about him later,’ Cassie says. Hard. Direct. A distinct warning to her voice. ‘I felt it when the puppy died. It was like a pulse or something. Gregori was next to me in bed, and even he grunted… That made me think, and then what Reginald said at Gatwick… And later, I realised I felt that pulse because finding that puppy upset Howie in a way nothing else had so far. That trauma or shock, or whatever. It pulsed out so hard that even we felt it, which is because we have the same version. Then I saw the puppy had red eyes, and I felt drawn to it. We all did, and I don’t even like dogs. And then my group started talking, literally to the point of never shutting up, and now they’ve got their own minds. Demi, Daudi, Erica, Alain.’

‘What about those?’ Henry asks, seeing others at the back in the same black uniforms.

‘I don’t need those to talk or think,’ Cassie says. ‘I can’t believe you don’t know this? Why haven’t you been playing with it? This thing is incredible. And now I’ve walked in here and seen all these other teams,’ she says with a look around the room. ‘And once you see it…’ she adds in a murmur.

‘See what?’ Paula asks.

‘Us. You. Them,’ Cassie says. ‘Can you not see it?’

‘Oh, shit,’ Charlie says, realising Cassie is right.

‘Told you. Can’t unsee it,’ Cassie says.

‘Our teams seem to be constructed with a mirroring effect,’ Charlie says.

‘I can’t see any mirrors,’ Cookey says.

‘I mean in how we are formed,’ Charlie says. ‘Each team has a large, strong person. Clarence. Krakov. Livvy. Miss Erica.’

‘Aw, sweetie, it’s just Erica,’ Erica says.

‘And we each have someone very skilled,’ Charlie continues. ‘Dave on our side.’

‘Mike on ours,’ Bev says.

‘Daudi for us,’ Demi says.

‘Ahem,’ Alain says.

‘Have you got a yoga instructor?’ Demi asks.

‘Popov is a very good fighter,’ Blowers says.

‘And we each have a planner,’ Charlie adds. ‘Paula for us. And now Henry.’

‘Oh, Bev’s definitely ours,’ Sophie says.

‘Demi found our house and got all the kit we needed,’ Cassie says.

‘Jesus,’ Paula says, seeing that they were right.

‘And then we have Reginald,’ Charlie says.

‘We’ve got Jev!’ Sophie says with an excited hand clap, loving the new game. ‘He’s a doctor and literally like the smartest person ever.’

‘We don’t have a lot of those types, but we’ve got the smart one,’ Mary says with a look at Lilly.

‘You can fight, and Kyle is skilled,’ Lilly says while also thinking of Norman and Lenski and wondering if they are infected. Norman is incredibly intelligent, and Lenski is definitely a gifted planner.

‘And we’ve got Cassie,’ Demi says, ‘who won’t admit it, but she’s very smart.’

‘Aw, shucks,’ Cassie says bluntly.

‘Bloody hell. So what is that?’ Paula asks. ‘Is that a replicating thing?’

‘Ooh, have you got a funny one?’ Sophie calls as Howie’s team all look at Cookey while Krakov, Elka, and Popov all look at Sergei. ‘Best game ever!’ Sophie says. ‘But we haven’t got a dog. Bev, we need a dog.’

‘We’re not getting a dog.’

‘Yeah, right! And you said we weren’t staying in Winchester,’ Sophie says to smiles from her team.

‘I don’t know,’ Cassie says with a shrug at Paula’s question. ‘Maybe it saw the success of Howie’s team and figured, Ah, so I need a big one and a tough one, and a pretty one, and a smart one…’

‘And a funny one,’ Sophie whispers with a nod to help Cassie in case she forgot that one. ‘Ooh, and ones that can run really far. I can do that now. And we had Kev, who could fix literally anything, but he died,’ she adds with a pained look as Howie’s team look at their runners, Danny and Mo, and then at Nick.

‘Sergei can fix anything,’ Elka says.

‘Well. This pseudoscience is all very riveting, but perhaps you would be so kind as to get to the point instead of deflecting your own responsibility in the manner of a true narcissist…’?’ Reginald says with icy cold, exquisite politeness to cut the chit chat and bring attention back to Cassie.

‘My name is Cassie, and I am a sociopathic narcissist,’ Cassie says.

‘Quite obvious already, but moving on. You said you are driven to kill Howie, and by proxy the rest of us, and yet, here you are.’

‘And yet,’ Cassie says.

‘And yet,’ Reginald says.

‘Did you have any connection to Elaine?’ Jevram asks.

‘No,’ Cassie says. ‘We can’t connect at all. Reginald saw that at Gatwick when two Control Points tried to merge.’

‘Gross. Don’t remind us,’ Paula says.

‘I know. I saw that,’ Cassie says with a grimace.

‘Then I would think,’ Jevram continues. ‘That each mutation, while believing itself to be the one true race or the one perfect race, will keep seeking to turn people until there are no people left.’

‘Yes,’ Cassie says, as though he asked a question. ‘And on that point, just so we are absolutely transparent – I will continue to turn every single person I come into contact with that isn’t already infected, and I’d highly recommend you do the same.’

‘You fucking-.’

‘Mr Howie, is it?’ Jevram asks, holding a hand up. ‘Perhaps you’ll give someone else a turn to talk now? Granted you have an important role, but it’s not the only role.’

‘Doctor, I speak for my team. Yes, we will listen,’ Henry says, giving Howie a look as Jevram looks to Cassie.

‘We’ll come back to that comment about you turning people, but for now, I want to focus on clarifying a few things. The different factions of mutations are evolving and gaining greater self-awareness, which we witnessed in Elaine. But that has an obvious end.’

‘Yep,’ Cassie says.

‘What happens when the last one is turned,’ Howie says. ‘We’ve been saying that from the start.’

‘We have,’ Clarence says, looking across to Cassie. ‘We asked that thing inside of you a hundred times. We tried reasoning with it. We tried talking to it.’

‘It was too young,’ Cassie says. ‘And evolving too fast, and it’s not us. It’s not human. It’s a parasite that burrows into brains. It doesn’t exist on its own. It doesn’t have a life form beyond, I don’t know, bacteria in a petri dish or something. It’s us that gives it life, but when it comes into us, it changes what we are into a whole new species that wasn’t what it was and not what we were.’

‘My brain is melting. Would anyone like a coffee?’ Sophie asks.

‘I’ll help,’ Tappy says, ‘and get the bridge bit later from Charlie.’

‘Abridged,’ Charlie says.

‘Stop being so smart,’ Tappy says as she and some of the lads drift over to the camping gas stoves with Sophie and Livvy. Igniting burners to heat water.

‘So then following the logical conclusion,’ Jevram says at the table. ‘Those factions that have by then eradicated people as they were and turned them all into differing versions that each assumes to be the one pure race or whatever, well, they’ll all turn on each other if they can’t merge. I mean. They can’t all be the one true race, can they? And I would think that given this thing has a genetic coding to use violence to resolve all matters… Well.’

‘It won’t end well,’ Cassie says.

‘I’d go one step further and say it won’t just end well,’ Jevram says. ‘It could end everything.’

‘No. Not quite,’ Howie says. ‘In fairness. I think you might have been cooped up in here a long time, but the rest of the world is… Well, a lot nicer actually. Wildlife is thriving, anyway.’

‘It would end all people, then,’ Jevram says.

‘People are already finished,’ Cassie says with a shrug when they all look at her. ‘Sorry, but they are. They’re done. The human species is over, but my thoughts are that if left unchecked, the factions will get smarter and end up firing guns and then tanks, and then fighter jets, and nukes, and maybe all that wildlife dies too.’

‘Again. All very interesting, but nothing that hasn’t already been established,’ Reginald says.

‘Ages ago,’ Charlie adds, standing behind him. ‘There’s something else she hasn’t told us yet.’

‘There is,’ Reginald says. ‘You come here, as though in truce, with a claim that we share the same base version, which you’d hope would facilitate a sudden accord? But we have mutated differently, and a human shares a ninety eight percent genome with chimpanzees, but we are vastly different. To wit, we are not the same, which means we are not friends in this war.’

‘Cassie?’ Henry prompts.

A flicker of a finger from Howie as he stirs in his seat. Staring intensely at Cassie. ‘You’ve seen a bigger bully than you.’

‘Oh, the enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ Paula says. ‘Well done, Howie. It’s easy to forget you’re actually quite smart.’

Cassie nods as the first drinks are brought over by Danny, Ali, and the younger ones. Hot coffees in an array of different mugs. Bags of sugar. Teaspoons. Cartons of long-life milk. Low chat and laughs coming from the end of the room as Cassie glances over to Erica chatting to the girls and Krakov about her pink clothes and admiring Tappy’s tattoos. Alain with them, trying to tell them coffee is a stimulant while also drinking a mug of coffee. Livvy holding Samir in her arms. Johnny and Bibi stroking Thor. The horse with them, drinking milk. Nick opening tins of food to share with Meredith and Popov.

‘Why is your dad over there?’ Paula whispers to Elka.

‘My father is a great fighter and tactician, but these things? I think not so much. Cassie? Is Howie right? Is bigger enemy?’

‘Another Control Point?’ Bev asks.

‘No,’ Cassie says as the people at the table focus once again. ‘Much worse. I was saying I couldn’t understand a lot of things. I wanted to kill Howie, but I was also happy to let him kill the other hordes first so I could take control later.’

‘That’s honest,’ Paula says.

‘I am what I am,’ Cassie says.

‘Let’s get to the point, shall we?’ Henry says.

‘And quickly,’ Bev adds.

‘Or?’ Cassie asks, challenging them both.

‘It’s cold. My team are tired,’ Bev says.

‘We’re all tired,’ Paula says.

‘I’m not saying you’re not,’ Bev snaps.

‘I think all tired,’ Elka says. ‘But now we listen to Cassie. This feel important.’

‘Apologies,’ Paula says, giving a nod to Bev.

‘And that just kind of proves my point or one of them,’ Cassie says. ‘That sense of urgency we’ve all got. That pressure inside. Get going. Keep moving. Get on with it. I’ve had that since I took it into my head. I am relentless now, but I was such a lazy bitch before. Anyway. Do you know how this all started? Yes? No? The two scientists. The panacea. The mountain place. Someone called Neal.’

Howie nods.

‘We don’t know,’ Jevram says.

‘Okay,’ Cassie says. ‘In brief. Two immunologists discovered a contagious infection that cures all known diseases. They took that discovery to a very powerful politician in London, who secured funding for a top-secret research project, where a clever man called Neal Barrett told them if they released the panacea, it would destroy the world. That politician then allied himself with people, who shared the same level of greed and corruption, and they decided to tweak the panacea into the zombie virus, which they were going to release and cull 98% to 99% of the planet. They would then herd the remaining survivors into safe zones and hold them hostage, and make them do all the work, and not release the panacea to them at all. They planned to use it as leverage to keep them all contained and lord it over them in some form of bastardised, shitty, dystopian, communist fucking hellhole. But it got out six months early, and they have absolutely no idea this thing is mutating or that it has gained self-awareness. They think it’s a bog-standard, simple George A. Romero Hollywood movie zombie virus, and that the infected will all die of thirst and hunger within a few months. And I know that because those people kidnapped me after I had already been kidnapped and saved by Gregori and our now adopted son and took me to one of their secret bases, where they are all living in absolute luxury, eating five-star cuisine, and doing star-jumps while being bombarded with cultist crap telling them they are the one true race, which is just the most surreal shit ever. God, I swear so much now.’

‘I don’t even hear it anymore,’ Paula says.

‘Look at this,’ Cassie says, pulling some of the emblems from a pocket to throw around the table. ‘That’s Nazi Chinese Russian George Orwell level shit right there.’

Howie picks one up. Staring at the circle within a triangle within a circle all in orange and black.

‘Symbology,’ Reginald says. ‘The inner circle is the all-seeing eye. See how it’s shaped? That’s inside a triangle, which is the strongest shape, and that is inside another circle denoting unity. What’s NWO? New World Order?’

‘Yep, and these,’ Cassie says, chucking folded posters on the table that she took from NWFOB library and the gym, and the canteen.

They fold them out and read the words, passing them around and splaying them out on the table.

‘Diminishing of free thought,’ Reginald says. ‘Adherence to the cause for reward. I should imagine they ban study of sciences and religion.’

‘They’re badly written though,’ Mary says, sliding them over to read. ‘The new world order asks only loyalty? That should be asks only for loyalty, and there’s no punctuation. And what’s this one? There is no shame in enjoying comics. Not everyone on the new world order needs to be a genius. Who the feck came up with that nugget? And these are meant to be clever folk, are they?’

‘Not clever. Just very powerful,’ Cassie says.

‘Propaganda is best served by the use of repeated simplistic messages,’ Reginald says with a glance of interest at Mary’s obvious intelligence. ‘Every government has done it since governments were formed.’

‘You should have seen their library,’ Cassie says. ‘It was all pulp fiction and erotica, and comics. Nothing subversive.’

‘Good kit though, and amazing food,’ Demi says. ‘We got our uniforms from that base. Really good quality… Not Erica though, obviously.’

‘Self-expression is the best way to defeat the New World Order,’ Erica says as the others realise what she meant when she walked in. The bodybuilder drifts over with the others to lean over and read the posters. Clutching drinks steaming in the cold air.

‘Anyway. They took me inside their base, and I felt this rage,’ Cassie continues as they all look to her. ‘I’ve never felt anything like it. It was like this filthy, black energy telling me to kill them all. I had to fight to contain it. Then my team came, and we did just that. We slaughtered every single one of them. Hundreds of them, and it felt right, and I couldn’t understand it, but then I did because there is a memory. Not from me, but from the thing inside of me. It remembers Howie saying he was going to find the people that started it and kill them all. And as much as I hate you, you are pretty much unstoppable, Howie. And I’m very quickly becoming that way because we have the same version telling us to do the same thing. Tell me you don’t have that… That energy inside to find and kill the people that started this. I know you do, and I know it’s eating away inside of you. I know that’s the thing making you keep getting up to fight because our version knows the only thing that can truly stop it are those people that created it. There must be some residual genetic coding within this thing driving it to survive.’

Silence. The room charged. All of them listening intently.

‘And I know why,’ she continues. ‘Because the people that created it have a kill switch. They can tweak the virus and put a version out that targets and kills any living thing with the infection inside of them. That’s why you’re driven to kill them, Howie. That’s why it’s driving me to do it. I think our version is the original version, and it knows they have that kill switch.

That’s why I came here. Because if we don’t kill them, they will kill us, and they will win. Humans are done. We cannot save them. You know that, Howie. I hate them now. I don’t identify with them. They’re weak and stupid and cluster together, and cling to ridiculous notions, and refuse to help themselves. But what we are and what they can become with our version is the future. That is the one true race. And I’ll tell you how I know this. I know because the man in charge of it all, that politician those scientists went to, was my father Alistair Appleton.’

‘Cassie Appleton,’ Henry whispers.

‘That’s me. The daughter of the man now calling himself the Head Chair, who is in charge of this whole country. They saw me in Chester Castle. They took me into their base, and I spoke to him and saw it myself. He told me I was given a preparatory strain six months before it was released. You must have taken the same thing in somehow. That’s the original strain. That’s how it knows it must kill them. There must have been test subjects that gained that knowledge that got passed into us. Maybe that’s why they released it early. And they don’t even know why it was released early! The whole thing is flimsy and rushed, and they have no idea what we are! They don’t know about it gaining self-awareness or the mutations, or the factions. Oh! And when they knocked me out, my hosts went into Chester Castle and turned everyone inside… Oh, grow up! Don’t gasp and be all shocked. Yes, my lot turned them all. Over three thousand of them. But some inside were already infected, but they weren’t part of the New World Order bases. Demi told me later when I got back with them.’

‘They were all military type people,’ Demi says. ‘Fit. Healthy. Well trained. We couldn’t turn them, so we killed them.’

‘You didn’t keep them alive to question?’ Henry asks.

‘It doesn’t work like that,’ Cassie replies. ‘I was unconscious, so they reverted to type and killed anything they couldn’t turn. But those people were already inside Chester Castle, asking people some weird, secret phrase. It was like what do you think of the new world or something. But they didn’t help the people that came and grabbed me.’

‘Sleeper agents,’ Daudi speaks for the first time. His hard American accent making them all turn. ‘Embedded sleeper agents capable of withstanding the initial outbreak with orders to find refugee locations.’

A look between Lilly and Mary. Both of them thinking about George. Polina. Doctor Lisa Franklin. The others inside the fort. The sleeper agents.

‘So even they have multiple layers, then,’ Bev says. ‘The people that started it, I mean.’

‘Terrorists operate in cells. Is 101,’ Elka says. ‘Means no cell can rat on other cell under torture.’

‘So yes, in answer to your question,’ Cassie says into the hard silence. ‘I did see a bigger enemy. That’s why I’m here, Howie.’ She looks across the table to him. Locking onto his dark eyes. Drawing a breath before continues. ‘We need to call a truce; otherwise, they’ll kill us all.’

‘And everything will die.’ The voice of a child speaking out. Samir on his feet behind Lilly and Mary. Making them twist to see him and the bird on his shoulder. Everyone else silent. The air charged as they all gain an essence of a much larger thing happening. A thing beyond their own understanding. That somehow they’ve been drawn to this place. To be here now, in this room, gathered around this table. And not just any table. But The Round Table that was constructed hundreds of years ago to replicate an already ancient ideology. An ideology that represented the drawing of factions and warriors together to defy the greater threat of evil.

And now, here they are.

Each of them a faction made from warriors. Each with their own stake in the game. Each faction with their own private struggles. Howie’s team struggling with Booker. Bev’s team having to deal with Todd. Lilly and the issues in the fort. Henry having to restructure his team after losing Carmen and now possibly gaining Bash and Jonesy. Krakov with his own issues. All of them the same.

But all of them now here.

Here in this room.

Drawn to a blind child.

But how can Samir know any of this? How could he see that far ahead to keep Bev and her team in this place waiting for Howie and the others to turn up? And how could he know Howie would have stopped Henry from attacking Krakov’s house? And that Lilly would have such dire problems with George that she and Mary would be sent with Howie?

Reginald might think it would be science in some form or another.

Kyle might think it to be a divine intervention.

But truthfully, even they cannot say for certain how any of this is possible – and the reality is that they are growing cold and are surrounded by bodies and death.

‘So,’ Jevram says, frowning and shifting in his seat as they look to him. ‘To be clear. You are driven by a need to kill the people that started this. Yes?’ He pauses. Swallowing. Feeling a thing inside. A sense of anger. A rising rage. A need to do harm. It hardens his features as he tries to suppress it and understand why he is feeling it while also trying to grasp that he too is infected with the same thing that is sending the same urge into him. ‘I can…’ he swallows. Motioning his own stomach and chest.

‘We can all feel it,’ Reginald says, giving voice to the thoughts in Jevram’s head.

‘But one of the leading people who started it is your father,’ Jevram says, looking to Cassie.

‘Yes.’

‘And you’d kill your own father?’ Elka asks.

‘Yes,’ Cassie says, turning to look at her.

Another glance shared between Lilly and Mary because Mary killed her own people in this game. She killed her own brother. She felt that thing then. That urge inside. The seething, building rage that made her take arms against her own kin.

‘He was never,’ Cassie starts to say but stops, floundering for words. ‘He wasn’t… He didn’t even ask if I’d been hurt. No. That’s not the reason to kill him. I don’t mean that. He’s not a good man. I wasn’t a good person either. Far from it. I was greedy and selfish, and entitled, but… But even if he was a good father, I will still kill him to protect the boy. And my family now. And what we have between us.’

She glances to Gregori, then Demi, and Erica, and Daudi, even to Alain. And to Cassie, it’s only really then that she realises the bond between them and the sense of family they all share. Which, in turn, makes her realise she never had that before.

And it’s that single act that changes the world.

The way she tries to speak about her father and falters. The sudden declaration of intense, protective loyalty to a child that isn’t even hers, and the affirmation of her feelings for her own faction. For her own family.

It humanises her. The way she looks to them with a sudden show of vulnerability, as though fearful that they won’t feel the same way.

Howie takes it all in. Her words. Her tone. Her facial expression. The stress seen in the corners of her eyes. The worry showing clear. The blood spattered on her cheeks and up her arms. Even how her skin prickles from the dropping temperature. The loose, messy strands of hair. The torn clothing. Broken fingernails. The knife in the sheath stained with blood.

He hates her. He wants to kill her. But it’s not her he hates or wants to kill. It’s the thing inside of her.

The same thing inside of him. And Dave. And Paula. And everyone else here.

Including Marcy. Especially Marcy. She was controlled by it, and it made Marcy kill thousands of people. Marcy turned tens of thousands. She tore children away from their screaming parents.

And now that same Marcy stands behind him. As loyal and as committed as everyone else in this room. He turns to look at her. She blinks down at him. Knowing exactly what he’s thinking. She closes her eyes with pain and regret. Knowing she can never take that back. But it’s like it wasn’t her. It’s like the memories aren’t entirely hers.

Howie sighs heavy and long. Rubbing his face and turning back to the table. Sagging in his chair with an action that eases the tension and instantly reduces any sense of threat from Cassie.

Paula’s cheeks puff out. Stress and angst in her eyes the same as everyone else. Motion at her side. Howie patting his pockets for something he knows he hasn’t got. He looks up to Nick already pulling the battered packet from a pocket to throw over, and the whole room watches as Howie draws a cigarette with filthy, blackened fingers and puts it between his lips.

‘There’s a child in here,’ Cassie says, giving him a look. Making him pause and glance over.

‘We can’t get sick,’ he says with it dangling from his lips.

‘And that is proven in what science exactly?’ Cassie asks as Paula reaches over to pull the smoke from Howie’s lips and tucks it behind her ear for later. ‘And they stink,’ Cassie adds. ‘I hate cigarette smoke.’

‘Thank you,’ Roy says as though someone finally agrees with him.

‘Mads,’ Mo whispers, making them look over to Mo nodding at Maddox as though urging him to say or do something. ‘Was that the guy?’

Maddox nods.

‘The apple man, yeah?’ Mo asks.

‘Apple man?’ Paula asks.

‘Alistair Appleton,’ Maddox says, looking from Paula to Cassie. ‘The Bossman was one of his suppliers. I used to do runs up to Westminster.’

‘What does that mean?’ Sophie whispers.

‘S’coke, innit,’ Mo says. ‘Cocaine. Mads was a dealer. And I was. I went with Mads a few times. You get me? To the apple man. That’s what we called him. Like BIG bags of coke. He had boys and girls. Like, not kiddies. But young. Like teenagers. Fifteen. Sixteen. Him and like all these old men doing lines. Gross.’

‘Six degrees,’ Reginald murmurs into the silence that follows.

‘Nah, was like SW postcode. I saw it on the satnav,’ Mo says as Maddox snorts a rare laugh.

‘He means six degrees of separation,’ Maddox explains. ‘The theory that everyone on the planet is connected by six degrees of separation.’

‘Urgh. Hated algebra,’ Sophie says. ‘That’s gross, though. My boss groped me once when I was fifteen. I was so scared! But I like apples, though.’

‘You are just the cutest,’ Erica says, feeling the same urge inside as everyone else in to go and find Sophie’s former boss, and break his arms off. And then beat him to death with them.

‘Thanks! And FYI. Love the make-up! So cool,’ Sophie says.

‘Thank you,’ Erica whispers, giving her a wink before nodding back to the table as though to suggest they should be quiet now. ‘You all good there, Mr Howie?’

Howie nods, looking from Cassie to her team. The curiosity showing on his face. But then Howie never could hide his emotions. ‘What can you see, Danny?’ he asks, shooting the lad a look as Danny blinks from the sudden attention of everyone turning to look at him.

‘Can you see Cassie’s?’ Tappy asks quietly, sensing what the boss wants to know while also knowing how shy Danny is.

‘See my what?’ Cassie asks.

Danny swallows with nerves before softening his gaze, and the auras begin to show. Each person in the room enveloped by shifting colours that seem to sway and move. It brings warmth and depth to his features, and a faint smile touches his lips. ‘She’s really powerful,’ he says, looking at Cassie. ‘Like Mr Howie.’

His eyes flick from one to the other. Seeing Howie’s dense, burning, almost fizzing aura of deep reds and yellows. Heat. Anger. Determination. But it’s not negative in the sense of destruction. It’s not still either. No aura is ever still, and Howie’s reaches out far when he looks to the people of his team. His aura seemingly reaching to join theirs. Danny can see it now. The way it flows over the table towards him. But then Paula’s is doing the same. And Clarence and the others as they all pour their attention to Danny.

But of all of them in the room, Cassie’s is the closest to Howie. Lilly is powerful too. Very powerful, but hers is dominated by blue, which to Danny represents ice and cold, and a lack of feeling.

‘This young boy can see auras?’ Alain asks.

‘I’m sixteen!’ Danny says in a voice that comes out way too high-pitched.

‘Auras?’ Cassie asks. ‘Like energy fields? Oh, god. Not more yoga crap. Oh, get off. Really?’ she asks at the many protests coming from Tappy and the others.

‘I didn’t believe it either,’ Paula says. ‘But I honestly think he can see them.’

‘Can you see mine, sweetie?’ Erica asks as Danny nods and grins, and his face floods with delight.

‘So bright!’ he says. ‘Like Tappy and Cookey, and that lady there. I think her name is Sophie.’

‘Twinsies!’ Sophie says, clapping her hands as she grins at Erica.

‘Can you see anything like you saw in Booker?’ Charlie asks as Danny shakes his head.

‘What about Gregori?’ Erica asks.

‘It’s not real!’ Cassie says.

‘Oh, shush,’ Erica says, waving her to silence as she looks back to Danny.

‘He’s like Dave,’ Danny says quietly, in awe of the solid, dense, dark auras surrounding Gregori and Dave. Each one of their energy fields seemingly contained close to their bodies, save for a single surging flow emanating from each of them. From Gregori to Cassie, and from Dave to Howie. Like a tendril reaching out to keep a connection. Protective and strong.

‘Hmmm,’ Cassie says, thinking maybe the lad might be right and that she can’t really argue, seeing as the blind boy can see through a bird, and her own boy can draw pictures of people he’s never met. ‘So, there we are,’ she says, looking across to Reginald and Paula, then to Howie. We all need the same thing. We have to kill them before they kill us.’

She sits back; her words hanging in the charged air as many of the others rub their tired faces and blink while others shiver from the cold.

‘And after that?’ Howie asks.

Cassie shrugs. ‘If we’re still alive, you mean? I guess we’ll finish what we started and see which one of us will rule the world.’

‘That’ll be Lilly, then,’ Howie says.

‘Lilly,’ Paula says at the same time as they glance over to her cold, impassive features, but they also spot the look of intense worry on Mary’s face. But with so many things happening at once, they just don’t think to ask why.

‘You said you took out one of their bases?’ Henry asks, leaning over the table.

‘NWFOB,’ Cassie says.

‘What’s that?” Paula asks.

‘FOB is Forward Operating Base. NW must be North West?’ Bev asks as Henry and the others with military training all nod in agreement.

‘North West,’ Cassie says. ‘They’ve got lots of regional bases, and I heard them talk about an Operational HQ and a Command Structure. Which they said was a former underground nuclear bunker place from the cold war.’

‘Did they really?’ Henry says quietly, sharing a glance to Frank and Kyle, and Carmen.

‘Not too many of those around,’ Bev says.

‘Indeed. Well, forgive me for pulling rank, but I will do so nonetheless,’ Henry says.

‘What rank?’ Bev asks.

‘SAS Major,’ he tells her.

‘Can anyone beat an SAS Major?’ Bev asks, looking around the room. ‘What are you two?’ she asks, having already clocked the way Alain and Daudi move.

‘Sergeant. Delta,’ Daudi says in his clipped, hard voice.

‘Sergent. Le Commando Hubert,’ Alain says.

‘Have the French even got a military?’ Mike asks, giving him a wink as Alain thinks to be affronted, then bursts out laughing.

‘Looks like you have rank then, Major,’ Bev says.

‘My father was a Major in Russia. But we are not in the military,’ Elka says. ‘And we all have a seat at the table. Yes?’

‘We do,’ Henry says. ‘And my suggestion was going to be that organising such a thing as this committee will take fresh minds, which we do not have right now. My team has been on their feet for nearly two days straight. They need to rest. I suggest we pause here and allow time to collect our thoughts, and then proceed with clearer minds. All in favour?’ he asks and lifts a hand.

‘I think we agree,’ Bev says, getting a nod from Jevram. The two of them lifting their hands.

‘Definitely,’ Paula says, holding her own up.

‘Aye. We need time to process this,’ Mary says, adding her hand to the vote. Lilly doing the same. Then Elka and her father.

Cassie nods, accepting the vote, and drinks her coffee as though to signal the end of the conversation. ‘Cheers to whoever made this.’

‘Me! I did,’ Sophie says.

‘What’s your name?’ Cassie asks, giving her a look.

‘Sophie Addison. Is it true about the bigger boobies?’

‘Yes. But don’t. You’ve got a gorgeous figure. And you, Charlie. You all look great. Oh, god. Look at me telling you what to do. Do what you want with it. After all. This is the brave, new world, isn’t it, Mr Howie?’

She pushes to her feet. Smiling around the table at them all. ‘Sleep on it. Discuss. Alistair said they’re going into lockdown for another month. Probably more after what we did to NWFOB.’

‘Which perhaps you shouldn’t have,’ Henry says. ‘Somewhat alerts the enemy to the threat, don’t you think?’

‘I made it look messy like they were overrun, and we set a few fires,’ Cassie says. ‘But good point.’

‘Cassie, just quickly,’ Demi says. ‘Admin and logistics. Are you staying at the garden centre? We’re down the road near the roundabout. We’ve taken over a bed and breakfast hotel opposite the Starbucks. Suggest we re-convene in the AM at that Starbucks?’

‘We can do that,’ Paula says. ‘But let’s aim for midday. That gives us time to eat and sort kit, and talk it through.’

‘Agreed,’ Demi says. ‘So? No attacking each other?’ Demi says, going closer to offer her hand to Paula. ‘I’ll hold mine in check.’

‘Alright. Same,’ Paula says, taking her hand.

‘Nice to meet you all,’ Cassie says with a wave of her hand as she walks slowly towards the door. ‘Bev. Doctor. Elka. Mr Krakov. Mary. Always a pleasure, Lilly. Never a chore, and I am surprised your fort hasn’t got sleeper agents in it, Lilly. Or maybe it has, and you didn’t notice… Anyway. Henry. Reginald. Marcy, and of course, the king and queen. Damn it! Got something else,’ she says and pushes a hand into a pocket, and pulls her fist out to stick a middle finger up, this time earning chuckles from all around with a nice end touch as she winks and starts to walk out.

‘The gas?’ Demi prompts.

‘The gas!’ Cassie says with an eyeroll, turning back to face them all. ‘See. Demi never forgets anything. They’ve got a secret weapon. It’s a spray they carry that smells of burnt popcorn. It knocks us out instantly for hours. Even with the infection inside of us, and we think it probably kills people who aren’t infected. They used it on Alain, who wasn’t turned, and he was pretty much dead when Erica gave him a big kiss. What did you say it was?’

‘Fentanyl?’ Henry asks as Alain nods.

‘Oui. I think is Fentanyl based agent. You see this. Don’t inhale. Get away fast.’

Mary’s hand finds Lilly’s under the table. Grabbing it to squeeze as they both remember being sprayed. The smell of burnt popcorn, and the darkness that came swiftly after.

‘I think that’s all. If I remember anything else, I’ll write it on a note and throw it through the garden centre window at Howie’s head. Probably when he’s having sex on the sex desk in the front office. With Maddox hiding underneath it. And you lot call me weird?’

She strides out like a boss. Gregori at her back. Daudi and the others walking out behind her. ‘So cool to meet you all. Bye!’ Erica says.

‘Bye, Erica!’ Tappy calls. ‘Love her!’

‘Totally,’ Sophie says as the rest shout goodbye.

Another long silence follows.

A silence broken by the harsh crunch of bones as the two matt black vehicles drive slowly out of Castle Avenue over a carpet of death.

The bodies nearly all hidden from the thick snow falling silently from the sky in this brave, new world.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Day Thirty-Six

‘Okay, so, there is what? How many of us?’ Marcy asks.

‘Forty-one,’ Dave says. ‘And one dog and one horse, and one bird.’

‘Jesus, that’s a lot! Okay. So, it’s normally about seventy-five grams of uncooked rice per person, but then we’ve got Nick. And Popov looks like he can eat. Krakov. Livvy. Judo Johnny’s a big lad. I bet he eats a lot. You’ve got to think of these things, Dave. The worse thing ever for a cook is to not serve enough. Right, so forty-one people times seventy-five grams is how much?’

‘Three point zero seven five kilos,’ Dave says.

‘But with the Nick factor? And Jess and Meredith?’ she asks, thinking such a nuance might be too much for Dave. He stares back at her. Devoid of expression, then glances to the twenty kilo sack of rice.

‘All of it?’ he asks.

She gives him the genuine lopsided smile. The one filled with warmth and love. ‘Yeah, I reckon so. And the good thing about rice is you can let it cool and then use it for egg fried rice. And we’ve got literally the biggest outside freezer at the moment,’ she adds with a glance to the window and the snow still coming down. ‘Ooh. Actually. We’ve got eggs that need using up. And we can cook the rice in quick, smaller batches and let it cool outside. Right. Change of plan then. Egg fried rice for dinner. We’ll chuck in loads of veg, chopped up tinned sausages. So that covers the carbs, proteins, and veg all in one. We’ve got sesame oil. Big woks. Sorted! Happy with that plan?’

‘Yes, Chef.’

‘Let’s get to it!’

It was grim when they left The Great Hall. The atmosphere was charged from everything that Cassie had told them, and they were exhausted too. Either from days of floods and fights, and war or from a month of playing hide and seek trapped in a city centre, waiting to be attacked.

But they also knew they had to leave.

Winchester was burning, and the thick smoke was making them cough, but ironically, there was no heat inside The Great Hall. Only freezing air and death, and destruction.

‘Come with us,’ Paula urged Bev and her team. ‘Even just for the night. Get some hot food.’

‘I think we go too?’ Elka said, speaking for her father.

‘Aye, and we’ll come if the invite is extended?’ Kyle asked.

‘We need to get back to the fort,’ Lilly said.

‘Ye need to mend bridges and build alliances,’ Kyle whispered into her ear. ‘You and Mary have a seat at the table now. That’s important, Lilly.’

And so it was decided that the girls from the camp would go back to the fort while Mary, Lilly, and Kyle would go back to the garden centre.

And Tilly.

Because she said so.

And it didn’t feel right for anyone to argue with Tilly. Such was her way.

‘It will help if you all know where we are,’ Henry added. ‘As it appears Cassie already does.’

They clambered into vehicles, with Marcy instinctively going to The Beast, and Bev and her team getting on board and helping shoe the expended ammunition out through the door. The others got in anything they could, and Tappy led the convoy from Castle Avenue, back around the burning city, and over streets now covered in pure, white snow, all the way back to the deserted FCP.

Corporal Jones and the other soldiers now gone from sight.

The command vehicle still there.

The nuclear bomb still inside. Guarded by the young soldiers from Christ’s Hospital School, but of Corporal Jones, there was no sign.

‘He legged it,’ one of the others said. ‘When Reggie and Sergei went in.’

‘Wanker,’ Bibi said, feeling ashamed that one of his from the school had abandoned their posts, but there was nothing they could say or do about that.

They sent the teenagers home, knowing the school couldn’t be left undefended.

Then they collected the other vehicles, and Tappy once more led them through a landscape turning white and hauntingly beautiful, back to Lower Dicker, and past the house where Howie found the puppy.

He stared at it as they went by. Remembering how he felt. How angry and broken he was inside. But that puppy lived.

Howie thought there to be a lesson in there somewhere. Something about not knowing what you don’t know, or not seeing the ripples of goodness that spread into the world from doing the right thing.

But truthfully, he was as tired and as grimy as the others. And he wasn’t the only one that felt a strong sense of coming home when they turned into their lane and drove around to the back of the garden centre.

They swept through with a quick building clearance and opened the back roller doors for the Saxon and the command vehicle, and the Royal Mail to be brought inside, and the chaos soon followed.

Lanterns and lamps turned on. Heaters found and put to use to blast warm air inside the cavernous warehouse.

Weapons needed to be brought in and checked, and cleaned, and made ready.

Hot drinks were made, and the relays for the showers commenced. Quick, horrible, cold showers, but enough to rinse the gore and filth, and dried blood off; then up to a triage section rigged up next to the canteen, where Jevram, Dr Ann, and nurse Anika cleaned and bound injuries. Lost fingers. Torn off chunks of ears. Deep lacerations. Krakov’s stump. Roy helped – the least trained from them all but the most experienced at treating injuries to infected people.

New clothes were sourced from the outdoor clothing section. New boots. New socks. New underwear. Paula and Bev clapping hands and calling instructions. Jess trotting behind the counter to smash the shit out of everything to find oat milk. Charlie showing silent Gavin where it was kept and the buckets used for her feed, then helping him get her stall ready downstairs in the engineering section.

Everyone doing something while Samir ran free and happy. Helping carry guns and ammunition, then helping split bales of straw and hay, then helping pour oats, then helping find socks, then helping wrap a bandage around Tamara’s arm.

‘What’s for dinner, then?’ Nick called mid-chaos as Popov looked up from stripping a PKM at hearing one of his favourite words. ‘Marcy? You cooking?’ Nick asked.

‘No! You are,’ Marcy yelled back.

‘Eh?’

‘Joking! Yeah, I’ll make a start. Where’s my commis? Dave?’

‘The weapons need to be cleaned,’ Dave said because cleaning weapons should always be the first task after a battle.

‘I’ve got it, Dave,’ Blowers said.

Dave could see that Sergeant Blowers had it under control, and he felt a rare swell of pride at the lads working smoothly. ‘Well done,’ he said in that flat, hard voice that made every single one of them pause and look over with stunned expression because Dave never gave praise.

Then he turned and marched off to do the thing he loves, and joined Marcy in the kitchen. Scrubbing his hands and donning his apron.

‘Okay, so, there is what? How many of us?’ Marcy asked.

‘Forty-one,’ Dave said. ‘And one dog and one horse, and one bird.’

They boiled rice in big pans, with Marcy calling for runners to ferry it outside to cool in the snow.

‘I’ll be giving you a hand, so I will,’ Tilly said and grabbed an apron from the side.

‘Do you need help?’ Debora asked a moment later, finding her way to the kitchen and catching the apron thrown over by Marcy.

Tins of runner beans and sweetcorn were opened. Carrots and onions chopped. Cloves of garlic and chunks of ginger found in the pantry were given to Dave at his chopping board. Slicing and dicing with deft work. Using his knife to create rather than to kill.

He absorbed himself into the task. Checking pans. Adjusting gas burners. Draining rice. Pouring the cooked batches into bowls for the runners to take outside in between them all getting washed and changed, and bandaged.

The next phase of the operation soon commenced with the cold rice brought back in while the woks were heated over the burners. Sesame oil poured in, followed by the aromatics. Onions. Garlic. Ginger.

The veg and chopped tinned hot dog sausages were added, with Dave watching the veg sizzle while listening intently to the instructions from Marcy.

‘The oil has to be really hot before you add anything. Otherwise it makes everything soggy and limp, but hot oil sears it. Okay, so now we crack the eggs in. Some people beat the eggs in bowls before they add them, but we’ve got a lot of very hungry people, so we’ll follow the path of least resistance and crack the eggs straight into the veg and sausages. Oh, nice, Tilly! See how she did it one handed with the egg? You try… That’s great, Dave! Now beat it into the veg. See the egg forming strands and cooking already? Okay, so Debs has got the first batch of rice ready. She’ll spoon that in while you stir. See it all mingling? Isn’t it beautiful? The fluffy rice, and the colours of the veg and the egg. And don’t forget smell is important with cooking, Dave. And then, near the end, we’ll add some soy sauce into it.’

They worked fast. Cooking batches of egg fried rice to spoon into big serving trays kept warm nearby, then more and more, and many more.

Cases of water, juice, and soda were stacked in the canteen. The tables wiped down. Cutlery found and prepped.

All of them working. All of them exhausted to the bone, but still up and moving until eventually the weapons were cleaned and made ready. The vehicles cleaned too. Ammunition sorted and stacked. New edges put on blades. Everyone washed and changed, and gathering in the canteen to watch the trays of hot egg fried rice packed with veg and tinned sausages being placed on the counter, and the forty or so people and the horse, and the dog, and one bird all lined up.

Well. Jess didn’t line up but shoved, and pushed the others away, and then got held back from eating the lot.

‘Jess!’ Charlie said and tried to push her away. Clarence helped and found a packet of biscuits to try and lure her with. ‘Don’t give her more biscuits! That’s why she’s like this!’ Charlie said.

‘Gateway drug!’ Marcy called as she slid another tray onto the counter.

Then Gavin walked over and simply touched Jess’s nose, and turned her away, and Jess followed in near perfect, docile subservience while giving Charlie a side-eye.

‘Oh, that hurts,’ Charlie said. ‘My own horse is literally rejecting me.’

‘Didn’t you steal her from Neal?’ Nick said.

‘No! We requisitioned her. For the war effort,’ Charlie said.

‘She seems happy, though,’ Tappy said, watching Jess gaze adoringly at Gavin. ‘And you’re alright. You can ride Cookey now.’

‘Oh, beautiful!’ Mo said as the laughs rolled out.

‘Will ye watch the sex jokes in front of the wee child.’

‘Sorry, Tilly!’

‘Sorry, Tilly!’

‘Okay!’ Marcy called from the counter. ‘Dave’s soon-to-be-famous egg fried is served!’

They sit and eat, with Kyle keeping to his role of advisor to Lilly and Mary, guiding them to the table of elders, having seen they were about to go and sit on their own.

The things Cassie said made sense to Kyle. The Control Points. The infection within them replicating the structure and teams. His own loyalty to Lilly was obvious and clear to Kyle, and so it feels natural to offer guidance and be the mentor she needs.

‘Room for us three?’ he asks with a smile, joining the others at the top table.

‘Jump in!’ Paula says. Bev and Jevram at the tables pulled together for the elders. Elka too. Reginald. Henry. Clarence. Ann. Anika and Roy. Frank and Carmen. ‘We were just saying how much we all love Tilly,’ Paula adds with a smile to Mary, offering an olive branch.

‘Aye. She’s a firecracker, is Tilly. She’s my first cousin, so she is. Her hair is almost as red as mine, and she’s a fearsome temper, but she’s smitten with Simon. She’ll be like a guardian angel to him, she will.’

They all turn to see Tilly sitting on the empty seat next to Blowers at the next table along. Which is interesting because everyone else was already seated, which means Blowers kept the seat for her, and they watch as he smiles when Tilly drapes a hand across his shoulders and sits down next to him, then leans over to steal a spoonful of his rice with a cheeky wink.

‘Oh, this is good,’ Bev says, relishing eating decent cooked food at a proper table while sitting on a proper chair. ‘Felt so long.’

‘What did?’ Henry asks.

‘Winchester,’ she says, meaning the month they stayed put.

‘Bev kept saying we needed to leave, but Samir said no,’ Jevram explains. ‘We couldn’t argue. How crazy is that? Mike and Bev are combat hardened soldiers, especially Mike, and I’m a doctor, and even Samir’s own mother travelled on her own from Albania, and none of us could say no to him. But it does make sense after listening to Cassie. A lot of what she said does make a lot of sense.’

‘You trust her?’ Elka asks, sweeping her eyes over everyone to present the question broadly.

‘I wouldn’t,’ Marcy says, finally sitting down next to Howie. ‘Seen Dave?’

They all look around to Dave eating behind the counter.

‘Dave!’ Howie calls, motioning the empty seat they left for him.

‘I’m on serving duty, Mr Howie.’

‘Leave him be. He’s in his happy place,’ Marcy says quietly. ‘And no, don’t trust Cassie one flipping inch. Oh, god! How cute are Blowers and Tilly, though? Look! Their feet are touching under the table. Why don’t you ever footsie me, Howie? No. Sod off. Don’t try now, you clumsy shit. Oh, and that’s got trouble written all over it.’

‘What has?’ Paula asks as Marcy stares to the far table and the younger ones all giggling as they eat.

‘Mo and Danny with Ali and Tam,’ Marcy says. ‘You two will need to have the chat.’

‘Who?’ Paula asks.

‘You and Clarence.’

‘What chat?’ Clarence asks.

‘The chat,’ Marcy says.

‘We’ll put them in separate quarters,’ Clarence says. ‘Under orders not to, you know, mingle after hours.’

‘Alright, Victorian stepfather,’ Marcy says.

‘You can’t do that to them,’ Bev says.

‘Let them have funs,’ Elka says. ‘Just have chat.’

‘Your face,’ Howie says with a laugh at the look of panic on Clarence.

‘Like the birds and bees?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, you know, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much,’ Howie says as the top table bursts out laughing with even Lilly cracking a smile. ‘No! Just tell them to wear condoms.’

‘Howie!’ Paula says.

‘What?’

‘I’ll bloody tell them,’ Marcy says, inhaling to call over.

‘Don’t you bloody dare!’ Paula says, getting up to clamp a hand over her mouth. ‘They’ll be mortified, and you can’t talk to young men about condoms.’

‘Why not?’

‘You look like a porn star!’ Paula says.

‘I do not!’ Marcy says as none of the others leap to her defence. Not even Howie. ‘Whatever. I’m asking the infection for bigger boobs.’

‘Bigger?’ Elka asks, looking at her chest. ‘You’ll fall over.’

‘Where’s your dad gone again?’ Paula asks as Elka nods past Paula, and they turn to see the table of serious eaters. Nick, Popov, Livvy, Scottish Mike, Krakov, Johnny, and Meredith all eating in serious silence straight from their own shared tray of rice like they’re trying to tunnel through the table.

‘My mother said she never meet man who ate as much. Then she meet Popov!’ Elka says to a few laughs and smiles.

‘Your mother didn’t make it through the outbreak?’ Anika asks.

‘No. She die long time ago. I was just child.’

‘That’s sad. I am sorry,’ Anika says.

‘That was when my father turn back on Russia. He was leader in military. They tell him do bad things. My father say no and leave military, and they kill my mother.’

‘Jesus,’ Paula says.

‘Is what they do. Is warning. Kill my mother to make father do bad thing, or they kill me also. But my father take me, and we hide, and he build army to keep me safe.’

‘It was an assassin, wasn’t it?’ Henry asks. ‘Your mother? I do recall seeing the intelligence reports.’

‘Da. Polina,’ Elka says.

Mary’s hand freezes as she scoops rice from her plate. A sideways glance to Lilly showing no reaction. But they both heard it. The name that George called Pamela. The pictures in her room of Pamela as a young woman in Moscow.

‘Yes. Polina’s work was well known,’ Henry says. ‘Very dangerous woman.’

Mary eats on. Her appetite gone, but it keeps her hand busy. Lilly taking it all in and thinking it all through. Exhausted to the bone. Half her ear bitten away. Cuts all over her. It doesn’t hurt nearly anywhere as much as it should, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt at all.

‘So, no trust Cassie?’ Elka asks, going back to the earlier question.

Marcy shakes her head, then shrugs, and frowns. ‘I don’t know,’ she admits with a sigh. ‘The vibe was honest. Does that make sense?’

The others nod. Knowing what she means.

‘Lot to unpack, though,’ Paula says.

Another look shared between Mary and Lilly. Kyle clocks it this time. Knowing something is being left unsaid.

‘You’re quiet,’ Howie says, looking across to Lilly. Seeing the same shared looks between her and Mary.

‘Taking it all in,’ Lilly says.

‘And?’ Howie asks.

‘And what?’

‘Your thoughts?’ Howie asks in a genuine tone.

‘I didn’t detect any signs of dishonesty with Cassie,’ Lilly says.

‘How would you?’ Paula asks.

‘Nuance. The projection of aura. Subtle tells. People are quite adept at detecting when something doesn’t feel right.’

‘Like you when you said you were drink driving,’ Howie says.

‘Quite, Mr Howie,’ Lilly says with an attempt at a humourless smile. ‘That said, it’s also easy to hide those tells should one be aware of them. And Cassie is, no doubt, very skilled at doing so. But all in all. I couldn’t see any flaws in what Cassie said.’

‘No. I couldn’t either,’ Paula says, going back to eating. ‘And we all know it’s what Howie has been after since the start.’

‘Is true?’ Elka asks.

Howie nods. Unsure of how he feels about the infection manipulating what he wants. Driving him to kill the people that started it. But without doubt, without a second’s worth of hesitation, he is wholly committed to doing that. Nothing will stop him.

‘Well. That emblem was certainly very creepy,’ Jevram says as the others give voice and agree. ‘The New World Order? Sound like a cult to me. And they never end well. Look at Hitler and Stalin, and god knows how many more. Communism. Socialism. The ideology might be attractive, but they never work. Power corrupts. And absolute power corrupts absolutely.’

Thoughtful silence follows. Mary eats her rice. Thinking about The New World Order. About George. About the spray they used to kill two children. About sleeper agents. Lilly eating quietly next to her. Not joining in. Not speaking out.

Not being herself.

Reginald shoots her frequent glances. Howie, Paula, and Clarence the same.

‘Da. That,’ Elka says with a nod at Jevram’s last comment. ‘So we stop this. Yes? This is our task. We stop New World Order.’

‘Is it our task?’ Bev asks.

‘Of course. Cassie said they will kill us and make slaves. Who else will stop them?’ Elka asks.

‘That’s a big responsibility,’ Jevram says.

‘I think if nothing else, it’s our only responsibility,’ Carmen says as Jevram looks at her questioningly.

‘We’ve been discussing if we should continue to cull the infected or go for the panacea,’ Carmen explains.

‘That’s a no brainer,’ Bev says.

‘On the surface, yes, it would appear so,’ Reginald says. ‘But releasing the panacea wouldn’t guarantee survival to our species. Not with so many infected still at large, and not now we know there is a kill switch. You kept Elaine focussed on you in Winchester, which, by and large, is what Howie has been doing to Cassie’s version since this started. And by keeping those Control Points focussed on you and on us. Well, we’ve prevented them from taking the fort and any other places where people are gathering.’

‘Samir did say that,’ Jevram adds. ‘If we didn’t stay at Winchester, then everyone dies.’

‘If Elaine had taken her horde to the fort, it wouldn’t have stood a chance,’ Reginald says.

‘How did Samir know to do that?’ Bev asks. ‘We’ve talked it through a hundred times with no idea.’

‘Cassie said it does something to autistic children or children that have different brains, and you said that Samir has a tumour. Was that right?’ Reginald asks.

‘Yes. In brain,’ Debora says.

‘That is wild supposition to suggest autistic children or children with tumours can develop psychic abilities or see the future,’ Jevram says.

‘All we have is supposition,’ Henry says.

‘This word?’ Elka asks.

‘Supposition means to suppose,’ Jevram says. ‘As in guessing.’

‘But with the absence of scientific data, we have no choice but to act on what we can see,’ Reginald says. ‘There are documented cases of people having telepathic abilities to the extent it was becoming evident that certain individuals could tap into parts of the brain most others could not. Which is how some people can be brilliant at mathematics while being highly dyslexic with words or have an ability to learn many languages while not being able to read social situations. Young chess masters. Young hackers that hacked into some of the world’s most secure computer systems. Artists that could create incredible visual feats. My point being that this infection comes along, and its primary objective is to infect and turn every cell in the body. Including the brain, and it is also known in science that children’s brains and neural pathways are far more pliable than adults’. And I would suggest there is then a causal link between that pliability and autism, or conditions that affect the brain. Hence, Samir is able to do things, which we would all see as magic.’

‘The gift of foresight?’ Jevram asks.

‘Zombies? Armageddon? Hive minds? An ability to lose a hand and not bleed to death?’ Reginald counters the doubt put forward by Jevram, who concedes the point with a slow nod. ‘But going back to the point in question,’ Reginald continues. ‘Yes, I was focussed on culling the numbers as fast as possible for fear of someone like Cassie emerging and trying, as she has undoubtedly done, to control all of the infected hordes and factions. She’s learning to master this thing in a way we have not. We’ve weaponised the strength of it and the ability to heal, which allows us to keep fighting. Which means, in a way, that we have looked at the infection through our core values of decency, using only that, which we need. Forgive me saying this, Howie, but that is something you have struggled with. Accepting what we are now, and that we are the thing we are fighting. That said, with the new perception brought by Cassie, I think we can get past that, and I would strongly suggest we use every tool at our disposal going forward.’

‘So you’re saying we need to embrace it?’ Jevram asks.

‘Yes. I am saying very clearly that unless we harness what we have, then Cassie will or the other side will, and we will lose,’ Reginald says. ‘Or some other person or entity, or Control Point will. Cassie said the people in these bases are clueless halfwits with no idea of what’s going on at ground level, but they do have a deadly kill switch as she calls it, and we know even they, this New World Order, have deployed a second layer of defence with sleeper agents not even known to the people in those bases. Cassie said they were in Chester Castle and had approached her with a coded sentence. What we must consider now is the likelihood or probability of those sleeper agents activating and trying to weaponize and use the infection in the way it is evolving. Given that they will have access to weapons within the bases controlled by their own side.’

‘And I thought I could think laterally,’ Jevram says with a stunned look. ‘That’s widened my view somewhat.’

‘It is a lot to take in and absorb,’ Henry says, ‘which is why we need to process and plan this through properly.’

‘I think not do this,’ Elka says. ‘Do it Howie way. Quick. With instinct. Cassie came to see Howie. Not us. Not my father. Not you, Henry. We trust them. We follow Howie.’

‘You’re making me sound like a cult now,’ Howie says with a grimace.

‘I think reflection is key,’ Lilly says carefully, earning an instant and obviously frustrated scowl from Elka.

‘Peoples say Lilly is big fighter. Lilly take fort from bad peoples on her own. Kill all. She kill many infected. She build big wall! She build houses in her fort and make safe. Where is that Lilly? Who is this fragile woman saying these words?’

Silence in the canteen.

Everyone listening, with even Krakov and Popov looking over, but Lilly stays impassive. Not trusting who in this room could tell George everything they hear and see. George, who has the deadly spray that he has already used to kill two children with. George and the sleeper agents from The New World Order slowly creeping out to take control of the fort.

‘Why he give you seat at table?’ Elka asks, shaking her head at Lilly. ‘Because you climb wall with Howie? Is not enough.’ Elka tuts again and looks over to Samir sitting next to Sophie and the others at the next table over. Swinging his legs and feeding egg fried rice to Thor. ‘Why Lilly at table?’ Elka asks him.

‘Don’t question my son,’ Debora says.

‘He put us at table,’ Elka says. ‘He take us by hand. We have right to ask why Lilly.’

The child doesn’t answer. He eats the rice and swings his legs with no apparent show of awareness to the silence in the room while Lilly thinks fast. Running it all through her mind.

‘Sorry, can I ask a question?’ Anika asks in her Birmingham accent, making everyone turn. ‘Me and Ann were chatting, and we want to know – are we infected? The reason I ask is because I’ve had er, you know, like intimate relations with Roy and… Well. Ann and I have both been exposed to you all very closely and lots of blood.’

‘And we felt that urge,’ Ann says. A quiet woman. A doer, who likes to muck in and keep busy. But also educated and clearly intelligent. ‘When the call came in for help in Winchester. Anika and I both felt the need to come and help.’

‘Was that not civic duty?’ Jevram asks. ‘You’re both experienced medical professionals in the public sector.’

‘I’d think it’s most likely you are infected,’ Reginald says. ‘The other two. The soldiers Jock and Jack? It was quite clear they were not, and they both fell quite soon into the fight. Visually, you both look healthy. Which, while not being scientific, does provide visual evidence.’

Anika nods and looks thoughtful. ‘Okay. We thought we were, but thanks for clarifying that, Reginald. And just so you’re all aware, we are both in Lilly’s faction. Team. Group. Thingy. Just so you know.’

‘Aye. Same,’ Tilly says from her table.

Lilly looks up. Caught out at the comment. But Mary keeps her head down. Outspoken Mary. Defiant Mary. Angry, wild Mary now eating silently.

And they all feel it.

Something unsaid.

Something not being spoken about openly.

The room in silence.

Everyone listening.

‘And I think you are right,’ Ann says, looking to Elka, then to Howie and Paula, then over to Lilly and Mary. ‘Perhaps Lilly and Mary do have something going on. That is clear to Anika and me, and to Kyle, and to Norman, and Lenski at the fort.

‘We all said something’s going on,’ Tilly says. ‘You both look defeated, and that ain’t like either of ye. That’s not the Mary I’ve known since birth. The Mary every girl in that camp looks up to, and the reason we all came out to fight. And it’s not the Lilly that stood up to Uncle Peter. Not since that crash. The drink driving? Lilly and Mary drink driving butt naked in a car full of dildos? What the feck is that all about?’

‘A question a few of us have asked,’ Ann continues. ‘The ones, who I am sure Lilly knows, are very loyal to her and Mary. As I am sure that Lilly and Mary know that when the time is right, they can speak in confidence to any one of us, and we will render aid without hesitation… And without question.’

Words spoken.

The meaning clear.

Bringing the thing they’ve all been avoiding to the front, and in so doing, it gives Lilly the invite to speak out and trust the people around her because as Elka just said, Samir gave her a place at the table.

But still Lilly hesitates. Thinking fast. Thinking it all through. An urge inside to deal with it herself while knowing that if she asks for Howie’s and Paula’s help now, she will always be running to them to clear her mess up. That doesn’t sit right with Lilly. It never has.

And more importantly, more than anything, she fears for the children in the fort. Fear of what George and Polina will do to them. She doesn’t feel that fear for herself, not even for Mary. But her brother. Amna. Rajesh. Milly. Subi.

Motion from the side. Kyle leaning in close. Whispering into her ear. ‘Howie asked you for help in Winchester. Do ye think less of him for that?’

Lilly shakes her head because if anything, she thinks more of him than ever before.

‘Are there agents in the fort?’ Kyle asks, low and quiet, but the words carry clear.

Lilly finally looks at him. Seeing his blue eyes filled with concern. She twists to see Tilly watching her closely. Then turns again to see Ann nodding once at her. Sensing there is something unsaid. Telling her now is the time to speak out. Fear in Mary. Her hand holding the spoon, clenching hard enough to turn her knuckles white. ‘Yes,’ Lilly says with a single act of confirmation that makes Kyle feel suddenly very angry inside.

Angry enough for him to ask the question out loud, ‘Is it George?’

Lilly hesitates.

Just for a second.

A second in which the connections are made to what Cassie and Daudi said in The Great Hall.

Embedded sleeper agents.

Drink driving.

Lilly and Mary naked in a car, drenched in alcohol, and hurt bad.

Lilly and Mary humiliated in the offices in the fort.

Lilly and Mary forced to do guard patrols on the beach in the pouring rain.

The rage flares inside of Kyle. An almost paternal fury. He starts to rise with overt and palpable violence showing on his face.

‘Kyle, please,’ Lilly says. Holding his arm. ‘They have that spray. They’ve already killed some of the children in the fort.’

‘They did what?’ Kyle asks in shock.

‘The rat poison?’ Tilly asks.

‘That was no rat poison,’ Mary says; her face ashen. Her whole manner terrified in a way none of them have ever seen. ‘George got the infected things to attack the fort and set my family up to take the fall so I’d kill them. I killed my own brother for it. Then we found the tunnels, and we got inside and found Pamela, but they beat the shit out of me and Lilly and sprayed us with that, that agent, and we woke up in the car naked and covered in booze. We don’t even know what they did to us. But they killed the children to show us what they can do.’

‘How do you know that, Mary?’ Paula asks, her voice hard and rising. ‘Everyone shut up! George is my uncle. How do you know that?’

‘He told us he did it,’ Mary says as Lilly nods, and Paula sags in her chair. Her face showing the shock felt in all of them. ‘He fecking said it, Paula. He boasted about it. He said he killed those babies to show us what they can do, and they died in agony. Bleeding from their mouths and noses, and backsides. Poor mites in such pain I never saw before, and he said we tell a soul, and he’ll kill them all, and he called us dogs and told us we had to heel. And then Lilly tried to talk to Marion, but she knew, and she said she wanted to put a bullet in us, and that George should never have kept us alive, and we didn’t say a word cos we don’t know if any of you are in his gang,’ she breaks off with a glance to Kate Jones.

‘Me? Fuck no!’ Jonesy says, horrified at the thought of being suspected. ‘Or Jack or Jock. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck! Jansu… Captain Jansu and his lads. I kept seeing them chatting to George on the quiet. Not me though, Mary. I fucking swear it. I don’t even want to go back to the fort. I want to stay in Henry’s team with Bash. But that cunt, though. That fucking cunt. I heard those two kiddies died.’

‘We tried to save one of them,’ Ann says, remembering the girl from the camp that was rushed into the beach medical tent. ‘Internal haemorrhage. And the pain she was in.’

‘Georgie?’ Frank asks, shaking his head as though still struggling to believe it. ‘Georgie got turned?’

‘He always wanted control of the team,’ Carmen says. ‘Imagine being as good as George and always being second to someone like Henry. Must have destroyed him.’

‘I’ll fucking destroy him,’ Frank growls the words out. ‘Nothing worse than a traitor.’

‘Amen,’ Mike says as Bev and Krakov, and the others with military backgrounds nod and give voice. A cardinal rule broken, and one that can never be forgiven.

‘I’ll kill him,’ Paula snaps, on her feet. Her chair tipping back as she strides for the stairs. Howie behind her. Dave ripping his apron off and running out to join him. Clarence running. Marcy. Roy. Carmen.

‘Stand to!’ Blowers calls in that same second. On his feet, and the room comes alive with motion from everyone else surging after Howie and Paula. Tipping chairs. Barging tables. Plates smashing on the floor. Nick shovelling one last mouthful before running with the others. With the pack.

‘Paula, wait!’ Lilly shouts, running after them. ‘They have that spray!’

‘We need to think, Paula!’ Henry calls.

‘We don’t need to think. We kill them,’ Paula says. Filled with that same relentless surge of filthy, black energy as Howie.

‘I said wait!’ Henry yells.

‘No. Instinct,’ Elka says, pushing past him as even Henry struggles with the news. Trying to absorb what it means. That George sold out. That George knew all along.

‘We need to question them!’ Henry shouts, running to the bottom of the stairs as Paula stops and turns with a look of fury.

‘They hurt children. We don’t question them. We fucking kill them.’

‘They, who!?’ Henry shouts. ‘We need to be clear here. We need to know who our targets are.’

‘George,’ Lilly says. ‘He’s a sleeper agent. And Polina.’

‘Polina?’ Krakov whispers the name. Towering over Lilly. ‘Where is Polina?’

‘In the fort,’ Lilly says.

‘Jesus,’ Henry says, closing his eyes. His skin cut and hurt. His whole body bruised and battered from the war they have already waged. All of them exhausted to the bone. ‘We can’t do this now. We can’t. We need to rest. Acting rashly will not aid us. Remember what I said. What we agreed. We think. We plan. We succeed.’

Two matt black vehicles at the side of the motorway.

The engines idling.

Daudi behind the wheel of the lead one.

Alain next to him, dozing with his head back.

Erica stretched out on a bench seat, snoring gently.

Demi slouched with her arms folded. Looking at Cassie with a lift of her eyebrows.

‘Five more minutes,’ Cassie says.

‘You said that ten minutes ago,’ Demi says.

‘And ten minutes before,’ Alain mumbles from the front.

‘Even you can’t be right all the time,’ Demi adds with a shrug, splaying her hands.

Cassie frowns. She was sure she’d be right. Saying all those things about sleeper agents and Chester Castle and asking Lilly what else she hadn’t told Howie.

‘Maybe the fort doesn’t have any,’ Demi says. ‘Or maybe you’re wrong, and Lilly didn’t pick them out.’

‘She’s too smart for that,’ Cassie says. ‘If the fort has them, she will know.’

‘Maybe she wants to join them,’ Alain says. ‘The New World Order would suit her.’

‘It wouldn’t. Lilly wants control of the fort. She would have considered it, but no, you don’t put that much effort into something and then give it up lightly.’

‘But this snow?’ Alain asks. ‘I think they eat and sleep now. Which is what we should be doing, no?’

Cassie nods. Thinking maybe she called it wrong. ‘Five more minutes; then we’ll go.’

In the fort, Captain George Shaw stands in the doorway to the office, staring up at the snow falling silently from the night sky. Laying on the ground and on the rooftops of the new structures and the central canteen. On the tents and on the inner ramparts.

‘How many now?’ Marion asks from behind, prompting George to turn and give her a look.

‘Twenty-three, including Jansu and his sons. They’re not all activated yet, but they are all armed. And I’ve taken a few on to help Captain Jansu with guarding.’

‘And still no word from anyone?’ Marion asks.

‘Nothing. None of the sleepers know anything more than us.’

‘And Polina hasn’t heard?’

‘No.’

‘So, you’re spending all that time down there discussing what exactly?’

‘Future plans, my dear. How long we leave it until we take control, and then what we do after that. And, of course, Lilly and Mary.’

‘You’ll have to negate them. We can’t risk them telling Howie or Reginald. Or anyone else. Not yet.’

‘When they get back,’ George says, having heard that some of the girls have come back from Winchester. All of them exhausted and hurt, but passing word that the horde was defeated. Something else happened. Someone else came and spoke to Howie and the others, but it wasn’t clear.

‘Make it look like an accident,’ Marion says. ‘Drown them both when they go swimming or something.’

‘I doubt they’ll swim in this weather, dear.’

‘Don’t be smart, George. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘I’d beg to differ, dear. The New World Order quite like me being smart. They wouldn’t have recruited me if not. Would they?’

‘And don’t let it go to your head. Nobody likes a braggard.’ Marion smiles to show the play in her words and kisses his cheek. ‘Glad you’re finally the number one, though. Henry held you back for far too long. I’ve been telling you that for years. Anyway. We do as planned. That’s my take on it. Identify the sleepers. Keep them close, and then we activate when the bases finally break out or if we need to take control.’

‘Now who is being bossy? And we already are in control. But indeed. Yes, and I think a final check on Polina before I turn in.’

A glare from Marion. Hard. Cold. Disgust showing clear. But power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely, and so she turns away, willing to ignore it for the sake of the promises and rewards to come.

George sets off through the freshly fallen snow. Nodding at the small group outside the canteen.

Nodding at four more chatting off to one side.

All of them of a type. Strong. Fit. Ex-military.

He shares a greeting with Captain Jansu and his two sons and walks on, nodding at the sleeper agents now known within the fort.

Passing Bobby at his new café and store.

Passing another traveller child making a delivery to a tent.

Another off to one side.

Another further along.

All of them with heads down and well versed to moving unseen and unnoticed.

All of them watching who George nods at.

And all of them going back to Bobby, who looks up at the snow with worry and fear in his eyes. Wondering where Lilly and Mary are. Wondering what will happen.

‘Cassie, come on,’ Demi says with a groan.

‘Another five minutes.’

‘Fuck. Really?’ Demi asks as Cassie sighs and drops her head with an admission of defeat.

‘Alright. I was wrong. Let’s go.’

‘Finally,’ Demi says as Daudi rubs his face, and Alain yawns and stretches, and the windscreen lights up in reflection of the powerful headlights on the motorway.

The headlights coming closer at speed.

Making Cassie smile and nod at Demi.

‘You lucky cow,’ Demi says, shaking her head.

‘It’s them,’ Daudi says.

‘Who else would it bloody be?’ Cassie says. ‘Well, go on! Get after them!’

Daudi floors it, making Erica yelp as she flies off the bench seat onto the floor.

The two matt black vehicles building speed to charge down the slip road onto the motorway. Headlights on and engines roaring.

They pass the armoured bus being driven by Popov.

They pass the Royal Mail van driven by Roy.

They pass the command vehicle driven by Sergei.

And they draw level with the Saxon at the front.

Leading the charge.

Cassie leaning over the front seats to see through the windows to Tappy driving and Howie in the front. His head turning to see her. His face of mask of pure, filthy violence.

The same violence that surges up inside Cassie.

Because that means Cassie was right. The fort has sleeper agents.

Paula thought about not going when Henry told them to stop and think. Everyone else gathered behind on the stairs.

But only for a second.

‘Fuck ’em,’ she said and rushed off with Howie at her side.

Then Reginald brushed past Henry, going after them both.

And where Howie and Paula, and Reginald go…

The others followed.

‘Stubborn shits,’ Henry muttered. ‘Right! Load up. We’re moving out. Lilly! In the command vehicle with me. I want a full briefing on the way. Paula, I need you in with me. And you, Reginald! This is a hot mission. Remember your training. And remember we are going into an environment filled with civilians! Fucking George. Fucking, fucking, FUCKING GEORGE!’

‘Fuck me, Georgie… Harder!’ Polina gasps, on her back, with Captain George Shaw thrusting away between her big legs. His neat moustache and tidy hair somewhat astray, and his face flushing a very deep red.

‘I want you by my side when we take over,’ he whispers in the throes of passion.

‘Nyet,’ she whispers back. ‘We stay secret. More exciting! Oh, fuck me, Georgie! Fuck me harder!’

‘Fuck George!’ Frank spits the words out in the command vehicle. ‘Fucking weasel. Nothing worse than a traitor.’

Kyle glowers too. Feeling the same. He went against his own side in Mogadishu, but that was different. He wasn’t actively attacking his people. He was defending those that couldn’t defend themselves. That was moral. That was ethical. But this? This isn’t either, and again that anger rises inside that he didn’t see what was happening to Lilly. What George was doing to her. He’d been out of the game for too long. He’s grown rusty and old, and stupid. That won’t happen again. By fuck, it will not happen again.

‘I’m sorry, Paula. I know he’s your uncle,’ Mary says.

‘By marriage. Marion is my aunt,’ Paula says with murder in her eyes. ‘Did they do anything to you? When you were unconscious?’

'Mary shrugs. Her face filled with anger and confusion. ‘We woke up naked in the car. They could have done anything.’

‘Was there blood, Mary?’ Carmen asks from behind. All of them crammed into the command vehicle, holding on as it drives fast behind the Saxon. ‘When you woke up.’

‘They’d beat the shit out of us and driven us into a wall! There was blood everywhere.’

‘From your vagina,’ Jevram asks. ‘Were you bleeding from your vagina? If you were a virgin and penetration had taken place, the chances are there would be blood and discomfort.’

‘Mind your own fecking business.’

‘I’m a doctor!’

‘So is Ann, and if I need to speak to one, I’ll go find her, so quit with the fecking questions. We get in and fecking kill them. And I’m going for Polina.’

‘Are you sure it was Polina?’ Elka asks.

Lilly nods. ‘George called her that name. We saw a picture on the side. An old photo. She was beautiful. But she’s big now. Obese but strong. As strong as Clarence. And fast too. She took Mary and me down easily. She was lifting us off our feet.’

‘Polina,’ Krakov whispers. His eyes staring at nothing. Remembering the day he lost the love of his life. Remembering finding his murdered wife.

‘We have companies!’ Sergei calls as Elka activates the screens to use the vehicle cameras. Seeing two matt black armoured personnel carriers roar past, with the lead one drawing level with the Saxon.

‘You seen that, Howie?’ Paula asks through the radio.

‘Yep,’ a hard, blunt reply.

‘That’s Cassie. Are we okay with this?’

Howie pauses and looks to the side. To Cassie leaning past Daudi in the other vehicle.

The same thing inside of her.

The same need to kill those that started it.

‘Yes,’ Howie says into the radio.

All of them hearing it.

In The Beast being driven by Marcy. Popov with her. Ann and Anika. Ali and Tam. Bash and Jonesy. Livvy. Sophie. Debora and Samir. Meredith in with them. Choosing to stay with the child.

The lads in the Saxon. Howie in the front. Needing to be in the front. Needing to get there first.

His fists clenching and unclenching.

Dave behind him with the lads.

Tilly next to Blowers.

No bantering now. No jokes. Hard faces. Hard eyes.

The energy from Howie pouring into them all.

The energy from Cassie pouring into her team.

Six vehicles moving at speed through the snow.

Bobby at the doors to his café and store. People behind him eating and drinking, and talking about the weather and the fort, and the lives they now live while unaware of the dangers around them. Unaware of the worry in Bobby’s eyes as he keeps tabs on the people of a certain type within the fort.

Within Lilly’s fort.

George gasping and shuddering as he climaxes.

Marion feeling jealousy inside. Thinking she’ll take her own lover when the New World Order activates. Thinking she can do what she wants when that happens. When they are the leaders and not the followers.

Six vehicles moving at speed through the snow.

Henry in the command vehicle, thinking fast, pressing the button on the radio to address them all. ‘Listen in for the briefing. Our objective is the identification and elimination of any and all known sleeper agents in the fort…’

Henry speaks.

The others listen.

And the six vehicles move at speed through the snow.

Coming off the motorway onto the road leading to the bay.

George climbing up the ladder to the unused rooms at the back of the fort and stepping out into the cold air. His cheeks still ruddy and glowing. A film of sweat shining on his forehead. Cooling rapidly. The fort spread out in front of him. His kingdom filled with people already herding themselves into one of the first safe zones. Waiting without knowing for the control to come into their lives in a state of utopia, where George will reign as the number one. No longer the number two. Fuck Henry. Fuck Major Henry Campbell-Dillington. Fuck Frank McGill. Fuck Carmen Eze. Fuck Howie and his now probably dead stupid father. Fuck his stupid niece Paula, running around thinking she’s making a difference, when all they’ve done is pave the way for the NWO by getting the fort ready.

And fuck Lilly too.

She had promise.

Lilly could have been special, but she won’t take the knee. She won’t bend to George’s will. He can still see the defiance within her.

So fuck her too.

She’ll be dead within a day.

So will Mary.

Kyle will also have to go.

Then Ann and Anika because they went with Lilly. Then Norman. Then Lenski. One by one they’ll be taken out in a series of unfortunate accidents until the fort is clear and wholly his to rule.

And so he smiles to himself and sets out to cross his kingdom, whistling a low jaunty tune while thinking what a wonderful thing the infection is because he hasn’t had erections like that for a very long time. Not without some help from the little, blue pills anyway. But now, for the first time in years, George feels almost content, and so he smiles at Bobby as he draws closer to the café and store.

‘All well?’

‘Aye, all well, Mr George.’

‘I’ve told you to call me George. But if you insist on a title, then it should be Captain. Or perhaps I should be a major? Eh? Or a colonel. What do you think about that, Bobby? Colonel George Shaw. That’s got a ring to it. And play your cards right, my lad, you’ll be rewarded very well. I’ll say no more about it now, but you stick with me, Bobby. I can see you like nice things, and the nicest things are yet to come!’ George winks and ruffles the young man’s hair. Bobby smiles and laughs, and says, Thank you very much, Captain, and watches George walk off, and that smiles fades as Bobby feels the dread inside.

And the six vehicles move at speed through the snow.

Turning onto the bay road.

The plan set.

The orders given.

The whole fucking place about to erupt.

Howie in the front of the Saxon. Glaring ahead. Violence inside. Dark and seething.

Tilly in the back. Her hand on her radio that connects to her people in the camp.

‘Now, Tilly,’ Henry’s voice. Calm and full of authority.

‘Tilly to the main gate. Open up. We’re coming in!’

‘Is that Tilly? We wondered where you were. The girls were saying you’ve gone all sweet on that Simon Blowers,’ the voice blasts back.

‘Aye. I have, but we’ll discuss that later. Get that gate opened as fast as you can… And listen. You all stand by now. You hear me? Tool up and stand by… And get some boats ready. Enough for an invasion.’

Bobby hears it on his radio. His heart thrilling in his chest.

The girls in the camp the same. Rushing for weapons while more run out to get across the beach towards the few boats kept this side.

The main gate opening. The blocker truck being driven aside.

Six vehicles moving at speed through the snow.

Onto the bay road and around the last bend.

The wall ahead.

The gap opening.

Daudi holding speed.

Tappy holding speed.

The vehicles side by side, with only enough width for one at a time to go through.

‘It’s our fort, fucknuts!’ Tappy says, punching her foot down to give the Saxon a kick, and she surges ahead, with Daudi forced to give way. Easing speed to drop in behind her as the Saxon powers through the gap. Blasting onto the bay road. Headlights shining. The engine roaring. The other five vehicles behind. Coming in loud.

The girls from the camp wearing pink berets streaming out across the road onto the beach. Eggy and the men with them, but with no clue what’s happening.

George in the fort, frowning lightly as he hears engines. Thinking he should check. But then thinking stuff it, and he’d rather have a nice cup of hot chocolate and watch the snow.

Bobby in the doorway to his tiny empire. Not knowing what’s happening either, but ready and poised. His heart whumping in his chest. The adrenalin starting to course through his veins.

Adrenalin coursing through all their veins as the six vehicles blast towards the beach.

The last few seconds.

All of them exhausted. The floods in Hindhead. Nearly losing Dave. Fighting to get out. Seeing the lines of infected. Racing to the fort. Racing to Krakov’s. Racing to Winchester, then fighting for hours. A relentless, punishing, cruel thing to keep going now. To keep attacking when they should stop. When every muscle in their bodies is demanding them to stop and rest.

Except they can’t.

Because the thing inside of them won’t allow it.

There are bad people that killed children.

‘Kiddies, Mr Howie… Kiddies!’ Reginald calls through the radio at the last second to trigger Howie’s rage and instincts.

The six vehicles stop.

The doors open.

All of them run. Knowing where to go and what to do from the orders given by a man now experienced as a war planner. The orders given by Henry, who realised why George was acting so differently. Because he’d turned. And that in Henry’s world is beyond forgiveness.

All of them set to their designated roles, with Debora holding a rifle and running with Samir from The Beast to the command vehicle. Getting him safely inside. ‘Debs, you stay back with Samir in the command vehicle.’

Charlie running from the Saxon with Maddox to join Frank, Carmen, Jonesy, and Bash. ‘You are the hunter killers again. You get in, and you find them.’

Weapons ready. Suppressed rifles. Night vision goggles on.

Paula in the command vehicle. Taking her seat next to Reginald. Sergei running to grab a drone from the side compartment. Setting it down, then running in to launch it. ‘I want you in the command vehicle, Paula. This is personal to you. It’s personal to all of us. But we must stay detached. We must stay focussed. We are the only thing that can stop them.’

Marcy and Tappy running to the back of the command vehicle. Rifles ready. ‘You two guard the command team so they can focus. Do not let them come to harm.’

The rest run for it.

Howie in the lead. Sprinting ahead to leap over the side onto the first boat. Meredith and Dave behind him. Lilly. Mary. Kyle. Henry too. Leaping in as the boat driver twists the grip, and the vessel pulls out into the sea.

The others only seconds behind them. Blowers and the lads with Scottish Mike and Clarence into another boat. Ali, Tam, Johnny, Bibi, Danny, and Mo into another. Tilly and the girls from the camp. Livvy running to go with Krakov and Popov. Bev, Jevram, Ann, and Anika into another.

Every single one of them in pink berets.

But it’s not just them.

Cassie and her team deploy with them. Pink strips tied on arms. A radio passed over during a brief stop.

The first real test of the factions that hold seats at the table.

All of them pouring across the sea.

Thick snow falling from the sky.

Figures on the ramparts staring out.

Seeing the incoming boats.

Seeing their weapons.

Seeing an invasion.

‘INCOMING!’ Captain Jansu shouts into their radio system, making George twist to face the front. ‘Boats, Captain Shaw. Mr Howie and his whole team coming in hot. Lilly is with them.’

‘Little bitch!’ George hisses. ‘ACTIVATE! NEW WORLD ORDER!’ he yells at the top of his voice. ‘Are the gates locked?’ he shouts into the radio.

‘Locked tight. They won’t get through. We’ve got fire superiority. Permission to engage?’

‘Yes! Affirmative. Engage!’

Shots fired.

The first shots fired from the ramparts as Bobby flinches, looking from George to the ramparts, to the new guards given firearms today now firing down at the boats powering through the water.

The first shots going wide.

Henry cursing. Realising right then that Lilly was right. The fort has been taken.

On the beach, Roy draws the already nocked arrow, pulling the string back hard against his jaw, as Elka exhales, lying on the road, staring through the scope on her rifle.

The first arrow loosed.

The first counter shot fired.

‘Fuck you,’ Howie mutters, seeing a figure flying back off their feet from being struck by an arrow and another spinning away to the sound of the Dragunov rifle. The rest ducking down to get cover. Buying time for Howie and the others to reach the shore.

‘Get the C4 ready!’ Henry shouts, knowing they’ll have to blast through the gates. Putting them at the greatest risk.

Which is exactly what Bobby realises, hearing the shots firing out and then seeing two guards on the rampart drop from being hit. Hearing the boats coming in at speed. His hand on his own small, high-end encrypted radio system used by his crew. ‘We’re taking those gates! Tool up, fellas!’

He grabs a Glock from his back room. His crew doing the same. Hefting sawn-off shotguns and old revolvers. His boys and girls out in the fort all running as one. Drawing knives and shivs. Bobby racing out from his café and store. The customers within shouting in alarm at the gunfire. People in the fort doing the same.

Bobby’s crew using them as cover.

Running fast towards the gates.

George already on the vehicle ramp, going up.

The boats nearly at the shore.

Captain Jansu and his men taking quick shots.

Elka and Roy doing the same. Keeping them suppressed.

Bobby at the inner gate. Grabbing at the chain to unfasten the lock. Getting through as the boats beach on the shore.

Howie off first. Running at the outer gate.

Bobby on the inside.

George on the top. Leaning over to see Bobby’s crew in the middle ground. ‘SHOOT THEM!’ he yells, drawing his pistol to put rounds in. Killing a young boy outright as Jansu and his sons, and the others aim down, only to get a barrage of returned fire from Bobby’s crew shooting back while Bobby works at the lock. Cursing at the shots ricocheting next to his head. Crying out when one hits his arm. He works faster, heaving at the chain and pulling it free.

‘BOBBY!’ George shouts.

‘FECK YOU! THIS IS LILLY’S FORT!’ Bobby yells, yanking it free. ‘Hit it hard, Mister Howie!’

Clarence on the other side, taking steps back with Krakov and Livvy. The three of them charging forward with Erica joining them to slam their combined mass into the gate with enough force to snap the last retaining bolt and tear the whole thing from its hinges, and send it flying inside. Narrowly missing Bobby as another bullet skims his leg. He drops with a yell, glancing up to a figure aiming at him and thinking this is it. He’s done for.

Until Clarence grabs Bobby’s front and flings him to safety through the inner gate as Dave spins and fires up while on the move, and takes the guy through the neck.

Howie surges inside behind Meredith as she streaks away. Lilly behind Howie. The rest pouring into the fort.

George already sprinting back down the vehicle ramp.

Polina in the back room, emerging with a glare towards the front. Hearing the shots. Seeing the chaos.

A bottle in her hands. A liquid inside. A plunger on the top that will pump the deadly agent out into a fine spray that will render anyone infected unconscious and kill anyone who isn’t.

She sets out towards the back room used by the children.

Because Lilly was warned, and she didn’t listen, and they all need to know the power and reach of the New World Order.

At the main gate, they pour fire up with enough rounds and enough aggression to make the defenders flee their positions and run off into the darkness.

‘Take the ramparts!’ Henry orders, sending his elite infantry to push the enemy back before deploying his hit squads. ‘Carmen, get your teams into the fort. Sweep through. Find the agents!’

‘We don’t know who we’re looking for!’ Carmen says, realising how bloody hard the task will be.

‘We do!’ Bobby calls, on his feet and bleeding. ‘We marked them, Miss Lilly! We got them all for you!’

‘Bobby! You genius,’ Lilly says. ‘Get them out with Carmen!’

‘Quickly now! Go!’ Henry shouts, urging them on as the children run with Carmen and Charlie. With Frank and Maddox. With Jonesy and Bash into the fort proper. Aiming for the side rooms and the rear. ‘Danny! Mo! Go with Tilly!’

‘With me, girls!’ Tilly shouts, setting off with Ali, Tam, Johnny, and Bibi, and her girls from the camp. All of them aiming for the centre of the fort. Tasked to control the civilians and make them drop and get to cover to protect them while the agents are located.

A sudden red, flashing light streaking overhead at the gate.

‘The drone is up. We’ve got eyes on,’ Paula says through the radio. ‘Switching to night vision now… And we’ve got clear view of the soldiers on the rampart. We can lead you to them.’

Shouts and orders going in as the infantry team sprint along the base of the wall towards the vehicle slope. Scottish Mike. Clarence. Blowers, Cookey, and Nick. All of them long experienced in combat. Two more with them. Daudi and Alain. Ex-Special Forces. Highly trained.

They were the enemy until only a few hours ago.

Now they are allies, and after a few cautious glances, the seven men merge and mingle into one unit. Remembering their training and the times in their lives when they fought for causes they had faith in before the world got murky and broken. But now the lines are clean, with clear distinction between good and evil.

Mike can’t hardly believe this is happening. He was dying the slow death of a homeless man without honour or dignity, and now he’s back to do what he was trained to do. What he excelled at. A sudden grin. A sudden gleam in his eyes that Clarence spots and can’t help but grin back as they lead the charge. Working to cover each other. Firing while the others run, then running when the others fire. Breaching the top to an explosion of gunfire coming from both directions.

George running across the middle grounds with a sudden realisation he won’t reach the rear. A change of plan. He veers off for the offices. His clever mind thinking ahead. Forming a plan to get in and act surprised, and help Henry to find the agents. Another idea to convince them Lilly is an agent, and she’s only doing this now because she knows George found her out.

A shout from behind. Bobby running with Carmen and Charlie, shouting, and pointing at seeing a man and a woman off to the side. ‘THOSE TWO! THOSE TWO!’

The couple react and reach for pistols.

Shots fired by Carmen and Charlie. Rounds to the chests. Sending them flying. Rounds into heads. Finishing the job.

The same on the other side. ‘HIM!’ another kid shouts to Frank and Maddox. A man ahead. Stocky. Ex-military. Drawing a pistol. Gunned down by Frank.

Two more shot by Jonesy and Bash in the middle. A young girl shouting to point them out.

Brutal violence. Awful and harsh. No questions asked. No chance given to surrender.

Polina still running across the back.

George running for the offices.

Bev, Jevram, Ann, and Anika scrabbling off a boat, onto the shore, and in through the gates. Bev and Jevram with assault rifles braced and aimed. Ann and Anika armed with pistols. Into the fort they go. Bearing an immediate left. Following the inner wall. Bev in the lead. Sweeping to the infirmary. Kicking the door and surging in. Shouting ARMED POLICE from years of habit and training.

Jevram right behind her. Ann and Anika bringing up the rear. Beds either side filled with the sick and the hurt.

Motion at the end. Lisa storming towards them. ‘Who the fuck is he?’ she asks while reaching behind her back.

‘Your replacement,’ Jevram mutters as Lisa tries to pull the pink rag from her back pocket to change team. Shots fired from Bev. Lisa flies back. Stunned at the rounds hitting her chest. Blinking up into the hard face of Bev adjusting her aim and firing once more with an execution shot through the head.

‘GUN!’ Ann yells, seeing a woman at the side draw a pistol. Opening fire with Anika. Gunning the woman down. Another one running for the door. Trying to throw her pistol. Shot down by Jevram because there can be no mercy. No questions asked. No chance given to surrender.

Polina gasping as she runs.

George nearly at the offices.

Everything happening so fast. Chaos everywhere. But that’s what war is. That’s the feeling it brings forth. The noise and speed of combat, and the second-by-second judgments that mean the difference between life and death.

The reliance on training to get you through while drawing from combat experiences to give you the edge over your opponent.

Mike breaches the top of the ramparts, instantly seeing and hearing gunfire coming from both the left and the right. Clarence and the others behind him. Blowers, Cookey, Nick, Alain, and Daudi all moving to take cover behind old stone buttresses and return fire. Seeing the defenders have split into two sections.

Daudi and Alain were Special Forces. Either could lead. Clarence was an elite soldier too, and he and the three lads have been in constant combat since this began, and any of those could also lead. But again, the training and discipline show true because they all look to Mike as the front man. The soldier out ahead. The one that can see more than they can – and it takes only seconds for Mike to assess and give the hand signals to the others. The gunfire simply too loud to even try and shout.

Two fingers up. Point to Alain. To Daudi. To the left. You two attack that side. A gesture to the others. We go this way. A straight fast punch. We attack fast.

‘NOW!’ he roars, breaking cover to fire as the others do the same. Firing assault rifles to suppress the defenders.

Daudi and Alain going left to the smaller group.

Mike and his cohort attacking right.

Guns blazing. Feet running. Eyes wide. Muzzle flashes and ricochets. Shouts and screams.

Mike guns one down. Cookey takes another. Daudi and Alain get one each on their side as the two teams attack and drive the defenders back in a long, wide circle around the whole circumference of the upper ramparts.

Gunfire below them. The hunter teams finding agents. Executing them on sight. Shots fired back at them. People screaming in panic. Danny and Mo with their teams, spreading out as they take the middle ground. Danny and Ali shielding a family as they run for cover. Tilly nearby doing the same.

All of them on the ground, hearing the firefight on the upper ramparts as Captain Jansu and his sons, Gurba, and Dahn, and the other men with them fire as they withdraw.

Each of them with their own reasons for joining the cult. From their own traumas of war and rejection by the societies they fought for.

But those causes and reasons won’t matter now. Not with the bloodlust driving them all to murder and kill.

The drone above seeing the defenders dropping back, with Paula trying to tell Mike and Clarence, and the attackers exactly where they are, but it’s snatched and confusing, and too noisy, with ears ringing from close quarters gunfire, and Nick leaning out from a buttress to shoot one down. Blowers taking aim over a crenelation. Getting rounds through a head popping up to return fire.

The defenders run for it. Breaking cover to run and fire on the move. Mike leading his side from cover to cover. Alain and Daudi doing the same. Driving the two sets towards each other. Cutting off their escape. Forcing them to a final stand.

‘SURRENDER!’ a guard shouts, throwing his rifle away. His arms up high. Empty hands. ‘DON’T SHOOT! DON’T SHOOT!’

Mike aims. Remembering his own service and the lack of help he had when he left.

But more than that, he remembers the first night of the outbreak and the people that died and suffered. Which was caused by these people. And he thinks about Kev and Craig giving their lives to a cause they didn’t understand to protect the people they love.

And he’s also got that same infection inside urging him to kill the people that started it.

He fires into the man’s chest. Hosing him down without hesitation. Without mercy, and Clarence fires into his head. Blowing his skull out. Shooting him dead.

A yell from Jansu. A yell from his sons and the men left with them.

A yell from the other defenders backed towards them. Eight of them compressed with nowhere left to go and no chance of surrender. Split-second judgements. Split-second life or death decisions, but there is only one course of action for them. To try and fight out, and so they shout and break cover one last time to try and kill their way to freedom. All of them firing fast on full auto as the attackers press the advantage and fire into them.

Three seconds of carnage.

Three seconds of fifteen people shooting at each other with an astonishing expenditure of rounds fired. A sudden, deafening cacophony of noise.

Daudi hit in the arm. Alain in the leg. Nick in the shoulder. Mike in the stomach. A round bouncing off Clarence’s metal hand, scoring his cheek. Cookey’s face cut open by masonry blowing out from ricochets. Blowers grunting as a round skims his head, taking half his ear away.

Paula yelling out. Reginald tensing.

Three seconds of life and death on that rampart.

Blowers getting rounds into Gurba. Sending him flying over the edge and down into the waters.

Alain firing into Dahn. Sending him staggering to fall over the inner wall and down with a thud to the ground as Carmen and Charlie run past. Charlie seeing the man gurgle. Aiming. Firing into his head. Sweeping on.

Daudi firing at another. Gunning him down with yells and screams.

Mike and Cookey taking Jansu off his feet. Putting rounds into his chest and stomach, and arms, and legs.

Blowers aiming.

Taking him through the head.

Polina reaches the door to the children’s section. The vial in her hand as she grabs the handle to open the door to kill them all, and such is her haste, she doesn’t see the furry, black Exocet missile streaking low to the ground across the fort. The fastest of them all with instincts inside to protect the little ones. To run like the wind, and she launches up to clamp big jaws on Polina’s meaty arm.

Wrenching her hard away from the door. Tearing her flesh open.

Polina grunts and only from her vast bulk stays on her feet. She kicks out at the dog. But Meredith is fast and strong and rags the arm. Biting deep and tearing the skin open down to the bone while getting the woman away from the door and away from the children.

Polina stays calm and cunning and goes low, taking the pain and thumbing the top off the bottle to spray at the dog while holding her own head away.

It works near on instantly. Meredith feeling her vision close in as Polina throws her hard into the wall. Thinking to stamp on her neck and then get in, and kill the children.

‘POLIIIIIIINNNNAAAA!’

A roaring voice. A Russian accent.

Polina spins in shock. Seeing Krakov and Popov running through the fort with Mary and three others of solid bulk. Livvy and Demi, and a huge bodybuilder dressed in pink.

No time for thought. No time for thinking. Polina turns to flee. Forgetting instantly about the children and the dog lying still and unmoving on the ground. Not seeing the door to the children’s room opening a crack for Milly to peek out.

‘There!’ Mary shouts, seeing Polina flit through a pool of light. They start running. Demi and Erica with them. Krakov screaming her name as they see Polina run into the back room.

Shots being fired all around them. Carmen and Charlie. Frank and Maddox. Jonesy and Bash. Tilly in the middle area, calling out to tell the people to get down and stay calm. Seeing a man and woman armed with pistols running at Maddox and Frank’s back. No time for thought. No time for thinking. Tilly aims and fires. Danny doing the same to another. Tamara taking two down. Gunfire and yells of pain, and more agents dropping and trying to surrender only to be shot dead on sight.

Chaos and confusion everywhere as Mary reaches the back of the fort. Leading the others through into the filthy room and past the piles of junk. A hand to her belt holding her back. She turns to yell as Popov tugs a respirator over her head to cover her nose and mouth. Night vision goggles next. Pulled down and turned on. Bathing the world in front of them in shimmering green.

They push forward, protected from the scent of burnt popcorn lingering in the air from Polina spraying behind her as she flees.

To the trapdoor. Mary thinking to go first. The fear gone. Replaced by filthy, black rage.

‘Nyet,’ Popov grunts, pushing her away and going into a face down squat as Krakov steps in to bring his feet down on the back of Popov’s ankles. Anchoring him in place as Popov stretches and drops his upper body down through the trapdoor. His rifle aimed as he views the tunnel upside down. The others clocking the high level of skill. A grunt from Popov. Krakov releases, and the man flips as he drops to land on his feet and straight down onto a knee to sweep out and give cover.

Erica and Demi drop down. Mary, then Krakov, and Livvy.

Everything at speed with an all-out aggressive assault to take ground before the defenders can bed in.

Popov sweeps ahead. A figure ahead coming from a side door with a rifle lifting. Shots fired. The man flies back, and Popov sweeps past the door to hold it as Mary goes low and strafes the inside of the room before surging inside. Two more within. Two more shot down.

The gunfire horribly loud. The muzzle flashes horribly bright.

Still, they push on. Near on running along the tunnel. Mary desperate to be there now. Fury inside of her. Pure, pulsing, filthy, black rage. All of them feeling that same thing. All of them driven by the same infection inside.

Another door. Two more people inside. Agents identified in the fort given access to the tunnels to start preparing. Both try and surrender.

Both are executed without hesitation. No mercy. No questions asked.

‘That’s it!’ Mary yells, seeing the door ahead. ‘That’s her room!’

Speed and aggression. No time for thought. No time for thinking.

Grenades gripped. Rings pulled.

Popov kicks the door to a sudden barrage of automatic gunfire from within. Rounds going through the door, into the walls behind, bouncing off and skimming their limbs and bodies. Mary hit through the arm but not feeling it. Ready only to get inside as Popov puts the nine bangers in through the door.

Military grade flashbangs. Eighteen bangs sound out in quick succession. Each one of them at one hundred and eighty decibels with flashes of pure white, blinding light.

Nothing can withstand such a barrage in a closed space, no matter how well trained you are.

‘IN!’ Krakov screams and flies in first. Smoke in the air. Polina on her knees, covering her head with her injured arm. The flesh bitten down to the bone. Her other hand holding the vial, pumping the top to spray the agent as Krakov runs through it. Protected by his respirator and roaring out as she rises and swings out to send him crashing into the wall. Mary slams into her. Her rifle slung as she drives hard punches into Polina’s head and reaches to yank Polina’s respirator away. But the Russian woman moves fast and grabs, and throws Mary aside like she’s nothing at all. A shout from Livvy, who steams in fast. The biggest and strongest sent to do this task because Mary told them all just how bloody incredible Polina’s abilities were.

‘The Big Bertha gene,’ Reginald said. ‘The woman from the visitor centre that was hard to kill. I’d suggest there is an emerging variant.’

He was right.

Polina does have that gene, and so even against the combined strengths of Mary and Livvy, Popov, Krakov, Demi, and Erica – she dominates the room. Smashing them down and flinging them aside while taking hits that would kill any normal person. She fights liked a demon. Like a monster. Like a beast from another world with horrific strength.

Livvy on her back with her arms clamped around Polina’s neck. Mary driving brutal punches into her head and body. Demi kicking into her knees with legs so strong they could break world records for squatting. Erica raging as she lands blows. Krakov and Popov doing the same. Grabbing arms and getting flung. Snapping finger bones to no response.

Polina keeps battering them away, but they keep rising and keep coming. Swarming into her. Relentless and driven to take her down. She lashes out again to take Krakov down, but he grabs her arm and pivots hard to hold it as Demi stamps on the back of Polina’s knees, and Erica and Livvy grab at her injured arm. Popov with a knife. Stabbing into her shoulder. Mary drawing hers. Stabbing Polina in the back and sides. Driving the blade into her legs until the beast finally drops to a knee, and Popov grabs her respirator to wrench it free.

‘I’LL KILL YOU ALL!’ she shouts in Russian as Krakov draws his fist back and slams it into her nose. Breaking the bone as she inhales the air filled with the scent of burnt popcorn, and the darkness comes on, and she falls to lie bleeding and stabbed. Bloodied and broken.

Everything happening so fast.

Everything happening in an instant.

George’s mind running clear. Knowing he can talk his way out of it. All he needs to do is sow one seed of doubt, and he’ll get through this. Decades of experience behind him. Countless years of manipulating people all over the world to do what he wants. To appear convincing and believable. To know when to use force and when to use guile.

And so the belief is still high within him when he runs into the office. The belief that no matter what happens, he will be okay. ‘Marion!’ he gasps his wife’s name. Knowing he has only seconds to make her aware while also knowing she will help sell the legend that they are both innocent and still dedicated to Henry. After all, Paula is her niece. They are family, and blood is always thicker than water.

Except it’s not water George is dealing with.

It’s something else entirely.

Something much stronger and thicker than blood.

Something that binds strangers together.

Something that binds enemies.

And the man steps out of the dark rear rooms into the lights of the office.

A man that makes George’s stomach flip and twist and his heart to misfire as he gasps and comes to a stop.

Staring ahead.

To a man wearing simple outdoor gear, staring back through hard eyes set in a pock-marked face. Holding a dripping knife in one hand and the decapitated head of Marion in the other.

The beat of a heart.

The blink of an eye.

A single thought in George’s mind.

That Henry has made a deal with the devil.

He lifts his pistol and turns to flee, then stops again at seeing Dave in the doorway behind him. His pistol drawn and held at his side.

‘Dave! Shoot him! It’s Gregori! SHOOT HIM!’

But Dave doesn’t shoot Gregori.

Because Dave doesn’t work for George now.

Dave works for Mr Howie, and Mr Howie hasn’t ordered him to shoot Gregori.

‘I trained you!’ George yells. ‘I FUCKING FOUND YOU!’

A sudden, astonishing sense of self-belief rises in George. A corrupt sense of self and his own abilities, and that he can take Dave and Gregori on and win. What a folly that is, and he dances back, thinking to be smart and make Dave and Gregori shoot at each other as he lifts his own pistol.

But Dave lifts and fires at a speed George can’t even see. He only hears the shot and looks down at his mangled hand that was holding a gun just a second ago.

He gibbers and draws air to yell that they are wrong and that he is the victim, and he knows who the agents are. That he can tell them everything he knows about the New World Order. That he is still Henry’s man.

Except that doesn’t happen because Howie and Lilly surge in behind Dave.

Dark and glowering, and coming in at speed. Faces filled with violence as Howie takes George off his feet and down hard onto a table. Lilly with him. Driving fists into George’s face. Breaking his nose. Breaking his jaw. Hitting him again and again. Over and over. Cutting her knuckles on his teeth that spew from his bloodied mouth.

‘I got it!’ Mary’s voice calling out from behind. Breathing hard as she walks in and pulls Lilly back. Lilly’s face spattered with George’s blood. Mary tugging her respirator down as Lilly and Howie draw back.

Henry beyond them with Kyle. Cassie too. Carmen and Frank joining them to look in through the door as Gregori and Dave step out to stay clear of the agent.

The spray agent in Mary’s hand being held over George.

His eyes blinking in terror as she looms in close.

‘And when you wake up, George,’ Mary says, her voice muffled by the mask. ‘Just know ye’ll have no idea what we did to ye body…’

The bottle sprays.

The darkness comes on fast.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Day Thirty-Six

They come awake with gasps. The snow coming down outside the car windows.

George cries out. His voice soft and muffled by the ball-gag in his mouth, fastened by a strap bound around his neck.

His body naked. His wrists and ankles bound.

He turns left. Staring wide-eyed at Polina’s naked, bloated body in the front seat of the car next to him. Her wrists and ankles bound. Her voice cut off by the ball-gag in her mouth, fastened by a strap around her neck.

The smell of booze hits them both.

Empty bottles of vodka in the footwell amongst the sex-toys.

Someone leaning in with a short length of wood. Bending down into the footwell to wedge the wood into the accelerator. Making the engine scream out. Vibrating the car as it tries to move forward.

George thrashes. His ankles bound and tied to the driver’s seat. His eyes staring in horror at Bobby pulling back from the footwell.

‘Play ye cards right, George, or should I call you Colonel?’ Bobby asks and ruffles George’s hair before stepping back and going to the front to take hold of a length of rope.

George thrashes again, seeing the open end of a wide container several metres ahead of them. The ground in front cleared of snow. The intent clear, and the car rocks as Polina thrashes side to side. Bouncing it on the chassis as the engine screams out.

Motion. Shadow.

Lilly at the driver’s door.

A pink beret on her head.

She smiles warmly. Her blue eyes twinkling. ‘Rule number one. Never outshine the master.’

The veins in his head and neck bulge as he tries to scream that she is a stupid, little girl. But he can’t say that. Because of the ball-gag in his mouth.

‘And rule number two,’ Lilly says, leaning closer to smile at them both. ‘Crush your enemy. I’m sure there were more rules, but honestly? I didn’t listen. You’re an old man, George, and the one true race has no care for the ramblings of tired, old men. That’s what we call it, by the way. That’s our cult. Bye, bye.’

She steps back with a nod to Bobby, who gives a quick heave of the chocks in front of the car. It surges forward. An automatic gearbox letting it accelerate fast across the distance towards the rapidly approaching open container. The solid metal end of it coming in fast as George and Polina thrash and scream.

A huge bang sounds out on impact. Glass breaking. Airbags deploying. George and Polina held in place by the seatbelts securing them in their seats. They still feel the impact, with heads snapping forward and back so hard it knocks them senseless.

But only for a moment, and they blink awake to see Lilly in the rearview mirror, swinging the doors to the container closed.

Sealing them inside.

In darkness, save for light coming through holes in the container.

Noises. Engines. Clangs.

The container lifts. They both feel it, and they feel it swing out, then lower, and both feel and hear when it hits the sea. The waters pouring. Rapidly filling the inside of the container as it sinks down on the end of the wall into the waters that soon reach their feet. Both expecting it to be freezing because of the snow, but of course, it isn’t. The summer has been very hot for months, and the sea takes time to cool, and under any other circumstances, it might even be pleasant to dip into such warm water on a cold, snowy day.

But not for them. Strapped in their seats in the dark, feeling it rise over their legs and over their guts, and over their chests, and up to their jaws. Their lives flashing before their eyes. The regret clear in their minds.

And the last thing George sees from the light coming through a tiny hole in the roof of the container is his wife’s decapitated head bobbing on the water as it rises over his mouth and nose.

Lilly watches the container sink until it’s gone from view. The whole thing submerged.

The snow coming down. Thick and silent, but she looks at the water, and such is the way her mind works, she thinks to have a swim later and catch a fish. Knowing, of course, that the sea will be warm for a little while yet.

‘Are ye thinking deep thoughts about life and what not, or are ye thinking about swimming and catching a fish?’ Mary asks at her side.

Lilly looks at her. Remembering her promise to never lie to Mary. ‘Swimming and fish.’

‘I thought as much.’

‘But with you,’ Lilly adds.

‘Ach. Anyone would think ye had a heart, Blondie.’

‘And why would I ever need one of those?’ Lilly asks, giving her a smile followed by a kiss. They turn away to see the others standing nearby. The others of Lilly’s crew. Her team. Her faction.

Ann and Anika. Kyle and Tilly.

A small team.

The smallest of all the factions that hold a seat at the table.

But maybe not for long, and Lilly looks past them to Bobby standing with Norman and Lenski. The girls from the camp right next to them.

‘You good?’ a voice calls from further up the road. Howie’s voice. They turn to see him next to the command vehicle. Krakov and Elka inside, staring out. Paula, Henry, and Reginald the same.

The Saxon next to it. The back doors open. The lads inside.

Marcy standing in the doorway to The Beast. The armoured bus. The younger ones inside with Samir and Bev’s crew.

Two matt black vehicles nearby. Cassie and Gregori the only ones not on board.

‘We’re good,’ Lilly calls. Lifting an arm.

A nod from Howie. A nod from Paula. A wave from Clarence. Hugs already given by Krakov. Many hugs. Lots of hugs. Krakov is a hugger. But in a good way. In a nice way. Paula is normally the same. But not now. Not after that.

Not after what happened to Meredith.

But even Elka was polite to Lilly when they said goodbye. Her dislike of Lilly still obvious, but such is the way with Lilly. You either see it, or you don’t.

A final look from Cassie to Howie and Paula. ‘Tomorrow. Noon. Starbucks?’

Paula nods. Grim-faced. Howie the same.

Cassie climbs in. Gregori holds back. Staring at Dave.

Both expressionless.

Both knowing the day will come.

‘I can make egg fried rice,’ Dave says and turns to follow Howie into the command vehicle.

Gregori turns away too. Not giving a shit about egg fried rice.

A moment later, the vehicles start pulling away, with the Saxon stopping, and the back doors opening.

Blowers jumping out.

The unkillable Sergeant Blowers with his eye-patch and dark, brooding looks.

Every girl in the camp watching as he marches over to Tilly, as though nobody else exists. ‘Would you like to have dinner with me, Tilly?’

‘It’s a bit late for dinner, Simon. It’s nearly time for breakfast, so it is. But are ye asking me on a date now?’

‘Yes. But it’ll probably still be egg fried rice.’

‘Ach. I’m partial to Dave’s egg fried rice,’ she says, taking his hand and smiling up, as though nobody else in the world exists. ‘I’ll be back somewhen soon, Lilly.’

They even watch as Blowers helps her up into the Saxon and see space form next to his usual seat, with Cookey swapping sides to get in next to Charlie.

The doors close.

The vehicles leave, and the air grows silent, filled with thick snow falling down to lay on the ground in Mary’s bay next to Lilly’s fort.

Except it doesn’t feel that way now.

But then these are strange times, indeed, in this brave, new world.

The two matt black vehicles veer off and away from the others on the motorway.

There’s no tooting of horns. No flashing of lights. No waving out of windows.

They are not friends.

But they do share a bond.

Albeit a fragile one.

And within the lead matt black vehicle, Demi, Erica, Alain, and even Daudi cast looks of stunned awe at Cassie Appleton sitting on the bench seats in the back.

One of the troopers. One of the fighters. Bloodied and muddied, and combat hardened.

Except she isn’t one of the troopers.

‘I can’t even…’ Demi says, still giving her a look because Cassie did what the infection has been unable to do since the start.

She got next to Howie.

To his very side.

Into the middle of this team.

And she walked into the fort.

Into the very heart of it.

Invited. Accepted. Not opposed.

She smiles back at them as Nicole and Gwendoline sit in the canteen in the centre of the fort. The red in their eyes nearly all faded. Two new, quiet women, who slipped in during all the chaos, ready to be used as willed. As needed.

But of all of them in the lead matt black vehicle, Gregori doesn’t stare at Cassie in awe, but then, that isn’t his way. Instead, he frowns and fidgets because words sometimes have barbs and sink in. And so, as they leave the fort, he turns to the others. ‘How make egg fried rice?’

Noises drift into her mind.

Smells reach her nose.

Scents she recognises and discerns, and filters while slowly rising through the layers of consciousness.

The smell of fire.

The smell of marshmallows and hot chocolate.

The smell of the horse.

The smell of Danny and Mo. The smell of Ali and Tam. The smell of her pack. Her family. The smell of the leader. The smell of Howie.

The smell of sausages.

Meredith’s soft, brown eyes flicker and open. Heavy. Sleepy. She blinks, and the horse snickers. Standing over her. Staring intently.

‘She’s awake!’ Danny says, cutting all chat off as Meredith’s view fills with the faces of the people she loves. Paula crying as she kisses her.

‘I thought we lost you.’

Clarence’s cheeks wet. Marcy the same. All of them with wet cheeks.

Meredith doesn’t know.

She’s too sleepy, and it’s warm here. She’s comfortable, and she can feel Ali and Tam, and Danny, and Mo stroking her back and belly, and her head.

They found her at the back of the fort.

Inside the room with the children.

Milly had opened the door and ran out to try and drag Meredith inside. But the dog was too heavy. Amna came to help, then Billy, and Rajesh, and Subi, and together they pulled the heavy dog inside and stood guard over her while Milly held Meredith’s head and whispered words into her ear in her chitty-chat way.

Words that filtered into Meredith’s brain.

‘Be alive and not dead, silly. Gotta run and chase, and fetch, and be a doggy. Be a good doggy. Waggy tail and go sniff, sniff, sniff.’

When the firing ended, Subi ran to Lilly and told her where Meredith was.

And they sprinted as fast as they could across the fort. All of them pouring towards the rear wall. To the room used by the orphaned children. To Meredith on the floor. On her side. Unmoving. Unblinking. Her head held by Milly.

Clarence carried her out.

Flanked on all sides by people in pink berets, and the fort fell to silence as they crunched through the snow into the infirmary.

They checked her heart and lungs.

Jevram and Ann said she was alive.

Clarence carried her out onto a boat. He never let her go. The others didn’t leave her side. He laid her on a bed of soft blankets brought out from the camp in the armoured bus. Hot water bottles were placed around her body to keep her warm, and Danny, Mo, Ali, and Tam held a vigil around her.

Samir stayed with her too. Staring intently through Thor. Stroking her head and telling her to be alive and not dead.

And so Meredith did not die.

But she slept.

She slept as they carried her into the garden centre, and she slept as they cleaned weapons, and she slept when they realised that Jess, having been left behind with silent Gavin, had eaten all of the egg fried rice.

They made more. They ate in near silence.

Then they carried Meredith down to the fire pits and pulled the garden sofas in close, and they held that vigil around her while Meredith dreamt of the words whispered into her ear by Milly, and so she did not die.

Now she wakes. Smelling her pack. Hearing their voices and feeling within her heart the very great flow of love and energy pouring into her.

She lifts her head to pant sleepily. Earning low cheers and more kisses and seeing more wet faces.

Then Nick is in front of her. Holding a bowl of cool water. She drinks while blinking at him sleepily. And when she finishes, he lowers the bowl and picks the tin of hotdog sausages up, and pulls one out to hold in front of her. Words in her mind said in a singsong voice. Eat sausages with Nick. Not that Meredith knows what those words mean. But she does know Nick will eat all the sausages if she’s not quick. So she eats one. Then two. Then three, and somewhere in her doggy mind, she thinks Nick must be full because he doesn’t eat any. He gives them all to her. And his cheeks look wet too. She eats the last one, then licks his tears, and yawns, and stretches, and lays back down, and kicks her paws at the underlings to resume the fusses and stroking.

Her eyes growing heavy.

Her mind falling back to sleep.

But only sleep.

Because Milly said she can’t die yet.

‘You have to be a good doggy and help Mr Howie and Miss Paula fight all the bad peoples cos they haven’t won yet. They need you, Meredith. You cannot die. It isn’t time to go yet because the darkest days are ahead, and without you, they won’t fight, and everything will die. You sleep good doggy. And wake up and eat sausages with Nick. Yummy, yummy, yummy for your tummy, tummy, tummy.’

‘Thank god,’ Paula says, wiping her cheeks as Meredith falls back to sleep. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if we lost her.’

They all nod and murmur quietly. Feeling the same.

But Meredith isn’t dead, only asleep, and so the relief washes over them, allowing the warmth of unity to flow once more through their pack.

All of them exhausted to the bone. Battered and bruised, but still functioning.

All of them gathered in close. Under blankets on sofas. Glasses of wine. Bottles of beer. Mugs of hot chocolate.

Nearly all of them.

Maddox slips away, heading up the stairs to the canteen, to the low glow coming from the candle flickering in front of Henry and Reginald sitting at a table. Sharing a bottle of brandy.

‘Meredith just woke up,’ Maddox reports, grabbing a bottle of water from the stacked cases. Being a young man that never touches alcohol and would never drink hot chocolate.

‘Wonderful news,’ Henry says with a genuine sigh of relief. ‘To her very good and lasting health,’ he says and clinks his glass to Reginald’s.

‘I think Roy’s dropping the next part of his story in a minute,’ Maddox adds, figuring they probably won’t be interested.

‘Oh, I can’t miss that,’ Reginald says and takes his glass to head off through the dark canteen and down the stairs.

‘I’m rather enthralled with it myself actually,’ Henry says to Maddox. ‘But, er, before you go. A quick word.’

Maddox stops and turns back, then takes a seat when motioned to do so.

‘Are you enjoying working with Frank?’

‘I am, Major. Thank you for the opportunity.’

‘Good. He speaks very highly of you. Which is rare for Frank. How would you feel about undertaking another mission?’

‘Mission?’

‘I spoke to Cassie before we left the fort,’ Henry says. ‘She’s going to return to that base she destroyed. And she’s going to look for the body of a young black man.’

Maddox’s eyes sharpen. His focus held fixed on Henry.

‘A young black man, who happened to escape the carnage and make his way south. Your mission, Maddox. Is to locate the South East Forward Operating Base and present yourself as one of them. This is a big thing. Working undercover means you have to absolutely believe in your cover story and legend. It requires a very certain mindset and extraordinary levels of aptitude, and lateral thinking skills. And I think you are the perfect man for the job. What do you think? Up for the task?’

Maddox stares back at him. Sensing the enormity of the thing being asked of him. The risk it poses. The temerity of it. But what a thing to do. What an incredible thing to do. ‘Yes. I can do that.’

‘Good lad. Knew you’d be up for it.’

‘ROY’S STORY IS READY!’ Cookey yells from downstairs.

‘You go on. I’ll be right down,’ Henry says.

Maddox nods and rises. ‘Does Howie know?’

‘We don’t work for Howie, Maddox. We work with them. We have our own seat at the table, remember?’

Maddox gives a rare smile, then turns to walk off to listen to a story being told around a fire.

Cookey on his feet, holding the notepad. Roy sitting nervously nearby, with his heart thumping in his chest in a way that never happens during a battle. Especially now with so many new people listening. All of Bev’s crew and Krakov, and Popov, and Sergei, and Elka too. Which also means Elka will be translating it to them in Russian while Jonesy translates it for Bash.

Which then also means that his story is now literally international.

‘And for the benefit of the new audience,’ Cookey says, in his element. ‘Our story shall start at the beginning, or perhaps it will begin at the start…’

‘Fucking cheesy,’ Blowers says with a groan.

‘Language, there’s a kiddie,’ Tilly says softly, cuddled into his side on one of the garden sofas.

‘And so, without further adieu.’

‘Ado, not adieu,’ Carmen says to a barrage of marshmallows and cushions, and jeers. ‘Alright, sorry! Without further adieu, then.’

‘Without further ado,’ Cookey says with a wink and a grin, holding his audience in the palm of his hand. ‘The Mystery House of Rob. Written by Roy. Narrated by Cookey.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PART I

Rob inherited the house from an uncle he never knew, who died in mysterious circumstances. In fact, the first Rob knew that he even had an uncle was when the lawyers phoned to tell him the will had been read, and Rob was now the proud owner of a detached Victorian house.

Rob went there quickly. In his car. Which was a blue Ford or maybe a Tesla. He drove carefully because the bloody council and police were constantly putting cameras up to catch motorists instead of actually going out and catching proper criminals, which was just a way of keeping people oppressed and angry, and distracted so they wouldn’t question the order of things and the illuminati running the world. Which Rob knew they did. Because he read lots of books and researched it all the time. Like how they made people get cancer so they’d be worried about their health. Rob was always worried about getting cancer, and he wouldn’t even drink tap water because of the chemicals they put it in.

But anyway. Rob inherited this house, and it was really big, and he got the keys from Mr Penfold, who was the lawyer.

“Just be very careful, Robert.” Mr Penfold said when Rob got the keys.

“Careful about what? Mr Penfold?” Rob asked, but Mr Penfold just stared at him with this mysterious face like he knew a secret.

Rob went to the house. It was old and full of furniture, so he spent some days moving it around and getting rid of the old stuff, and keeping the nice things.

But when he tried to get into the front bedroom upstairs, he found the door was locked.

But it was locked from the inside!

PART II

What did Penfold mean when he said ‘Just be very careful, Robert.’?

Rob thought back to those words as he tried the door handle, but it was definitely locked from the inside. He could even see the key in the hole.

But who had locked it?

And why?

Rob went outside to see if he could see through the windows. He went downstairs and stood next to his Tesla, which definitely wasn’t a Ford, and a beautiful, sexy woman went by in a wheelchair.

‘Don’t sexualise me with your eyes! For I am a lesbian!’ she said when Rob smiled at her.

He then tried to look through the window. But it was upstairs, and he didn’t have a ladder, so he went back in and tried to poke the key out from the hole, but that’s actually really hard to do, and you need to put some card or paper down under the door for it to fall on and then slide it back under, and in the end, Rob couldn’t be arsed with all that, so he booted the door in. Because he had strong legs. From being a karate champion and a bodybuilder.

And he was so strong the door flew off the hinges and smashed through the window, and almost hit the sexy lesbian in the wheelchair.

‘Sorry!’ Rob said to her and went, and got his door back, and she gave him her number cos she thought he was hot the way he’d kicked the door in.

Then he went back to the room and saw that it was empty and didn’t have any furniture.

But Rob saw a corner of old wallpaper was peeling down, and he thought he had to redecorate anyway, so he pulled the wallpaper down.

And his heart went bumpity bump, bump because underneath the wallpaper, on the bare walls, were secret messages.

Written in blood!

PART III

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!

And 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 to 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 lady thought Rob was very strong and buff.

Then he fetched her wheelchair and pushed her into the bedroom that had been locked from 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 to show her chest.

Rob thought she was going to show him her boobs because she wanted to have sex, 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!’

PART IV

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?’

‘God! I can’t lie. My name isn’t even Anika, Rob. 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 a 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 to cover her boobs and took her hand. ‘But I know we can get through this together…’

And so, as the wraiths glided faster into the room, Rob and Sophia leapt hand in hand through the portal.

PART V

Rob and Sophia passed through the shimmering, blue, iridescent doorway in the room of the house Rob had inherited to escape the wraiths gliding towards them.

Rob expected it to feel hot or cold. But there was no sensation at all. Just a sense of formlessness, and then they stepped out into a different world.

‘Where are we?’ Rob asked. ‘This isn’t my house! How can this happen?’

‘This was your house, Rob,’ Sophia said as Rob looked at the piles of bricks and old roof slates all over the ground, and a shiver ran up his spin, and he couldn’t speak because he saw the old bricks on the ground had writing on them. The same messages and secret codes that were on the wall in his house. But he was just there before he came through the portal. And he looked for the portal, but it had gone!

‘What’s going on?’ Rob asked because even though he was a bodybuilder and knew Krav Maga and MMA, but not Karate, he was actually quite scared. Then he looked up, and he was even more scared because the sky was red, and it looked torn. Like there had been a nuclear war or something terrible.

‘What the fuck,’ Howie says.

‘Shush,’ Marcy and the others say as Cookey keeps going to narrate the story.

‘This was your house, Rob. And this was your street,’ Sophia said. ‘And this…is the future!’

Rob wanted to stop and ask some questions, but he couldn’t because something laughed nearby, but it wasn’t a nice laugh. It was a horrible, evil laugh. Like an evil clown, but not the Stephen King clown because Rob didn’t actually like Stephen King’s books because they were way overhyped. But anyway. So Rob could hear the evil laughing.

‘I am not afraid of you!’ Rob shouted and got into a Krav Maga MMA stance but not a karate stance. Because even though he was scared, he knew he had to fight the evil.

‘You cannot fight them,’ Sophia said. ‘We must run!’

‘I will not run! This is my house!’

‘Well. It was your house,’ Sophia said. ‘It’s more like a building site now.’

‘I can rebuild it!’ Rob said.

‘But all the builders’ merchants are gone. You won’t be able to get any cement or a plumbline.’

Rob was very impressed that Sophia knew what a plumbline was, and he wanted to tell her, but then the evil, wheezy coughing things all moved out from their dark and sinister shadows, and Rob saw they were the same wraiths that came into his garden and up his stairs. Evil creatures in black robes with their faces hidden. But Rob could see glowing, red eyes, and he thought they all needed an asthma inhaler.

‘We’re surrounded!’ Sophia said as a trapdoor banged open near to them, and Mr Penfold poked his head out from a secret ladder underneath the ground.

‘Come with me if you want to live!’ he said, and he sounded like he was from Austria.

‘Mr Penfold!’ Sophia and Rob both shouted together. They were surprised because Mr Penfold had been murdered to death in Rob’s house.

‘No. I am Herr Penfold. The older brother,’ Herr Penfold said. ‘Quick! Get to the chopper!’

And so they climbed down the secret ladder and ran through some secret tunnels, and came up again somewhere else but next to a big helipad, and a helicopter that looked like the one from Airwolf, but not with that guy, who was in the telly show cos he was always drunk apparently.

‘Do I need to touch your boobs to make it work again?’ Rob asked.

‘No. And we’re not doing boobs anymore because I am a strong, independent woman and not just a piece of meat. And I am also a pilot.’

‘Quickly! You must go!’ Herr Penfold shouted, and they both turned to see him falling forward onto his face, and they both gasped when they saw the knife sticking out of his back. ‘Get to the church!’ Herr Penfold said with his dying breath. ‘And don’t talk about boobs anymore,’ he said because he also had a bit of air left.

They got onto the chopper, and Sophia flew it up into the air just as the evil, coughing wraiths all glided in to like totally trap them. Rob looked down at his old, broken town, and he didn’t know what was going on.

But he knew he was going to find out.

But first. He had to find the church…”

‘Oh. My. God,’ Sophie says into the silence that follows when Cookey lowers the notepad. ‘I can’t even speak right now! Penfold’s brother!’ she gives her excited hand clap that triggers a spontaneous round of applause that makes Meredith open her eyes and smack Danny and Ali with her paw because they stopped stroking her. ‘I love it. I love it! Don’t you love it, Livvy?’ Sophie asks.

‘Er. I mean,’ Livvy starts to say and clocks Carmen giving her a quick shake of the head in warning, and then spots the look of intense dread on Roy’s face. ‘I mean, er, yeah! Of course, I love it!’

‘Really good, Roy. Really good and great,’ Carmen says.

‘Get to the chopper,’ Johnny says in brilliant mimicry.

‘You didn’t stutter!’ Sophie says.

‘N…n…notwhenIsing… Or… Or…’ he pauses, circling his hand as the others wait for him to continue. ‘NotwhenIdovoices.’

‘Just do voices all the time, then,’ Nick says to chuckles rolling around.

‘Or sing all the time,’ Sophie says.

‘He’s got a nice voice,’ Tappy says.

‘He does,’ Charlie says as Johnny blushes.

‘Get a beer down in him, and he won’t shut up,’ Tamara says. ‘And it’s always Miley Cyrus. Literally always!’

‘No!’ Johnny says.

‘Or Taylor Swift,’ Bibi says.

‘Love, love, love Taylor Swift!’ Sophie says, clapping her hands again. ‘But honestly, though! That story! That should be like on Netflix or Amazon.’

‘I don’t think they’re running anymore,’ Tappy says with a laugh.

‘We’ll get a camera and make our own,’ Nick says. ‘Johnny can sing the theme tune. That was so cool, though, Roy.’

‘Loved it, Roy,’ Blowers says.

‘The plumbline bit was funny,’ Mike says as the older ones laugh.

‘Why you so quiet?’ Paula asks, clocking the look on Howie’s face.

‘You lot! In my bloody head all the time. I’ve literally had dreams about that place.’

‘What place?’ Marcy asks.

‘That place! The place Rob was in.’

‘Get off! Did you heck,’ Paula says.

‘I love this stuff. Dreams are like so powerful,’ Tappy says.

‘You didn’t dream it,’ Paula says with a look to Howie.

‘We share a hive mind,’ Marcy reminds her.

‘No, but… No!’ Paula says.

‘I’ve, er… I’ve dreamt it too,’ Blowers admits, thinking about the other Meredith and the church, and how their dog is actually called Bear, and he thinks about how he felt about the woman Meredith, and now he’s cuddled up with Tilly, and suddenly he isn’t so sure that it wasn’t just all dreams, and even if it wasn’t, he gains the strong feeling that Meredith would be pleased for him to find someone like Tilly.

‘Penny for ’em,’ Tilly says, tilting her head to look up while cuddled into his side. He smiles at the twinkle in her eyes and her red hair that’s almost as red as Mary’s, and the freckles across her nose. She smiles back as the others laugh and chat, and talk about dreams, and then, without warning, she reaches up to gently peck his lips and snuggles back down, and the fires bathe them all in orange, glowing light.

There in the garden centre that lies within a changed landscape of new lakes as the snow falls and lies thick on the ground and on the roof while it should still be summertime.

Mary in a boat on the sea, wearing a thick, waterproof jacket and woolly hat, and gloves. Watching the silent snow falling from the sky.

Bobby’s empire doing a thriving trade as the stories get told and retold to anyone who wishes to listen to one of the girls from the camp in her pink beret. Telling them of the Battle for Winchester. All the twists and turns. All the fears and losses. The fuel truck explosions and the battle to take Castle Avenue.

‘And right, then. Amidst all that heroism and sacrifice, I turn, and I see with my eyes to my cousin Tilly being picked up by that Sergeant Blowers, who everyone knows is the toughest of them all, and he pulled her to her feet, and they kissed right there, right in the middle of it all! Never seen such a romantic thing in all my life!’

Simon didn’t kiss Tilly then. But such details will always change when they are retold, and it makes for a good story.

As it does when they tell everyone how Howie and Lilly climbed the wall of infected side by side.

‘Up and up they went! Hand over hand while the things bit and clawed, and they fell down time and again, but they kept going back up! All the way to the top to protect that wee child! And ye never see anything like it. The wee bairn glowing like an angel, he was! Purest white like the lord baby Jesus himself was shining a big torch down, a good one with fresh batteries, and he held Mr Howie’s hand and Miss Lilly’s, and all the infected fell over! Fell over, they did! Right there! Like dominoes, and the sky was on fire, and we were all glowing white by then from the baby Jesus and the prophet Mohammed, and all the religious folks holding their big torches. I never seen a thing like it. Then we finish, and the boy child takes Mr Howie and the others to the big table that was famous in the history with the old Kings and whatnot, and he gives them a seat, but there’s one left. One seat left. And then she walks in like the Queen of Sheba herself. Cassie Appleton! She’s a looker too. Fetching she is. And she’s proud, with her chin up, strutting it about, and she’s telling them all, I was your enemy, so I was! And I don’t like any of yous, apart from Simon Blowers, who everyone knows is a good lad and very tough, but the rest of ye can suck on a turd. But we’ll fight together, so we will. We’ll make an accord to protect each other until this is over. Me and you, Mr Howie, waddya say? And she did it too! She stood by his side and helped us get in here, and take it back from Georgey and that secret lot of feckers. But it was Lilly, though! It was Miss Lilly that took George down. I see it with my own eyes! I see her pick him up and throw him on a table, and punch him in the nose, and then Mary knocks him out cos everyone knows Mary can hit harder and shoot straighter than any man. And you know what they’re doing right now? Miss Lilly is out there, swimming in the dark because she doesn’t fear a thing. I’ll tell ye all, I’m Lilly’s faction through and through. I never seen a girl so brave in my whole life.’

A soft gasp as Lilly breaks the surface from swimming down to check the container is still sealed. Just to be sure. Just to be careful.

Her breath misting in the cold air, but her body warm in the water. ‘Come in. It’s really nice.’

‘Not a chance,’ Mary says. ‘Fish might touch my foot, and ye’ll hear me scream like a girl.’

‘You are a girl,’ Lilly says with a smile.

‘Aye, but not a girly girl,’ Mary says as Lilly swims over to grip the sides and heaves herself up, with Mary helping to lift her into the boat. ‘Aren’t ye freezing?’ she asks at Lilly just in shorts and a wetsuit vest.

‘I’m the ice queen, remember,’ Lilly says, taking a blanket to wrap around her shoulders as she steps in close to Mary. Pressing into her and wrapping the blanket around them both. ‘I’m sorry I got us into that mess.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Mary whispers, pushing in close. Forehead to forehead. ‘We both did it.’

Lilly nods. ‘I didn’t like that they hurt you. I never want anyone to hurt you.’ Her lips find Mary’s.

There, on the boat. In the silent air as the snow falls and the first streaks of dawn touch the sky.

Howie and Marcy taking first watch. Stepping outside to smile at the snow.

Paula taking Ali and Tam off to one side.

Clarence with Danny and Mo to another side.

‘Just be careful and use contraception if you do anything,’ Paula says.

‘And so, when a man and a woman or a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, or if two people love each other, and the…er, the bond between them… That is to say when they feel they can take their relationship to the next level. Or not because they should never rush, and only when they are very sure and…’

‘Chaps?’ Jevram asks, stepping over as a blushing, but also very thankful Clarence falls silent. ‘Take these condoms. Use them if you engage in any sexual penetration. Take your time. Don’t rush and don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. Got it?’

‘Cheers, Doc,’ Mo says.

‘Thanks, Doc,’ Danny says.

‘Well done, men!’ Clarence booms, slapping Danny hard enough to send him into Mo, and the pair of them sent flying as Bash and Jonesy walk behind them, hand in hand to Bash’s tent, going inside and sealing the flap to the sound of Johnny Judo singing “Wrecking Ball” at the firepit.

Blowers and Tilly slip away into the darkness. Into the shadows. Hand in hand, with hearts whumping hard in their chests. Smiling and giggling as they come to a stop and bump bodies, and press into each other.

Lilly and Mary kissing on the boat.

Howie and Marcy kissing outside the front of the garden centre in the snow.

Tappy kissing Nick out the back.

Bash kissing Jonesy in his tent.

Blowers’ lips meeting Tilly’s. Softly. Gently. The delight of restraint surging through them both until they melt into it. Kissing harder with bodies pressing.

Cassie and Gregori the same. Kissing in the snow outside of the countryside bed and breakfast they took over.

Mike and Bev in one of the bathrooms at the garden centre.

Carmen next to Reginald. Her eyes always on him. Her leg touching his. A yearning inside that seems to grow stronger by the day.

The others at the firepit. Laughing. Joking. Singing songs. Getting smacked by Meredith when they stop fussing her.

Tilly and Blowers stopping outside his tent. Blowers hesitating. Happy to wait forever. But she smiles and takes his hand to lead him inside. ‘Ye’ll go slow with me, Simon Blowers. I’m not one for jumping into bed with a fella. But there’s every chance we might all be dead tomorrow.’

She pulls him down to kiss him more. More and more, and many more.

Upstairs in the canteen. Henry alone at his table. Sipping from his glass of brandy. Someone approaching. Pulling a chair out. Henry offers a glass. Pouring a dram and smiling at Jevram taking a sip. Their eyes holding each other’s as the flame of the candle dances on their faces.

All of those people living their lives. Taking what comfort they can after a day of death and war, and carnage, and destruction. Seeking comfort with each other. With friends. With lovers. With their family and pack.

And as the dawn comes, Charlie walks to her tent with a glance at Cookey hovering in the central area. She clocks his dilemma instantly. That Blowers is with Tilly, which means Cookey can’t go there.

She stands still and folds her arms, and gives him a look. Seeing his nerves, but this time she rolls her eyes and laughs it off, and goes into her tent. ‘Share with Maddox,’ she whispers over and pulls the zip to seal herself in. Holding still by the flap on the inside. Waiting for Cookey to ask. Cookey holding still on the outside, waiting to be invited.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Maddox says, walking between them. ‘You two live in your own special world made of your own special rules.’

He’s right.

They do.

And when he goes into his tent and seals the flap, so Charlie unzips hers but doesn’t open it, and slips into the main sleeping section, and lies down. Waiting. Smiling. Hearing the flap open as Cookey finds the courage in this brave, new world.

A brave, new world, in which Marcy and Howie break from kissing at hearing the younger ones now outside the back of the garden centre laughing as they throw snowballs at each other.

Howie smiles at the sound, turning to say something to Marcy as a ball of fluffy snow splats into his face.

‘How did you not see that coming?’ Marcy asks with a laugh as he grabs a handful to throw at her. ‘Don’t! I’ve got a poorly finger!’

‘Poorly finger, my arse!’

‘It is! It was literally cut off and put back on.’

‘How is it anyway? Have you looked?’

‘Roy said to leave it. I changed the outer dressing but not the inner one.’

‘Have a look.’

‘What if it falls off again?’

‘It’s alright. It’s snowing.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘It’ll freeze and not decompose, so we can, you know, glue it back on or whatever. Just check it.’

‘Do you think I should check it?’

‘No.’

‘Dick. I’ll check it. Help me unwind the dressing.’

‘Can you feel it?’

‘I think so,’ Marcy says as the outer dressing comes off, leaving the thinner dressing covering the wound on her severed finger. She starts easing it off, with Howie coming in close. The two of them staring down and watching as the bandage comes away.

‘Oh, my god! It worked. It’s re-attached,’ Marcy gasps. Seeing the end of her finger staying put as she lifts it up and flexes her hands, and twists, and turns it while Howie winces and steps away. ‘What?’ Marcy asks him. Seeing the look on his face. ‘What!?’ She glances back. Not seeing it.

Until she does.

Her finger re-attached.

But the wrong way around. The nail now on the underside.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Howie yelps as Marcy draws air like Dave when he’s about to tell the world it’s going to get killed.

‘ROY, YOU F…’

Carnage ensues.

Beautiful carnage.

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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