Demise of the Living
Date: 2013-09-24 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies; Horror
Description: The world is infected. The dead are reanimating and attacking the living. In a city being overrun with ravenous corpses people find safety where they can. A disparate group of strangers drawn together by chance seek sanctuary from the carnage outside in an empty office block. Besieged by an army of walking dead and with little hope of rescue the group must learn to work together if they are going to survive. But for how long can the barricades hold back the ever increasing hordes of undead? How long before the food runs out? How long before those who were bitten succumb to the infection? And h
Publisher: Permuted Press

IAIN MCKINNON

A PERMUTED PRESS book

Published at Smashwords

Trade Paper ISBN: 978-1-61868-130-0
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61868-131-7

Demise of the Living copyright © 2013
by Iain McKinnon

All Rights Reserved.

Cover art by Roy Migabon.

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

To Alison simply the most wonderful woman in the world.

To Brennus for making me strive to be better.

To Audrey and Emma for giving me your time, your support and your help.

To Mum and Dad for always being there for me.

To Peter, Joe and Dave thanks for the inspiration and the sound advice.

And to my online buddies too numerous to mention and too prized to forget. Thank you for all the crowd sourced answers on Facebook.

The sound track to writing this novel:

Nine Inch Nails, Combichrist, Psy (yes I know).

There are none who can defeat death.
There are none who can silence death’s roar.
And there is nothing of man’s making that can endure forever.
For as long as man is at war with himself.
For as long as hostility and hate rule.
For all eternity there can be no likeness of death.
No living face may turn unblinking to the sun.
None can seize the distinction between the living and the dead.
And death’s release forever will remain a mystery unto man.
For when demons and gods conspire, the mother of fate is forced to act.
It is she who decrees the demise of the living.

--From the Epic of Gilgamesh

Monday

Chapter 1

Break

“Calm down,” Liz pleaded.

“Get out of the road,” Harrison cursed.

There was no way the shambling fool could hear him. Harrison's voice was raised, his annoyance clear from his tone, but it was restricted to the confines of the car.

Harrison peeped his horn and shouted, “For fuck’s sake!”

“This isn't helping,” Liz said. She glanced at the kids in the back seat.

Harrison looked round and smiled at the young boy and girl.

The two children had been sitting quietly, engrossed with the cartoon playing on tiny screens, headphones clamped over their ears, but now they were focused on their stepfather’s rage.

“They can't hear a fucking thing,” Harrison said, unaware the children had taken an interest.

“We've got a long trip ahead of us and I don't want it getting uncomfortable so soon,” Liz replied.

Harrison’s cheeks were flushed. He waved his hand to point out the man’s lumbering movements towards the car. “Look at him! Look at him now. Still drunk from last night.”

Liz looked out at the pitiful fellow. His hair was matted and tussled. He wore a crumpled and soiled suit jacket and his tieless shirt was awash with dirt and grime.

“Just drive around him and stop making a fuss about it,” she said.

Harrison looked at his watch. “We were almost an hour late leaving and we’re not even out of town yet when this moron starts with us. I've got a good mind to just run him down.”

“Now don’t be ridiculous. You’re just causing a drama out of nothing.”

Harrison swung the steering wheel down and swerved as if he was about to circle around him. As they drew level he stopped the car.

“Is the man okay?” Melissa asked from the back.

“What are you doing?” Liz asked Harrison.

Harrison didn't answer her. He pressed the button to roll the window down.

He leaned his head out and hollered, “Hey buddy, get off the fucking road!”

“Harrison, for God’s sake, don’t,” Liz said.

“Who’s pissed on Harrison’s parade?" Grant asked.

Liz turned to see both Grant and Melissa had slipped their headphones off and were paying close attention. Grant had his biological father’s physique, stocky yet well-built, but with Liz’s eyes and mouth. Melissa, on the other hand, could have been a clone of her mother, tall and thin as a twig.

“Grant, I have told you not to use that language,” Liz said. “Now sit back down and let your dad and I deal with this.”

“You mean Harrison and you,” Grant said cheekily.

Harrison glanced at Grant in the rear-view mirror. “Would it kill you to call me Dad just once?” he asked.

He leaned out the window again.

“What is he doing, ma?” Melissa asked.

Liz barely stopped herself from blurting out, ‘Your step dad’s being a dick.’ Although true, she knew it would only serve to heighten the tension.

“Let the grown-ups deal with this, children,” she said, falling back on one of her parenting stock responses.

“You being a smartass or something?!” they heard Harrison shout.

The man slowly shuffled his way up to the driver’s window like a geriatric bereft of the energy or will to move any faster. He drew so close that Liz lost sight of him through the narrow field of vision between her husband and the roof of the car.

“I can’t see—who’s Harrison talking to?” Melissa asked, bobbing her head to look out of the side window. “Let the fuck go!” Harrison shouted.

“What’s going on?” Liz asked, trying to peer past her husband.

There was a scream.

“Let go of me, you fucking pussy!” The car door was thrown open, but blocked by the vagrant it bounced back with a thud.

“Harrison! Not in front of the kids,” Liz scolded.

Harrison tried again to push the door open to get out, but it was impossible. The man was too close and the door kept being slammed shut as they tussled.

“Harrison, what are you doing?” Liz asked, her voice raised.

“Jesus Christ! Fuck off, you filthy bastard!”

“You’re not supposed to use that language,” Grant said, parroting his mother with a singsong voice.

“Grant, you be quiet!” Liz shouted. She turned back to her husband. “Stop it, Harrison. Just drive on.”

There was a scream and a spray of blood squirted across the windshield.

Liz froze. She looked at the blood and it took a moment for her to realise it was running down the inside of the windscreen.

She put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from screaming but it was too late. Shrieks of terror were soon bouncing around the confines of the car.

Harrison was being pulled through the open window, fighting and flailing as he went.

“Harrison?” Liz said.

It dawned on her that Harrison was in dire need of help.

“Stay here!” she shouted at her children through the thick noise of the screams.

She fumbled for the release to unbuckle her seatbelt, unable to concentrate with the screeching bombarding her. Beside her, her husband was now almost completely removed from the car through the driver’s-side window, still kicking and thrashing.

Liz looked down at her seatbelt clasp and pushed the red button. The seatbelt clicked free. She turned and yanked at the door handle. Throwing the door open, she bolted from the car.

Immediately the screams from her family seemed more distant. The low morning sun cast gargantuan shadows across the street, making it feel like the bottom of a canyon. Like a canyon, the air felt cold and damp. Yet there was something else in the air: a faintly rancid smell, repugnant and disconcerting that caught the back of her nose. She shook off the surreal feeling pressing down on her and ran to the front of the car.

The man in the dishevelled suit was savaging her husband. The attacker was grabbing at Harrison and nuzzling his head in as if trying to force a kiss. All the while Harrison screamed and thrashed and tried to push his attacker away.

Liz grabbed the man by the shoulders and pulled.

She cried, “Get off him!”

The man stumbled back a pace before renewing his attack.

“Leave him alone!”

Liz was shouting and crying as she tugged at the man’s jacket, trying to lever him off. The fabric was damp, soaked in Harrison’s blood. Undeterred by the warm stickiness, she pulled so hard that the arm of the jacket tore away at the seam. The sudden loss of tension sent her tumbling back, her grip lost to the viscous blood. She staggered a few short paces before slipping and falling to the hard tarmac. She landed painfully on her coccyx, a scream shooting up from the impact point.

As she sat in indignation, legs splayed in the middle of the road, the attacker renewed his assault on her husband.

The rear car door sprang open and Grant jumped out.

“Get back in the car, Grant! Now!” Liz screamed.

The young boy looked at his mother and then at his step dad. He shouted, “Dad!” and threw himself at the attacker.

“Get back in the car this instant!” Liz screamed, scrambling to her feet.

Grant ignored her.

As Liz dashed back into the fray she spotted a man across the street.

“Help! Help, over here!”

The man turned in the direction of Liz’s voice and upped his pace, making a beeline for her.

“Grant, get back in the car now!”

The boy continued to ignore her, punching and kicking furiously.

Liz slapped both hands on the attacker’s shoulders and yanked hard, trying to prize the two apart. She pulled with all her strength, but it made no difference; the pair was locked in an inseparable brawl.

Harrison’s screams were less coherent now. He coughed and burbled as the man attacking him robbed him of his strength.

Grant was at the side, thumping repeated but ineffective blows against the assailant. “Leave him alone!” he screamed in his high-pitched, adolescent voice.

Liz renewed her grip on the attacker’s shoulders, pulling hard. The man’s suit felt wet and cold and there was slipperiness to the cloth that made it difficult to hold onto.

The coppery smell of blood mingled with the cool morning air.

Grant was now screaming and viciously kicking the attacker in the shins.

A palm landed firmly on Liz’s shoulder. She turned, expecting to see the man she had called on for help. It was him, but he wasn’t help. She found herself staring at a set of snarling teeth set in a face of shredded crimson flesh.

The man lunged at her.

She felt her knees give way and she slumped to the ground, effetely ducking under the assailant’s grasping hands.

She heard Grant cry, “Let my ma alone!”

Her son switched targets and was bringing the full force of his eight year-old fury on the second attacker.

Liz scurried back, twisting and kicking. Stumbling up from all fours, she grabbed Grant’s wrist.

“Back in the car now!” she screamed, red-cheeked and furious.

Not waiting for his reaction, she pushed him in the direction of the open car door. She could see Melissa scrunched in a tight ball on the back seat, shaking with terror, but she had no time to comfort her.

She turned and sprinted to the rear of the car. Grabbing the handle, she yanked open the hatchback to reveal the family’s neatly-packed suitcases and other holiday paraphernalia.

She reached past the bag of golf clubs and seized Harrison’s golf umbrella.

As she dashed back to the front of the car, she was horrified to see her son hadn’t returned to his seat. He had instead instinctively followed her.

“Grant!”

The second attacker grabbed the boy and lunged at him.

Liz stepped forward, using the momentum of her run, and like a medieval pikeman she thrust the point of the umbrella into the man’s chest. The blow ricocheted off the bone of his sternum, chiselling out a flap of skin and forcing the silver tip of the umbrella up and into the underside of the man’s jaw. The point vanished under the skin and slid deep into the stubbly flesh between his neck and chin.

The man stumbled back, but was unperturbed by his impalement. Now held upright by the makeshift spear, he was no longer able to bend down and bite at the child in his grasp. He let go of Grant and turned as best as he could to focus on Liz, his eyes pale and unblinking.

Liz stood there, firmly holding the handle of the golf umbrella. The point must have been a good four or five inches into his jaw, deep enough to have pierced his soft palate and even further through the roof of his mouth.

The reality of what she had just done hit her. She had just impaled a complete stranger.

Liz looked into the man’s eyes, expecting to offer him an apology for what she had just done. But in spite of the excruciating pain he must be feeling, he simply gazed at her with empty white eyes.

His shoulders shifted and he threw out an arm, pawing stiffly at her.

Liz screamed at the unexpectedness of the renewed attack. In sheer panic she gripped the hilt of the umbrella tight and thrust it upward. The point slipped deeper, then met with something hard and resistant. Liz bobbed her head to avoid being caught by his flailing hands and shoved harder. The shaft of the umbrella flexed and threatened to give. Grunting, Liz shoved harder. The umbrella buckled and there was a wet-sounding snap, but instead of it splitting in two the spike lurched forward and slithered further up into the man’s skull.

The attacker became heavy. His arms dropped to his sides, letting go of the boy. He fell forward, finally collapsing at Liz’s feet.

Liz grabbed her son by the scruff of the neck and physically threw him into the back of the car, slamming the door shut behind him.

She now turned to help Harrison. The first attacker had succeeded in hauling him through the open car window and onto the road. He was bent down on top of her husband, snarling and chomping.

Harrison was motionless except for the few trembles caused by the attacker’s gnawing.

Grant’s muffled crying could be heard from within the car. “Ma... Ma...”

Liz looked back at the sobbing children and mouthed the word stay to them.

She then looked back at Harrison.

“No,” she whispered.

She cautiously crept over to the body with the umbrella wedged under its chin.

With her eyes on the man gnawing at Harrison, she grasped the handle of the umbrella. She pulled and the dead man’s head nodded with each tug, but the weapon remained imbedded.

She placed a blood-spattered court shoe on the man’s face to brace against the force and heaved backwards.

The umbrella slithered free with a loud slurp. The silver tip was masked behind a sheen of red and grey gloop.

With one hand on the handle and the other halfway along the shaft, Liz thrust her makeshift weapon side-on into the man on top of Harrison.

The umbrella penetrated half a foot through the man’s ribs.

Liz let go and the firmly embedded spike bobbed around as the assailant continued to rip chunks from her dead husband.

She grabbed the shaft again and leaning into it as hard as she could, pushed it further in. The umbrella slid deeper into the man’s chest until Liz felt the solid clunk of rib cage on the far side.

She stepped back in disbelief. A good third of the golfing umbrella was stuck inside the man.

She slipped to the side to get a better look at her husband. The cannibal was bobbing in and out, taking chunks of flesh with each peck. Harrison lay unmoving, his eyes staring off into the distance as if he were having an absent moment of thought.

“Oh God.”

Liz clamped her hand over her mouth to quell the rising bile. The enormity of everything that had just happened slowly crept its way into her conscious mind.

A hoarse moan echoed between the canyon-like buildings.

Liz turned towards the sound and saw another shambling figure emerging from the shadows. This person was a woman about the same build as her, but it was impossible to put an age to her. Her hair spilt down, covering most of her face, but the one feature Liz could see clearly was the fresh blood dripping from her mouth.

As she looked deeper into the shadows she saw more movement. More and more figures with the same swaggering gait were making their way towards her.

She took one last look at her dead husband before sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car.

***

“Morning, Gary,” John said.

“Good morning, Mr. Lund,” the security guard replied. “You're in early."

John gave the ritual flash of his I.D. badge. It was too short a glimpse for the security guard to register anything about it, but it was a formality. John worked here for nearly nine years now, a career that had ground to a halt in this regional office.

“Traffic was quiet today,” John said.

The traffic had indeed been light, but that wasn’t the reason he’d come into work so early. He had in fact been woken several times in the night by sirens and rowdy drunks outside. The Glen, a beautiful new housing estate when he’d transferred here, was not as nice an area as it had been, and year upon year the number of police call-outs increased. Although he’d become somewhat hardened to the noise, last night was the worst he’d ever known. The sirens seemed to never stop. After one particularly protracted bout of hollering died out, John had found himself unable to get back to sleep. So rather than lying awake and worrying about getting back to sleep, he decided he would go to work. It would be quiet for two or maybe even three hours. He could make a lot of headway into the team’s quarterly reviews without Sharon’s constant pestering.

“Start of the holidays, most schools finished up on Friday,” Gary said. “That’ll be why the roads are so quiet.”

John looked out onto the deserted street through the tinted glass of the reception’s facade.

”It always amazes me how quiet it gets on the roads during school holidays. I mean, just how many kids drive cars?" he asked with a shrug.

“Oh, quite a few these days, Mr. Lund,” Gary replied.

“And all those parents who drive their kids to school—n0 wonder they're so fat these days. I don't know about you, Gary, but I had to walk four miles every day to get to high school. Not once did my father give me a run up to school.”

John failed to see the irony in his statement. He had never been lean in his school days despite the walk, and thirty years of office work and sales jobs had steadily added to his girth.

“I hear you, Mr. Lund,” Gary said. “Spoiled so they are these days.”

”Why’s it busy on the roads at eight in the morning when school doesn’t start till nine?” John asked, shaking his head. “It’s beyond me.”

“Suppose a lot of parents have to take time off during the holidays, too. Childcare’s expensive. That could explain why there are less cars on the roads during holidays. Why, our youngest—she’s got two—she’s forever dropping them off with my Carina. Plays havoc with my night shifts them shouting and screaming in the next room.”

John had tuned out well before Gary finished talking. “That would explain the racket outside. Damn kids with no parental control out drinking and causing trouble,” John said. Continuing with his own train of thought, he went on, “How the hell do they get the drink? For that matter, how do they get the money for drink?”

“Older kids or stolen from their dads, I guess,” Gary said. “In my day we’d sneak a glass or two out of my father’s whiskey bottle and top it up with water. Oh I got my backside tanned for that.”

John cut the security guard short. “Well, no point getting in early to stand around here chatting all day.”

He looked at the stairs leading to his first floor office, then down at the bulge around his waist. He stepped forward and pressed the call button for the lift. It illuminated with a circle of white. He looked up to see the counter and the arrow pointing downwards.

Fourth. There was a grumbling of machinery from somewhere beyond the closed doors.

Third. John run his tongue around his teeth, feeling for rough spots he might have missed when brushing this morning.

He glanced over and caught Gary’s eyes by mistake. The chirpy security guard smiled at him.

John returned the gesture with his own awkward smile. He knew that in the time it had taken for the elevator to arrive he could have made the hike up the stairs.

Gary was still smiling at him like a puppy wanting a treat.

The discomfiture was killing John.

“You on for the day?” he asked.

“No, I knock off at eight." Gary said. He unhooked his thumb from his belt and glanced at his watch. “As soon as Mo gets in I’m off to bed.”

“Oh,” John said.

There was a soft ping and the clunk of the doors releasing.

“Well, have a nice day," John said, lost of anything else polite to say. “You too, Mr. Lund,” Gary said.

The doors slid open with a metallic hiss. John turned to step into the elevator but immediately jumped back in fright. There was a flash of yellow and red and he was just inches from a wrinkled, ashen-faced creature lurching at him. Its eyes were dark and sunken behind skeletal cheekbones.

“Sorry,” John said instinctively, and stepped back.

“Nie ma problemu,” came the muttered reply.

Lumbering from the elevator came two cleaning ladies. The first pushed a cart piled high with paper rolls, the second an industrial silver and black vacuum cleaner. The one with the cart had dyed black hair and thin lips from years of drawing on cigarettes. Her companion, a much younger woman, wore a red and yellow football top of some team John had never heard of. The younger woman was almost attractive, but her face had an odd quality to it born of overly large eyes and an angular chin that didn’t appear in proportion with the rest of her face.

“Morning, ladies,” Gary said.

He unhooked his thumb from his belt and looked at his watch again.

What’s the point of that? John wondered. The idiot just looked at the thing.

“Smoko?” Gary asked the women.

The pair had more than a passing resemblance to each other. Dark hair tied in a high ponytail, pale ghostly skin, and a skinny figure that most women would die for, but on them just looked malnourished. They could be mother and daughter, or sisters, or just grown to look similar through years of doing the same menial jobs together.

“Yes, cigarette,” the older woman said.

John sidestepped into the carriage and pressed the button for the first floor.

***

The phone rang.

Colin thrust a hand out from the comfort of the bed sheets in an attempt to silence the noise, but accidentally smacked his knuckle against the corner of the bedside cabinet.

“Shit!” he cursed, flexing his fist.

Wide awake now, he gave up the pretence of getting back to sleep, and sat up.

Shaking off the throbbing from his fist, he picked the phone up from its cradle and held it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Colin?” a voice said.

“Woody?” Colin asked, recognizing the voice.

“Yes, it’s Mr. Woods. I didn’t wake you, did I?"

Colin stifled a second curse, realising he’d just called his boss Woody. Panicked, he looked at his alarm clock, fearing he’d slept in. His heart rate halved when he saw it was a full hour before he had to get up.

“I was just getting up anyway, Mr. Woods,” he lied. “Why are you calling at this time of the morning?”

“It’s the school trip, Colin,” Mr. Woods said.

Colin rubbed at the corner of his eye, dislodging a crumb of sleep. “Yeah? What about it?”

“It’s going to have to be cancelled.”

Colin was shocked. “What?”

There was a faint crackle on the line.

“We need to cancel it.”

“We’re due to leave in four hours,” Colin said. “Why is it being cancelled at such short notice?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. There's some kind of public health scare going on.”

Colin threw back the bed sheets and stood up. “You've got to be shi—I mean are you serious?”

“No,” Mr. Woods said sternly. “There was an email on Friday that basically means if you go we don’t have insurance.”

“My Internet’s been down all weekend and the service number has been engaged, so I’ve not picked up any emails.”

“I’ve been running around all weekend trying to get us some kind of liability cover,” Mr. Woods said.

Colin walked over to his window, phone in hand, and pulled the curtains back a chink. The bright light assaulted his eyes and he let the curtain fall back into place.

“This is nonsense. Their parents have all signed waivers,” Colin said.

“Colin, you know that's not enough. We need to have insurance in place. Even if nothing happens, if the parents get wind of the fact we sent their kids into the wilderness with inadequate cover—” The line faded beneath a burst of static.

“What's going to happen?” Colin asked. “It’s a camping trip!”

Colin knew all too well what could happen: trip on a rock, a slip with a pen knife, popping the wrong berry in your mouth—there were a million ways a school trip could turn sour. But he was upset at the thought of the trip being cancelled.

The line cleared and the principal’s voice came back loud and forceful. “If something should happen off school premises…Well, you know how litigious people are these days and when you consider the kids you’re taking out.”

“We’ve done all the risk assessment,” Colin said. “The paperwork’s clean.”

“We’ll be sued, Colin. We’ll be on the news. You and I both will lose our jobs.”

“Mr. Woods—”

“Have you got the money to pay for a lawyer?”

“What?” Colin asked.

“I don’t, Colin, and I’m on the highest pay grade there is for a principal. Look, I know you’ve been working hard on this, on the kids. You’ve done wonderful things, Colin. You have a real passion as a teacher and it’s refreshing to see someone who takes a real interest. Thirty years ago, when I was in your shoes, we’d have gone—and with a lot less aversion to risk than these days. Hell, we didn’t even have seatbelts in the bus back then.”

Colin sighed. “Mr. Woods...”

“I know you’re disappointed, probably more so than the kids will be.”

“I am,” Colin said, resigning himself to the fact.

“I’ve emailed all the parents and guardians who have email addresses and I’ll start phoning round them all once I’m off the call to you. But I need to ask a favour.”

“Uh-huh,” Colin said, knowing Mr. Woods did not expect his request to be turned down.

“I’ve got my hands full with this already. Can I ask you to go into school in case I don’t manage to catch everybody? Apologise that the trip’s cancelled and tell them we’ll reschedule just as soon as we can.”

“Yeah, sure thing, Mr. Woods,” Colin replied.

“I’ll send you a text with the names of the kids I get in touch with. At least then you'll have an idea of who you’re waiting for.”

Another bout of static came over the line.

“Makes sense,” Colin said, scratching the back of his head. “Will Jenny be there?”

“Miss Alvarez? I tried calling her, but the line’s dead. There’s not much point both of you going, anyway.”

“Suppose not,” Colin said, disappointment in his tone.

Mr. Woods didn’t seem to pick up on Colin’s dismay.He continued, “Well, I’d better get started on this list of reprobates. Makes a change calling their parents for something other than a disciplinary. I’ll speak to you later, Colin.”

“Yeah, catch you—”

The line went dead.

“Bit rude,” Colin said, looking at the receiver and listening to the irritating pulse tone. He put the phone back in its cradle and sat down on the edge of the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair and forced out a yawn.

Sunshine was trying hard to push its way past the curtains, but Colin was still feeling overwhelmed by its discouragingly bright touch. He decided to shower first before attempting another look at the summer’s morning.

He snatched up clean underwear and a shirt.

“He phoned Jenny first?” he said aloud.

This trip for the more difficult children had been Colin's brainchild, a way of instilling responsibility, dependability, and a whole host of other watchwords that looked good on the school’s audit report. He knew it would reflect well on a young geography teacher in his first job, but the real motivation was his chance to spend some time with Miss Alvarez. But yet he hadn’t been the first person Principal Woods had called.

Colin picked up the phone again and pulled up Jenny’s number from his contacts list. He pressed the call button and the phone beeped as it dialled the number.

The same irritating tone pulsed in Colin’s ear. He hit the hang up button and set the phone down again.

Maybe he called Jenny because she lived closer to the school, he thought.

Mr. Woods calling Miss Alvarez might not have been a slight on his reliability; it could have just been convenience.

He picked himself up and made his way towards the bathroom, disappointed that his chance to spend a week with a luscious redhead had just evaporated. In the hallway lay his already packed Bergen. His insulated hiking jacket had slipped from its position perched on top and was crumpled on the floor beside the two bottles of red wine.

He had planned to sneak them into his day bag and then hide them on the bus. Then, towards the end of the week after he and Jenny spent some time together and once the kids were put to bed, he had planned on breaking out the bottles.

The campfire, the starlight, the alcohol… and then Colin would make his move.

Still, he had the week free now and Jenny wouldn’t have any other plans.

He grabbed up a towel and threw it and his clothes in a bundle by the shower.

I’ll pop round to Jenny’s on the way home. Moan about how disappointed I am that the kids will miss out on such a character-building experience and then ask her if she’d like to have lunch.

Colin smiled and nodded, congratulating himself on such a brilliantly improvised plan.

Pleased with his new tack, he stepped into the shower and turned it on. A blast of ice-cold water hit him like a riot cannon. His muscles tensed and his eyes jolted wide open. He was now very definitely awake.

***

Tink!

Karen rolled over in bed.

Tink!

This time she opened an eye and held her breath.

Tink!

The noise was coming from behind the blinds. She swung her legs out of bed. Her foot landed in something sticky and wet. She looked down to see she had stood on an abandoned slice of pizza.

“Crap.”

She scraped her toes against the lid of the pizza box.

Tink!

She hopped over to the window, trying not to soil her carpet with her tomato- and cheese-coated foot.

Tink!

Karen gingerly pushed the blinds to one side to peek out of the window.

In her backyard Shan was pulling her arm back, about to throw another stone when she spotted her friend.

Karen tugged on the blind cord, letting the morning sun fill her unkempt room. She opened the window and called out in a loud whisper, “What are you doing?”

“You coming out?” Shan asked.

Karen looked around the empty backyards of the neighbouring houses. “What time is it?”

Shan shrugged. “Don't know?”

“Wait there,” Karen said.

Going back to her bed and picking up her discarded jeans she spun the garment round until she felt the hard lump of her phone. She retrieved it and toggled the screen until it displayed the time.

She shook her head. Ignoring the pizza topping stuck to her foot, she stormed back over to the window.

“Christ, Shan, it’s not even seven in the morning! It’s still technically night-time!”

She had the face of the phone pointing to her friend as evidence, not that Shan could read it from down in the yard.

“Sun’s up.” Shan pointed out.

“So? We’re on holiday—there's no school. We don’t have to get up.”

“How’s that matter?” Shan asked. “We would’ve just dogged it anyways. You getting out of your nightie or what?”

“I’ve been up all friggin’ night with ambulances going up and down the whole way through. You’d think there’d been a train wreck or something,” Karen said. “Anyway, why didn’t you just call me rather than throwing bricks at my window?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you when you get down here,” Shan replied.

“Wait there. I’ll shower and come out.”

“Not just let me in?”

“No! They’d go ballistic if they even knew you were here.”

“Your folks still think I’m a bad influence then?” Shan said, smiling.

Karen shook her head. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Got any breakfast? I’m famished.”

“I'll see what I can find,” Karen said, ducking back into her bedroom.

Karen found Shan propped up against the side of the house.

“Here,” she said, offering up a sandwich.

“What is it?” Shan asked, snatching the sandwich from Karen.

“Peanut butter and banana. And you’re welcome.”

“Got any smokes?”

Karen frowned. “Nope. You scorched the last of mine last night.”

“Oh,” Shan grunted. She took a massive bite out of the bread. With her mouth still full, she mumbled out between chews, “Got anything to drink?”

Karen trotted back into the kitchen and re-emerged with a half carton of orange juice.

“Thanks,” Shan said, hand outstretched, ready for the drink.

“So, what’s up with you? Why are you up and about this early?” Karen leant up against the side of the house, shoulder to shoulder with her friend. “Wait—your dad didn’t kick you out thinking it was a school day, did he?”

Shan shook her head and swallowed. “Nah. Why would he care if I ever went back?” She took a second enormous chunk out of the bread. In two mouthfuls half the sandwich was already gone.

“So why the alarm call?” Karen asked, taking the first bite from her identical breakfast.

Shan sloshed the mouthful down with a gulp of orange juice. “Douche got into a fight again last night.” She pushed herself away from the side of the house. “Came in real late shouting his head off about getting jumped and reeking of beer. Asked me to phone the whole fucking world, like the police and the hospital and the army. He grabbed my phone and when he saw it was out of credit he tossed it across the living room.” She pulled out the device and showed its cracked and weeping screen. “It still switches on, but I can’t see a frigging thing,” she said, demonstrating the phone lighting up.

“What about your dad?” Karen asked.

“Eventually he passed out on the couch. I went back to bed—but get this: the next thing I know he’s clattering about the living room like some stoner. I came out of my room to tell him to shut up.”

“Tell?” Karen asked.

“All right, screamed at him for waking me up, but he fucking went for me.”

Shan raised her arms and lunged for Karen.

Karen batted away the half-hearted attack.“Yourdad went for you?”

“It was that drunken windmill thing.” Shan flailed her arms in circles, mimicking the attack. “I dodged that real easy. The fucker was still hopped-up like he was on bath salts or something. I bolted back to my room and slammed the door shut, but he just kept banging on it. I thought he was going to batter the thing down so I snuck out the window.”

“And here you are,” Karen said.

“Yeah. Here I am.”

“So what do you want to do until your dad cools off?”

Shan looked around the well-kept back garden and its boring suburban ornateness. “Don’t know.”

“Pop up to Nate’s—hang out in his garage?” Karen asked.

Shan thought about it for a moment before grunting out, “Suppose.”

“Will he be up this early?”

Shan took a swig of the orange juice and washed down the last of her sandwich. “Don't know,” she said, “but he’s bound to have some smokes.”

Chapter 2

Departed

Screams reverberated inside the car.

Liz was in the driver’s seat, turning the keys in the ignition while leaning over, almost lying on the passenger’s seat.

A pair of arms stretched through the half-open window, clawing at her summer dress with blood-stained hands.

Snaking her hand past the attacker’s snatching fingers, she found the button for the window. She flicked it. The motor whined and the window started to go down.

“No, no, no!” Liz spluttered.

A cold, wet hand clamped round her arm just below the elbow.

She stifled the urge to pull back and nudged the button in the other direction. The window stopped rolling down.

The two children screamed in the back seat, a shrill siren that rasped at Liz’s concentration, but she knew she couldn’t tell them to be quiet.

A fist caught her hair and pulled. Her whole head jolted towards the window and the ravenous attacker who was squeezing his own head through the gap.

Liz yanked herself back and a flash of pain stung her as a chunk of hair was ripped free.

The attacker stumbled backward, thrown off-kilter by the extrication of the clump of hair. But it didn’t go far—it maintained its grip around Liz’s arm.

Liz’s fingers found the window control again and flicked it forward. The window started to glide up.

The hand holding her arm drifted upwards, winched away by the ascending window. Liz pulled against the attacker’s grip, but her arm remained in its grasp. She tugged her arm down again and again.

Lubricated by the blood, Liz finally managed to jolt her arm free.

Blindly, she groped for the key in the ignition. Her hand swiped the house key that dangled from the key chain and she followed it up.

The window motor stopped cranking, the force of the resistance against it greater than the torque it could muster.

Slimy, gore-covered arms thrashed through the gap. As they waved around, splatters of blood were flung into the car.

Still hunkered down low, trying to duck under the clutches of the mad man outside, Liz turned the key. The car sounded like it, too, was screaming out a resistant plea, begging her to stop.

“Shit!” Liz cursed, realizing what was wrong.

The engine was already on. Harrison hadn’t turned it off when he stopped the car.

Liz stomped her foot down, threw the car into gear and the car flew forward. The arms in the window disappeared and she was forced deep into the passenger seat.

Something moved at the side of her vision. She turned to see a shaving of sloughed skin stuck to the window. The left-behind skin was about two inches square. As she watched, the skin lost purchase on the glass and flopped off and onto her lap.

Liz screamed. The car hit a bump, jolting the family inside, then came the squeal of metal. The steering wheel bucked in Liz’s hands. She pulled herself upright and took her foot off the accelerator. The car was already off the road and careening towards the shop fronts. It smacked into a row of street furniture and a fountain of debris went cascading high into the air.

All the time, the three occupants screamed.

A figure lurched at the car as it hurtled past. The man’s face was an indistinct blur other than the glisten of wet blood.

Liz hauled herself upright and with a bump she steered the car back onto the road. She shouted over her shoulder, “You kids okay?!”

“Grant’s bleeding,” Melissa said.

“He bit me,” Grant whimpered.

“How bad is it?” Liz asked.

“Bad,” Melissa replied.

Liz turned to the sat nav. A thick, green arrow charted her progress down the unknown street. She looked franticly out the windows to try to catch a glimpse of a familiar landmark.

“Where are we?” she hissed.

She popped the sat nav from its holder. Without looking, she passed it to the back seat, offering it in her open palm.

“Melissa, do you know how to work this?”

“I do, mum,” Grant said.

“Can you find a hospital?” Liz asked, feeling the device being taken from her palm.

“What’s the address?” Grant asked.

“I don’t know. Can’t you just type in hospital?”

Liz was driving less aggressively now, slowing down at junctions while trying to spot a street name she recognized.

From one of the streets a flash of red and blue caught her eye.

“There’s a police car!” she exclaimed.

Rather than taking the time to reverse, she whipped the car around in as tight a circle as she could manage, bumping the wheels up onto the sidewalk. The car crunched off the kerb with a rasping bounce and the tinkle of something metal breaking loose.

Melissa leaned forward to look through the gap between the front seats.

“I don’t see any policemen,” she said.

Liz scanned the scene. The patrol car sat at an angle across the road. The two front doors were splayed open, but there was someone inside.

She brought her car to a halt a few metres behind the police car. She could see the silhouette of someone bobbing around in the back seat.

Liz opened the car door and stepped out. She looked around tentatively. She felt more like a thief trying to avoid the law than a victim searching for help.

She walked towards the abandoned vehicle.

An invisible thread tugged at her. The further she walked from her car the more often she had to look over her shoulder.

Melissa looked like she was making a move for the door. Liz held out her flat palm to her and shook her head.

A hiss of static caused Liz to snap back round. A garbled voice blared out over the police radio and the man in the back bolted forward, trying to burst through to the driver’s seat. The ferocity of the attempt stopped Liz in her tracks. The whole car shuddered as the prisoner hurled himself with raw optimism at the mesh screen. Again and again he threw himself at the screen with utter disregard for the physical damage it must be causing.

A gunshot scorched the morning air. Liz instantly hunkered down beside the police car, not knowing where the shot had come from.

She squatted there, her head pulled as deep into her shoulders as her bones would allow. The police car still rocked and shuddered at her back.

She looked over at her children. They were both still transfixed by their mothers skulking, and other than being terrified they looked to be in no immediate danger.

Liz listened for another shot, but as the seconds accumulated there was nothing other than the squeaks of the police car’s suspension and the thuds of flesh on glass from behind her.

Something struck her as being out of kilter. Slowly she turned.

The movement and the blood caught her by surprise. She reeled back at the sight and lost her balance. On her haunches as she was, she placed her palm flat onto the rough tarmac to stop herself from teetering over.

The person in the car was now pounding their head at the door window. With every successive impact a little more blood and grime was deposited there. A mass of dark, greasy hair obscured the person’s face; Liz couldn’t be sure of their gender.

Over and over they slammed their head full force into the window. By the odd position Liz surmised they must have their hands cuffed behind their back. Whatever drug this person was on—or should be on—Liz was grateful they were handcuffed and imprisoned in the back of the police car.

She picked herself up and was about to start back to her own vehicle when she remembered why she had stopped here in the first place. She looked around the street for a clue as to the whereabouts of the police officers who had surely abandoned the car. The street, although flanked by tall, four-storey buildings, was mainly residential apartments close to the centre of town. The noise of a distant car engine drew Liz’s gaze back down the street to an open door to one of the blocks of flats. From here the inside of the entrance looked dark and gloomy. Liz called out, “Hello?”

Upon hearing her voice, the psychopath in the police car ramped up its attacks on the glass.

“Hello?” Liz called again.

There was movement.

From the open door came a policeman.

“God no!” Liz gasped, clamping her hand over her mouth.

Bereft his hat and his hair mussed up, the policeman lumbered towards Liz, his arms outstretched. His stride was hampered by the gash carved down one leg. His face was pale, his jaw slack, his eyes rolled back in his skull.

“Officer,” Liz said in a firm voice.

The policeman made no response.

“Officer, are you okay?”

The man limped his way towards her, a growling moan issuing from his slack lips. It was all too plain to Liz that the man was far from okay. She turned and started back to her own car.

As she moved, the police officer changed tack to stay on his intercept course.

Liz looked over her shoulder. There was no way he would catch up with her, but she ran back to the car anyway. She yanked the door open and dropped into the seat.

The children in the back threw a cacophony of questions at her.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Liz cried. “I need to concentrate.”

Shocked by their mother’s outburst the two children went silent.

The police officer was still limping his way towards them, although his laboured pace hadn’t increased.

She slipped the keys back in the ignition and started the engine.

The police officer pawed at the air as the car sped away.

For a few drawn-out seconds there was a strange silence in the car, the only noise the over-revving engine.

Grant found the courage to speak first.

“Ma, my hand hurts,” he said.

“Oh shi… Sorry, honey,” Liz said.

She pulled the car over in an empty street.

“I’m so sorry.” Liz scrambled in the seat to turn round so she could take a look at her son’s injury. In her most compassionate tone, she said, “Let me see, honey.”

Supported by his good hand, Grant showed his mother his wound. Just below the pinkie on the very edge of his palm was a perforated crescent of red. It was unmistakably a bite mark.

“Okay, honey,” Liz said, taking a deep breath. She swept a blood-stained hand through her hair. “Okay, I’m going to put a bandage on it from the first aid kit.”

Grant’s bottom lip trembled.

“There's a hospital not far from here, I’m sure. I'll take you there and the doctors can make it all better. Okay?”

Liz nodded to elicit her son’s agreement.

Grant looked like he was about to burst into tears, but he gave his mother a nod back.

“Ma, I’m scared,” Melissa said.

Liz put a hand to her mouth and snatched a breath. She wanted to reassure her children, tell them everything would be okay. But she couldn’t summon the lie.

She bit her bottom lip before saying, “I’ll take care of you, my babies. I’ll take care of you.”

***

“Nate!” Shan screeched.

“Face it: he’s not in,” Karen said.

Shan was still red-faced from bellowing. “Where the fuck would he be at this time of the morning? More likely he’s still passed out from blow and drinking tops with his dick-weed crew.”

“I don't know. One of them would have been woken up by now. I just don’t think he’s in,” Karen said defensively.

“The fucker’s gone and hooked up with Brodie! That’s where he is—still at her place, the dirty whore.”

“What? Brodie’s not like that. Anyway, she’s seeing Mark,” Karen said.

“Mark’s a dick.” Shan looked down at the phone in Karen's hand. “Call him again.”

“I’ve tried four times. The signal’s dead.”

“Just phone him,” Shan demanded.

“I’m not wasting all my credit on calling your boyfriend. You phone him.”

Shan pulled a face and replied, “Very funny.”

Karen looked down at the phone’s screen. The signal symbol had a diagonal slash through its bars. She slipped the phone back into her pocket and followed her friend.

“Look, why hasn’t Nate’s Gran answered the door?” Karen asked, trying to deflect Shan.

Shan snorted, “I don't know. She’s half deaf or out at that day-care thing.”

“This early?”

“What you looking at, you fucking old pedo!” Shan suddenly blurted.

Karen turned to see an elderly man in a housecoat and slippers shuffling his way down the street.

“He looks lost,” Karen said, watching the plaintive figure.

“I’m going round the back.” Shan turned and marched off.

Karen watched for a moment as the old man struggled onwards. He was moving at a painfully slow speed towards them, his head cocked at a slight angle, his mouth hanging open.

“Creepy,” Karen said.

She turned and followed her friend.

“What you doing?” she asked, catching up with Shan.

Shan was on her haunches by some flower-filled planters at the back door. She tipped one back and swept her hand under the earthenware pot.

“Sorted.” She placed the pot back down and stood up, holding a stubby brass key aloft. She explained, “Nate said he had a spare key back here in case his Gran locked herself in.”

“Should we? I mean, isn’t this breaking and entering?”

“No one’s breaking anything,” Shan said, slipping the key into the lock. “Besides, we have permission.”

“No we don’t,” Karen protested.

“If Nate didn’t want me to use the key he would never have told me about it, now would he?”

Shan pushed the door open.

Karen looked around to check if anyone was watching, then scurried in behind Shan.

Even though the summer sun was beaming down and the day was starting to warm up, the house felt dank and gloomy. There was a smell to Nate’s Gran’s house, an old, musty smell mixed with cigarette smoke and festering urine.

Shan padded silently through the kitchen. Unwashed dishes were piled up next to the sink, mainly coffee mugs and spoons.

Slowly she pulled the door open. It creaked on its hinges and Shan slowed her pulling to reduce the noise.

“If,” Karen began in an overly loud voice, “we’re allowed to be here, why are we sneaking about?”

Shan glared at her. “Fine,” she said. “You’ll have woken the dead with your racket anyway.”

She threw the door open and waltzed into the hallway.

Karen closed the kitchen door and stood for a moment, surveying the scene. There were no signs of recent activity. She walked over to the refrigerator and looked about for a note. There were some postcards and tacky magnetic ornaments brought back from various holiday destinations. On the wall was a calendar. There was a date circled with “Grans Dr appt 10.30am” written over it, but that was a full week away.

“Nate?” Karen heard Shan call out from elsewhere in the house.

“Maybe his Gran took a turn.” Karen suggested as she left the kitchen.

Shan was standing in the hallway looking up the stairs.

“Nate?” Shan called, holding a half empty packet of cigarettes.

When there was no response, she turned and walked into the living room.

“Where’d you get those?” Karen asked, looking at the cigarettes.

Shan nodded to the arm of a chair that had a lighter and an ashtray perched on it.

“Those are his Gran’s,” Karen protested.

Shan popped the carton open and plucked out one of the slender white sticks. “No one’s complaining,” she said as she popped the cigarette into her mouth. She held the pack out. “I take it you don’t want one then?”

Karen did, but she didn’t want to steal them from an old lady, so she shook her head.

“Suit yourself,” Shan said. She thrust the packet into the back pocket of her jeans and picked up the lighter. With a click and a puff the cigarette was lit and glowing brightly. “Ahh. That’s better.” She blew out the lungful of smoke. “Now let’s see about a coffee.”

She turned and brushed past Karen on her way to the kitchen. Like a lost puppy, Karen followed her back into the hallway. Something about the empty house made her uncomfortable. She stopped in the hall and looked up the dark stairs. The house was deathly quiet, the only sounds coming from Shan busying herself in the kitchen.

Karen looked out of the opaque glass of the front door, then she spotted it: a brown envelope with a curl of sticky tape lay by the skirting board near the front door. She bent down and picked it up tugging away a light strip of fluff from the carpet as she did.

“Shan, look at this,” Karen said, walking into the kitchen. “It must have been taped to the front door and slipped off.”

Shan snatched the used envelope from her hands. “Taken Gran to hospital. I’ll call when I know more.”

“Would Nate have written that?” Karen asked.

“That’s Nate’s scrawl all right. Looks like an invitation to make ourselves comfy.” Shan took another long draw of her rapidly dwindling cigarette. She turned and opened up the kitchen cupboard, “Bet we passed him on the way here. You want a coffee?”

“Yeah, why not,” Karen answered. She didn’t really want one, but at least it would give them something to do until Nate got home.

She felt her shoulders relax. Maybe Shan was right. Maybe Nate did want them to come into the house. She felt more at ease having read the note; less like an intruder, more like a guest.

“I’ll get the milk,” Karen said, walking to the fridge.

“Not a single clean cup,” Shan said, banging the cupboard door shut.

Karen opened the fridge and was struck by the temperature. There was a waft of cool air, but not as cold as she had expected and the light didn’t flick on.

“Fridge is on the blink,” she said. She picked up the milk carton and stuck her nose in the neck and took a deep sniff. “Milk smells fine. Can’t have been off that long.”

Shan flicked the switch on the wall socket up and down. “Shit. The power’s out.”

“No coffee then.”

Shan flicked the switch up and down, as if by doing so she could pump a few watts of power from the grid.

“Fucked,” she said. She turned to the door connecting to the garage. “Maybe Nate’s still got a few brews in the garage.”

She opened the door and stepped through.

“Will he mind?” Karen asked, looking for an excuse to not start drinking so early in the day.

“He’ll go ballistic,” Shan replied, her voice echoing off the garage’s cold walls.

The garage wasn’t just a workspace for Nate to tinker with his pickup or trail bikes. There was an old sofa and two tables made from empty beer crates and plywood. There was a paint-splattered ghetto blaster, a fat old portable cathode ray TV, it’s black plastic casing cracked and dented, wired into a DVD player, and an array of tools and spare parts that might come in handy one day. This was the gang’s bat cave. Nate’s Grandmother owned the place, but she had no use for the garage. She had no car and was too deaf to hear the rowdy gatherings that spontaneously happened most weekends. She was also too trusting or too senile to care what her grandson and his friends were up to. They could play their music loud, smoke and drink and do all the other forbidden things they couldn’t do under their own parent’s roofs. As long as things didn’t get wild enough for a neighbour to call the police, this place was Nirvana. Karen pulled out her phone and slumped down on the sofa.

“Still no reception,” she said. There was the clink of glass as Shan searched for alcohol. She moaned, “Just empties back here.”

She straightened up and turned her attention to the shelves that ran along the back wall, trawling for something. She put her hands on a green and white striped tin and pulled it down. The lid twisted off easily.

“Savage!” Shan exclaimed, fishing out a lump of something dark wrapped in cellophane.

“What have you found?” Karen asked.

“Nate’s stash.”

“He’ll murder you for stealing that,”

Shan pressed the play button on the CD player. Harsh thumping industrial music roared to life. She cupped her hand to her ear and smiled. “What?”

“He’ll kill us both for totalling that.” Karen said, pressing down hard on the volume button. “And how’s that music playing if the power’s off?”

Shan swayed her hips and raised her hands over her head in a slow, seductive dance. Lowering her hands she grabbed hold of the stereo and turned it around. There was a strip of black duct tape slashed across the back. Behind the tape was a stack of fat blue and silver batteries. She made a hand gesture like a magician’s assistant showing off a trick and then turned the stereo back round.

“Here. Roll that,” Shan said, tossing over the resin and a packet of skins.

Karen, caught unawares, fumbled the catch and had to sweep the couch to find the cigarette papers.

“We can’t smoke his weed,” Karen said.

“He won’t mind. Anyway, he owes me an eighth,” Shan replied, still dancing.

“What for?”

“He just does. Now roll one up. You do it neater than me.”

***

The door swung open and the sound of laughter danced across the office. John flicked from his web browser to the product matrix and looked up from his screen.

Sharon, the department head, was being ushered into the office by Stephen Flynn. Whatever he had said to her on the way up, Sharon was enthralled with it. Her normally harsh, angular face was broken up with a beaming grin.

The department head smiled at the new boy, silver thermos coffee mug in one hand a bulging handbag in the other.

Stephen gallantly held the door open for her, letting his boss squeeze past at an overly intimate distance.

“Smarmy little shit,” John said under his breath. “She’s old enough to be his mother.”

Stephen started as an office temp less than a year ago. He had quickly been made permanent and since then went up a pay grade. John hadn’t gone up a pay grade in nine years. Now this little shit not long out of university was being fast-tracked on the postgraduate program.

John had a degree. He’d spent four years devoting his evenings to his correspondence course while doing his ordinary day job. Unlike Stephen, John didn’t have rich parents who could afford to pay for their son’s education. John had had to work for everything he had.

“Good morning, Sharon,” John said, more cheerily than he actually felt.

“Oh, morning, John. I didn’t notice you there,” Sharon said.

“You’re in early, John,” Stephen said.

“Well, it’s going to be a busy quarter. Thought it best to get the jump on it.”

“Very good, John,” Sharon said.

To John’s ears it sounded snide.

“I’ll see you at the eleven o’clock meeting,” Sharon added.

“Eleven?” John said.

“Not you, John,” Sharon said, frowning.

“Meeting room B1,” Stephen said, giving a nod and a smile.

John watched them walk off to their separate desks.

Sharon wasn’t an attractive woman. She had a slim, gym-toned figure, but take away the salon-pampered hair, stick on a pointy hat and some green face paint, and she could do a passable impersonation of the wicked witch of the west.

John looked hard at her. Under the orange glow of fake tan was the crusty exterior of a career-minded bitch. He didn’t know if on the inside she was sad or lonely or just a centre of gooey pure evil like most middle management he encountered.

She’ll be gone in six months, John assured himself.

In his nine years of office purgatory he had seen six managers come and go. Sharon had lasted longer than most. Drafted in to revitalize a flagging division, she had turned things around on paper. They were now running a profit, but the real reason for that was the layoffs she had instigated. John had seen the figures. A dozen colleagues had been axed and the wage savings used to offset the poor sales. It was a sleight of hand trick and one that would only be convincing for a short while. But by the time anyone noticed, Sharon would be in a new department and some patsy would be given the role here just long enough to take the blame for an understaffed department under performing.

John toggled back to the job application opened in one of the tabs on his browser.

He briskly typed in his employer’s information.

“Reason for leaving” sat there empty beneath the list of dates and inflated job roles with grandiose-sounding achievements.

John thumped into the field the usual spiel about challenges, working for a market leader, and wanting to utilize his woefully undervalued abilities.

He pressed send and the page hung, the only movement being a hypnotic little swirl in the browser tab.

“Come on,” he said, staring at the frozen screen. “I don’t want to type that shit in again.”

He toyed with the idea of hitting the refresh button, but worried this action would obliterate all his hard work, so he held off.

“John?”

Startled, John whipped round, frightened he’d been caught.

“Your internet down, too?” Stephen asked, oblivious to why John looked so surprised. He placed a hand on the back of the chair, throwing John back with a jolt, and leant in.

“At least you’ve got something up. I can’t even get that,” Stephen said, looking at the browser’s busy symbol spinning around. He called across to Sharon, “Is the internet okay with you?”

“It seems fine,” Sharon answered. “Why, has John got a problem again?”

Stephen lifted his hand from the back of the chair and John jolted forward.

He sauntered over to Sharon’s desk. When he got there he didn’t push her chair down; he pulled up another chair and again sat far closer to her than John felt appropriate.

There was a soft conversation and Stephen pointed at something on the screen. He smiled and stood up.

“It’s not just you, John,” Stephen said. “We’re all in the same boat here.”

“I thought you said yours was fine, Sharon?” John said.

“Oh, I was looking at the intranet,” Sharon replied.

John clicked onto Portal, the company’s internal web pages. An arty montage of smiling employees doing different yet equally important rolls popped up on screen.

“Yeah, I can look at the company’s own internal web pages, just nothing online,” John said. He double-clicked the icon that launched their database front end and the web-based application sparked to life. “It’s not going to impair productivity though. We still have the intranet and I’ve just booted up Finesse.”

“Oh, Finesse works,” Sharon said, a note of surprise in her voice.

“Runs off our own servers, so we can still make outbound calls and take orders.”

“Yeah, but external email will be down if the Interweb is down,” Stephen said.

John hated Stephen for calling it the Interweb. It was puerile and once someone had said it one time it wasn’t funny anymore. More irritating than that was the fact that Sharon had started calling it Interweb, too.

Stephen was worming his way in with her. When she inevitably moved on, John was in no doubt Stephen would wangle his way out with her.

“I’ll get onto IT and try to find out what’s going on. We can’t afford a down day—not with the level of sickness we’ve seen in the past week,” Sharon said, picking up the phone.

A screech followed by a loud crunch made all three of them look to the office window.

Chapter 3

Collision

Colin jolted forward. The book and phone on the seat next to him catapulted at speed, smacking against the glove compartment. Then there came the explosion and something grabbed at him.

He gasped and a membrane of fabric was sucked into his mouth. Fearing he may be smothered he lashed out with his hands.

The airbag reluctantly started to deflate, allowing Colin space to see over its shroud.

He looked out of the cracked windscreen to see a second car firmly embedded in his own. The airbags had deployed in the other car, too, but hadn't yet deflated enough for Colin to see the other driver. He pulled the handle of his door and a spark of pain bolted up from his wrist. Pulling his hand back, he rubbed at the joint, trying to feel for the source of the pain. As he did he became aware of the ache in his other wrist and running across his shoulders.

“Whiplash,” Colin mumbled. “Just great. The full summer holiday ahead of me and now I have whiplash.”

More cautiously so as not to aggravate his injuries, he undid his seatbelt and slipped out of the car.

Standing up he could see the damage more clearly.

He barked, “Crap!”

The colliding car had penetrated a full foot into the passenger side of his.

The driver’s door of the other car was opening. A woman in her early thirties stepped out, hair wild and dishevelled, wearing a floral summer dress with strange red smears across the front of it.

“Lady, what the hell were you thinking?!” Colin shouted.

The woman ignored him and instead opened the rear door and bent in.

“You got insurance?” Colin asked. “I bet you don’t.” He shook his head. “Just my frigging luck. Hey lady, are you even listening to me?”

Colin walked up to the woman, who was bent half over the rear passenger seat.

She stepped back, cradling a young girl.

Colin blurted, “Oh, Christ...I didn’t realize.”

“Melissa? Melissa, are you okay, honey?” Liz asked.

The girl was sobbing and appeared dazed.

Liz stretched an arm over and tapped her son on the thigh.

“Grant? Grant?” she said.

The young boy slowly turned. Blood was cascading from his nose. He wiped a hand across his top lip and looked at the blood-smeared skin.

“I’m bleeding,” he said, as if disappointed.

“Come on, kids. We have to get out of the car,” Liz said in as confident a tone as she could.

She then became aware of a voice behind her.

“Can I help? I’m a first aider.”

Liz turned, feeling the growing crick in her neck, to see a young, well-built man. He was dressed casually in a pair of summer shorts and a T-shirt with some trendy Japanese characters and stripes of clashing colours.

“You can check out Grant. He’s bleeding,” Liz said.

“Okay.” Colin scuttled round the back of his car and up to the boy’s door. Opening it, he said, “Hi. Grant, is it?”

The boy nodded, blood oozing from the fingers that covered his face.

“I’m Colin. I’m a first aider. I’m going to help you. Okay?

The front door of an office block flew open and a security guard came jogging over.

“You people all right?” the guard asked.

“You got a first aid kit?” Colin asked.

“Sure, I’ll fetch one. I’ve been trying to call for an ambulance, but the line’s busy.”

The guard turned and jogged back to the office.

“Okay, Grant, can you pinch the top of your nose like this?” Colin said, demonstrating the action.

“Tip your head back, honey. That’ll help,” Liz called over from across the seat.

Colin could see that the mother had managed to get her daughter out of the car.

He said to Grant, “No, son, keep your head forward. We don’t want you swallowing your own blood; it’ll only make you feel sick. We want to stem the flow of the blood so it can clot naturally.”

It had been a few years since he’d taken his first aid course. Now that the rare event of having to use it was actually happening, he didn’t feel as confident as he was during those workshops.

There was the pounding of feet and Colin looked round to see the security guard return with a green plastic box in his hands.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“Um, I think we’re okay here. Maybe just a tissue,” Colin said, looking at the young boy.

“You okay, ma’am?” the guard called over the top of the car at the woman.

She was looking off down the street, as if in a daze.

“It’s them,” Liz said.

“Sorry ma’am?”

“It’s more of them,” Liz said, staring off down the avenue.

“More of who?” the guard pressed. He started walking around to the rear of the car.

“Get back in the car, Melissa,” Liz said.

She closed the door behind the young girl, all the while looking back in the direction they had come from.

Liz flumped in the driver’s seat and closed the door, never breaking her gaze.

Colin watched the back of her head as she turned the keys in the ignition.

“Lady, don’t do that,” he said.

The woman ignored him and continued turning the key. The starter motor screeched and wheezed.

“Lady, it’s not going to start,” Colin said.

The car still whined and coughed.

“Lady, please stop that—you could start a fire.”

Colin glanced up at the security guard, looking for support. The guard nodded and opened the driver’s door.

“Ma’am, the car’s busted,” he said. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“We’ve got to get away,” Liz said, shaking her head. “Okay children, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Melissa asked.

“We just need to get away from here,” Liz replied.

Colin stood up from his crouched position tending to the boy. He placed a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the warming sun.

Down the street were three people. They moseyed up the middle of road, not caring for any possible traffic.

“Who are they?” Colin asked.

“Were they chasing you, ma’am?” the guard asked.

“Come on, let’s go,” Liz said, ushering her children from the car.

“Maybe we should talk to them—get their take on things?” the guard said hesitantly as he watched the silhouettes draw nearer.

“Look, you can’t just go,” Colin said to the mother. “At the very least we need to swap insurance details. If you don’t, I’ll have to phone the police.”

The security guard called out to the approaching group, “Hey, you guys involved in this?!”

Colin turned from watching the woman scurrying away with her children. The security guard was walking towards the people down the street.

He furrowed his brow, trying to make them out against the glare of the sun. There were now five or six figures staggering towards them like drunks.

“What’s going on, Gary?” a woman’s voice echoed down the street.

Colin looked around but didn’t spot the source until he looked up. The office building the guard came from had a first storey window open. From it a woman’s head poked through.

“I’m not sure,” Gary called back. “There’s been a car crash and the lady says these people are involved.”

“Just call the police and be done with it!” the woman called down.

The guard looked like he was about to retort, but then held back.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, reluctance heavy on his voice.

“God, no.”

Colin turned round again, caught in a verbal game of piggy-in-the-middle.

“Back to the car, children.” The woman was now directing her kids back to the wreck.

Just turning onto the other end of the street was a second group of drunken figures.

Colin scratched his head. What is going on?

He put his hand in his pocket and fumbled for his phone. Not finding it there, he patted himself down.

Car, Colin realised and went back to the car to retrieve it from the foot well where it had no doubt ended up after the crash.

He prised open the passenger door, which was stiff from the deformity of the impact, and hunkered down to search for the phone. He lifted the spine-wrenched book out of the way and placed it shut on the passenger seat. The phone nowhere in sight, he swept his hand under the seat. Skimming across the sticky carpet and pushing an empty drinks can out of the way, his fingers found the familiar form of his smart phone. He fished it out and checking the screen wasn’t damaged, punched in the number for emergency services.

The phone beeped angrily in his ear, but Colin wasn’t paying attention.

The first of the drunken figures was now only a few feet away and now Colin could see him clearly.

His skin was a ghostly white. His eyes were rolled up into the back of his head, making it difficult to see the border between eyes and flesh. His top lip curled upwards in a snarl, but his bottom lip had been torn loose and hung lower than his chin, exposing his bottom teeth down to the root.

“Fuck,” Colin said softly into the beeping phone.

***

“Gary?!” Mo shouted from the front step of the office.

He had come in from the service entrance only to arrive at an unmanned front desk, and it wasn’t long before he noticed the ruckus out on the street.

“Gary?!” Mo called out again.

Gary was slowly approaching a man in the middle of the road, when he stopped suddenly and turned.

“Mo! Call an ambulance!” Gary shouted.

Mo surveyed the scene. There was a man in shorts on the phone bickering with a woman who had two children in tow. Behind them were two wrecked cars, the result of a head-on collision.

Further down the street his colleague Gary seemed to be transfixed. There was a man a few feet away from him who was slowly yet steadily shuffling in his direction.

For a moment Mo almost asked why he needed an ambulance, but then decided the explanation would be too lengthy.

He ducked back into the foyer. Leaning over the desk, he picked up the phone. He punched in the number for emergency services. An angry tone beeped at him. He hit the receiver, doubting he’d dialled correctly, and tried again but got the same result.

Mo thumped the handset down. It bounced off the receiver and clattered from the desk, but he ignored it as he dashed for the doors.

As he got outside the bright light dazzled him for a moment. Shading his eyes, he looked out to where he has last seen Gary.

Gary was on the ground, wrestling with the man he’d been approaching a few short moments ago.

The woman and the two children were in one of the wrecked cars, frantically trying to get it started. The man in the shorts had let his hand holding the phone drop to his side and was now watching aghast the struggle in the middle of the road.

“Gary! I’m coming, buddy!” Mo called, sprinting down the street.

In seconds he was on top of the pair. He grabbed the attacker by the shoulders and threw him off to reveal the older security guard covered in bites and scratches oozing warm blood.

“You okay, man?” Mo asked.

Gary nodded and pushed himself up.

Mo turned to see the attacker stumbling to his feet.

“What did you do that for?!” Mo shouted at the shoddy-looking assailant.

The assailant looked up at Mo. His eyes were empty white, like polished quartz. As he moved the flap of skin holding his lip to his jaw, it wobbled and jiggled. There was brilliant red blood dripping from his slavering and mutilated mouth, but judging by the paleness of the man’s flesh it wasn’t his.

“What are you?” Mo asked.

In way of an answer the creature let out a gurgling moan.

The call was answered from down the street.

Coming into view were a dozen more limping figures.

Mo turned round to look down at the approach to the plaza. There, too, was a growing gang of lumbering figures.

“Gary, I think we should get back in the office,” Mo said without looking down.

Beside him Gary stumbled to his feet.

Mo turned round. “Quickly now.”

Gary’s face was a raw mesh of perforated skin and rapidly flowing blood.

“Can you walk?” Mo asked.

Gary simply nodded, blood dripping from his face.

The attacker was on his feet, and with arms outstretched was shuffling his way towards them again.

Mo beckoned the others to follow him into the office block. “Quickly, everyone inside!”

The man in the shorts didn’t hesitate to follow, but the woman with her children still sat in the car, pointlessly trying to turn the engine.

“Help him,” Mo said, handing his injured colleague over to the man in the shorts.

Mo dashed over to the whining car and pulled the driver’s door open.

“Come on,” he said.

The woman looked up at Mo, a fine spray of blood over her face. She stared straight through him like she was possessed. Then she grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut.

Mo flicked the handle. This time the door was slammed and the lock clicked into place.

He smacked on the window with the ball of his fist. “Get out of the car! It’s not safe!”

The back door opened and there was a scream.

Mo looked up to see the man in the shorts yanking the girl from her seat. The scrawny little thing was too weak and too shocked to put up an effective struggle.

“Melissa!” the mother screeched. She stretched across the back seat, grasping at the empty air.

Wriggling like a landed fish, the girl was bundled up in Colin’s arms. Her frantic squirming threw Colin’s centre of balance to and fro, making him stagger like a drunk all the way to the doors of the building.

Mo grabbed the rear door handle to see a terrified young boy inside.

“Come with me,” Mo said, extending a hand. “We need to get you to safety.”

“Ma?” the boy said, looking at his mother.

Before she could answer, there was a crumpling thud.

Mo and the woman and her son looked up at the front of the car.

The attacker with the torn bottom lip staggered into the bumper.

Mo snatched the boy and dragged him from the car.

“Come on, move!” Mo shouted.

***

Liz was terrified. The pounding of her heart, the pounding in her head, and the monster pounding against her door were all too much to take in.

She turned the ignition over and over again. Each time its screeching added to the cacophony of noises assaulting her ears.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and she flinched back against the car door.

The pounding from the thing outside reverberated through the glass to travel deep into her. She looked through the glass to see the exposed teeth sitting in a naked jaw, gnashing at her.

The hand on her shoulder pulled and she looked round to see a security guard half in the passenger side.

“Come on! Out-out-out!” he shouted.

Liz came to. She unbuckled her seat belt and scurried over to the far side door. The man grabbed her under the shoulders and hauled her out onto the street. She stumbled on the debris-strewn road only to have a firm grasp clamp around her forearm.

“Come on!” the man shouted.

Liz was half dragged, half tripped into the office building. A blur of dark figures populated the street as she was jostled inside.

“The door!” the man shouted and Liz heard the door being slammed shut.

“My babies!” Liz threw her arms around her two children, her tears soaking into their ruffled hair.

“What on Earth just happened?” Colin said, staring out the window, his hand still clutching his phone.

Everyone ignored him.

Mo was tending to his injured colleague and Liz was cradling her children.

From across the lobby the elevator pinged and the door slid open.

“What’s going on down here?!” the woman demanded.

Colin looked at the lady in her grey pencil skirt and lemon-coloured blouse. He pointed out of the window. “We... we...” He dropped his arm and concluded, flabbergasted, “I’m damned if I know.”

“Who are all these people?”she asked.

Nobody answered.

“This is intolerable. How are we meant to run a business—”

There was a thump on the glass door.

Everyone turned around to see a grey-faced woman pressed against the door. Her hands went up and started pawing at the window, her fingertips squeaking against the glass.

Mo sprang up from attending to Gary and locked the door. Their eyes met, but hers were as ghostly white as her skin.

“There’s something not right with those people,” Colin said, pointing at the woman.

Mo backed away, but before he had taken two steps the office manager shouted, “You! Phone the police and tell them to get rid of her!”

Mo scuttled behind the security station and gathered up the handset from where it had cascaded over the lip of the desk.

The woman on the other side of the door continued to slap her fists against the glass in a half-hearted attempt to break in. Every time she struck the window there was a squeak, like a damp squeegee being pulled across the glass.

No one spoke. Everyone stood silently, watching the retarded woman’s pathetic attempts to defeat the closed door.

A new sound joined that of the glass reverberating: the phone beeping with a harsh, discordant tone.

“I still can’t get through,” Mo said.

“Mine’s dead, too,” Colin said, holding up his phone. “I’ve already tried to phone the police.”

“Could she break through that?” the office manager asked.

“I very much doubt it—unless she picked up a rock or something,” Mo replied.

“Here comes another one,” Colin said.

Gary stood up, holding a dressing to his weeping cheek. He asked, “What’s up with them?”

“Drugs?” Colin said, though not convinced by his own answer.

“Maybe it’s that flu?” Mo said.

There was a thud as the second attacker hit the glass face first.

“Is there a first aid kit?” Liz asked.

“Sure,” Mo said. He scooped up the green box he’d been using to tend to Gary.

“It’s my little boy,” Liz said. “He’s been bitten on the hand.”

“Okay, we’ll soon get that fixed up,” Mo said. He knelt down beside the child. “I’m Mo. What’s your name?”

The small boy didn't reply. His eyes were raw with crying, his mouth just a quiver away from a howl.

“Grant,” Liz chipped in. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

The boy sat still, the muscles in his face clenched against the flood of tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Um, look, they’re creeping me out,” Colin said, easing himself deeper into the lobby. “Are you sure they can't get in?”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Gary said.

“Grab the accident report book, would you, Gary?” Mo asked, still tending to the boy.

“Accident report book,” Gary said, staring at Mo. “I think we’re way beyond that.”

***

Bang!

Karen and Shan both jumped. Karen let out a short, girly squeal, much to her disgust.

The garage door rattled more furiously.

Shan blew out a thick cloud of smoke.

“Fuck off! Nate’s not in!” she shouted over the sound of the music from the stereo.

For a moment there was a pause in the banging. The garage interior was thick with swirling smoke from the joint the pair was sharing. Then the pounding restarted, the metal slats shuddering against a fresh attack.

“Nate’s not here!” Shan shouted above the racket. “I don’t care what he owes you! Take it up with him!”

The rattling only intensified.

Shan took a long draw from the stub of a joint between her lips. She stood up and marched to the garage shutter.

“Shan!” Karen shouted. “Don’t let them in!”

Shan slapped the palm of her hands against the grime-coated surface. “Hey, hey, hey! Fuck off or I’m calling the Federalies! Capice?!”

Karen giggled, “Federalies.”

“What?”

“Since when did you go all gangsta?” Karen giggled.

“Don’t be dissin' me, girl.” Shan cocked her head and raised a hand in a mock gangster salute.

Karen folded over double, laughing in hysterics.

The banging at the garage door continued.

“Fuck this.”

Shan looked back at the vibrating shutter and walked up to the kitchen door.

“Where are you going?” Karen asked. “Oh no—you’re not going outside?”

“Nah, I just want to see who this fucker is. Bet it’s one of Karl’s posse.” Shan said, disappearing through the connecting door to the kitchen.

“I’m coming with.” Karen got up from the depths of the sofa and trotted off after her friend, still giggling.

Squeezing in at the window beside Shan, she asked, “Who is it?”

“No idea. Some random,” Shan answered, pressing herself harder against the glass to get a better look.

Shan stepped back. “I can’t see a thing from here.”

Karen took her spot at the window and pressed her cheek against the cold pane. “I can’t tell who it is from here. I can just see their ass.”

The front door creaked open.

Karen called out, “Shan?”

She pulled away and raced to the front door.

The door was wide open with Shan silhouetted by the daylight.

“Nate’s not in,” Shan said. “You'll need to score somewhere else.”

The banging on the garage door stopped.

Karen heard her friend say, “That is sick. What’s wrong with you?”

Shan started backing up and collided with Karen.

“Get back in the house,” Shan said.

“Why? Who is it?”

Shan pushed Karen back. “Just stay inside.”

Shan grabbed the door across its edge and threw it at the open doorway. The door slammed shut with the sound of the doorknocker bouncing against its metal plate.

A dark shape lunged in front of the door and started banging hard against the small, frosted glass panels.

“Who is it?!” Karen asked over the banging.

Shan’s mouth was open, horrified at what she had seen.

“Who is it?!” Karen repeated.

“I don’t know—that old perv from up the street,” Shan said, backing away..

She stopped, her retreat blocked by a wall, but kept her focus firmly on the thundering door.

“His face…” Shan touched the side of her cheek.

Karen rushed back to the window in the living room and squinted against it to try to catch a glimpse of the person thumping on the door. She pushed up hard against the window, her hands on the windowsill, palms facing outwards.

The dark shoulders pulled back again and again, but they refused to step back into her field of vision.

Hearing her friend stumbling back into the garage, she tossed her head back over her shoulder and called out, “Where are you going?!”

The window banged and Karen jumped back.

Hands windmilled against the glass, battering blooded fists down the pane. The old man looked like he was in a trance. Glazed white eyes sunk deep in their sockets, his pale skin wrinkled like the ridges and caverns of water-pruned fingers.

“What’s wrong with you?” Karen said, backing up.

The glass shattered.

Cutlass-like shards cascaded down the windowsill, breaking and shattering further as they collided.

The hands that had pounded so restlessly stopped. The arms came in through the empty frame. They hooked around the windowsill, oblivious to the razor-edged glass slicing at their flesh.

Karen watched dumbstruck as the old man pulled himself up into the house. Chunks of glass rasped at the intruder’s body and limbs. The jagged shards crunched like frozen snow underfoot as they clambered into the room. Long, raw wounds zigzagged their way over the man’s body and limbs where the glass tore through his skin. As he moved there was a glistening as the imbedded glass caught the light.

In clumsy movements he hauled himself over the lip and tumbled onto the floor. On the window ledge a trail of red and black slime marked his wake.

The man lifted his head and let out a moan, a sound made all the more chilling by the fact that it wasn’t simply escaping from an open mouth—the breath wheezed through a black hole in his neck.

As he lurched to his feet something flew by Karen.

She turned to see Shan running past her, something large and looming in her hands.

Without a word, Shan stopped at the man’s head and swung down at him. The hammer connected on the old man’s skull with a crack.

He fell back to the floor and lay still.

“What was wrong with him?” Karen asked, panting.

“Don’t know,” Shan answered, staring down at the corpse.

“You just killed him,” Karen said.

“I know,” Shan replied. She looked up at Karen and held her arms out. “Self-defense.”

The hammer was still embedded an inch or two in the man’s skull.

“What were we supposed to do when a pervert comes breaking in on two young girls, your Honour?” Shan said, giggling, the remnants of the hash still heavy in her system.

“It’s not funny, Shan,” Karen said. She wasn’t able to take her eyes off the dead man. “This is fucked up. We’re not even supposed to be here.”

There was a sudden clunk and the music stopped.

“Shit. The batteries are dead,” Shan said.

“So what, Shan?” Karen said. “How’s that important when there’s a dead man on the floor of Nate’s Grandma’s?”

“Look out the window,” Shan said calmly.

“What?”

“Look.”

Karen stepped past her friend and the dead body on the floor.

With the stereo off and the window broken, she could hear the sounds from the street. There were screams wafting across the estate on wisps of acrid smoke. A siren retreated into the distance.

She looked out of the empty window.

Plumes of smoke were dirtying the azure skies, spawned from various unseen fires. A car raced down the street, bodywork bashed, windscreen shattered, and a spray of blood streaked from nose to tail. Drunken figures lumbered after the speeding vehicle, their arms outstretched, their gait stiff.

Karen stepped back from the window and turned to Shan.

“Christ—what the hell did we miss?”

Chapter 4

Siren

“Be quiet!” Stephen hissed.

“I don’t hear anything,” John said, crowding in on him.

“You keep talking over them,” Stephen complained.

“Sit down, John,” Sharon chided.

Along the first floor office window a crowd had gathered to try to make out what the noise was and where it was coming from. A police car came zigzagging its way down the road, avoiding as best it could the random people in its path.

“Did you see that?! He just clipped that guy!” Mo said, astonished.

“He’s not even stopping to check him. He could be dead or injured,” Colin added.

“He’s not stopping for anyone,” John said.

Melissa clambered onto the windowsill.

“Get down from there,” Liz said, but Melissa ignored her.

“Be quiet!” Stephen again hissed.

The police car’s lights were flashing and there was a voice blaring out from its speakers, not the regular siren.

The mob of insane people who had been crowding the foyer entrance abandoned their siege and hobbled over in the direction of the police car.

“Do these windows open?” Colin asked, looking around.

Mo came to his aid, unhooking a latch at the top third of the window.

As soon as the window was opened, they all heard the distorted voice from the police vehicle.

“—in your homes and wait further instruction. This is a police announcement. It is unsafe to be on the streets at this time. Seek shelter immediately. Barricade yourself in your homes or places of work. Avoid contact with the infected. Do not approach people who appear to be acting irrationally. Stay in your homes and wait further instruction.”

Colin dragged a chair up to the window, and using the extra height he slipped his head and arm through the opening. He shouted, “Hey! Hey! Up here!”

The police car continued weaving around the wrecked cars and shambling figures.

“This is a police announcement. It is unsafe to be on the streets at this time. Seek shelter immediately. Barricade yourself in your homes or places of work…”

The sound trailed off as the car turned onto the town plaza. In its wake came a procession of shambling figures.

“Who are they?” Mo asked, looking down at the mob.

The police car was far outstripping their pursuit, but when it turned the corner and disappeared from sight the crowd continued to follow, picking up more and more numbers as it went.

Colin stepped down from the window and gave a sigh.

“Looks like the cops won’t be much help,” he said, finding a chair to slump into.

“Hell, will you look at that?” John said, taking Colin’s spot at the window.

A number of the stragglers had given up their chase and were now lumbering, arms outstretched, towards the office block.

Sharon had her hands on her hips, shaking her head.

“Great,” she said. “Just what we need—a mob of G8 rioters outside the front doors.”

She turned to Mo and Gary in their grey and blue uniforms.

“Doesn’t your depot have a contingency for this?” she asked.

“No,” Mo said softly.

Gary pushed himself up from the chair he’d been resting in. His face was swathed in squares of wound dressings that overlapped, forming odd angles.

“For this?” Gary said, gesturing out of the window.

“For this?” he said more intensely, walking up to Sharon.

“Gary…” Mo said.

Sharon dropped her hands from her hips, but didn’t drop her gaze.

“For this?!” Gary shouted angrily, now inches from her face.

Sharon didn’t flinch. She folded her arms and continued to stare back at him.

“Gary,” Mo said more forcefully, clasping a hand round his bicep. Gentler, he added, “Gary, sit back down.”

Gary gave Sharon one last stare before letting his colleague guide him back to his seat. Once he was seated he straightened up.

“I doubt there’s anything in place for things of this short notice,” Mo said.

“Short notice? When do crazies request written permission?” Colin asked.

“I mean if there were something like a G8 summit we’d have extra staff on and time to prepare an operations plan. But this? We’re just a private security firm; we depend on the police as much as the next guy.”

“So you’re saying we pay you for nothing?” John asked.

Mo shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying we’re not equipped or trained to deal with major civil disobedience. If there’s a riot kicking off, we’re instructed to call the police, evacuate the premises where possible, or to stay in a secure location if not. That’s it. Nothing fancy.”

“Fat lot of use that is,” John huffed. He paced off in the opposite direction.

“So is that it? We just sit here and wait?” Stephen asked.

Colin was looking out of the office window, his breath misting the glass, “And hope they don’t get in.”

Outside, the throng of stragglers who had been following the police car and now had lost track of it started to drift towards the office entrance.

“We can’t just sit here. My boy needs medical attention,” Liz said. She stood up and pointed at her child. “We have to get him to a hospital.”

“Hospital gets my vote,” Gary added.

“You can’t just walk out there,” John said, turning back to the group. “There are dozens of those psychos on the street.”

“Has anybody got a car?” Liz asked.

John looked round at Sharon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet.

“Well?” Liz demanded. “Any of you?”

John folded his arms and leaned back against the window. He said, “Listen, I think the security guard has the right idea. We just sit tight. I’m not driving anywhere until it calms down out there.”

“Please, we need to get Grant to a doctor,” Liz pleaded. “He’s been bitten. He needs stitches and pain killers and antibiotics.”

John nodded at Mo and said, "Your man there has patched it up pretty good from what I’ve seen. He’ll be fine.”

“You don't know that,” Liz replied.

“He’ll be fine. I got banged up worse than that most weekends when I was that age. You know what we were like as kids; none of this mollycoddling, parental wrapping us up in cotton wool.”

Liz took a step towards John, her face flushed.

“That little boy has just seen his dad killed out in the street. He’s bleeding and traumatized,” she said as she marched up to the man. She held her hand out and with the point of her index finger she stabbed at the overweight office worker’s chest.

John tried to step back, but the window was all too soon at his back.

“He’ll be fine?” Liz drummed out her words with thumps of her index finger against the man’s flabby chest. “You don’t know if he’ll be fine! I don’t think you have the medical training to make such a call.”

Liz stood statue still, staring into John’s watery eyes.

“If you’re staying put, you won’t mind if we borrow your car then?” Gary said from behind Liz, his face white with the fresh plasters.

John stuttered, “It... It...It’s not insured for other drivers.”

“I hardly think that’s an issue,” Gary said, crowding in on a trembling John.

“It’s okay,” Stephen said from across the room. “I’ll give you a lift.”

“Thank you,” Liz said joyfully.

“You’re leaving?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah,” Stephen said with a nod.

“You’ve only just got in,” Sharon said.

“Look at what’s happening here. I want to go check on my fiancée, make sure she’s okay,” Stephen said.

“But what about the police announcement?” Sharon protested. “It’s not safe to be out on the streets.”

“Then I need to get home all the more,” Stephen said firmly.

Sharon showed her disappointment with a deep frown.

That old witch has got a crush on him for sure, John told himself. He shook his head involuntarily, disapproving of his boss’ desires.

“It’s not like the work needs me,” Stephen said, looking round at the empty office.

“I’m sure there’s something in the staff handbook about telling people not to come into work if it’s dangerous,” John threw in.

“Yeah,” Stephen said. He pointed two fingers at John in a parody of a gunshot.

John nodded to Stephen, pretending to appreciate the signal while detesting him for being a young, know-it-all poser.

“Well, we can’t make you stay,” Sharon said, looking up from Stephen to address the rest of the group, “but I do think it would be safer for all of us to wait here. At least until we can get some idea of the situation.”

“Have you got a radio or anything?” Colin asked from his position on the fringes of the group.

“There’s a satellite TV in the canteen,” Mo said.

“Regardless of the news reports, I want to get home,” Stephen said.

“Stephen…” Sharon placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I just want you—I just want all of us to be safe and I don’t think going home is the answer.”

“Thank you for your concern, Sharon, but if things aren’t safe out there, that’s all the more reason I have to get home.” Stephen gave Sharon a smile and started making for the exit. Addressing Gary and Liz, he said, “If you guys want, it won’t take much for me to detour past the hospital.”

“Do you want me to come with you, Gary?” Mo asked.

Before Gary could answer Stephen butted in, “I don't think there’ll be room in the car for you as well.”

Mo looked at the two children and nodded in agreement.

“Right,” Stephen said, jingling his car keys. “Hopefully this is all nothing and I’ll be back at my desk nine sharp tomorrow morning.”

He made his trademark salute and blew on the ends of his fingers as if they were the barrels of a gun.

***

“Shan what do we do?” Karen asked, more calmly than she thought she could.

Shan pursed her lips. “Hmm?”

She looked around the dimly-lit garage before placing the hammer back down on the workbench. The only light was coming from the chink between the top and bottom of the garage door.

“There’s fuck-all here,” Shan said.

“I want to go home,” Karen said.

Shan sucked in a wisp of the hash-laden air through her pursed lips.

“As good a place as any, I suppose.”

Karen smiled. She’d expected to have to argue with her friend.

She walked over to the adjoining door.

“Where you going?” Shan asked.

“You said…”

“We’re going out this way.” Shan pointed at the garage shutter. “I’m not walking—not with those maniacs out there.”

Shan gestured with a sharp nod at the motorbike at the back of the garage.

“That old thing?” Karen said.

“Why not?”

“Why not? It’s filthy.”

“It’s a dirt bike. Clue’s in the name,” Shan said, shrugging.

“I wouldn’t eat the pizza that was delivered on that thing.”

“So, what—you too much of a princess to get your ass dirty?”

“We don’t even know if it works.”

“Of course it works. Me and Nate were up the back of the Wreks with it last month.”

“Can you even drive it?”

“Shut up! 'Course I can,” Shan said. She explained, “I’ll start it up, you open the door. Then you jump on the back and we’re off to your house.”

“Suppose,” Karen said weakly, unable to muster any more arguments against it. She had never felt safe on the back of Nate’s bike and she didn’t have much confidence in her friend’s abilities.

“You ready?” Shan asked.

This was the fastest way back home and Karen knew it.

“Where’s the helmets?” she asked.

“For fuck’s sake, here.” Shan tossed a peaked Motocross helmet at her friend.

Karen fumbled the catch and the helmet clattered to the hard concrete floor.

“Diff,” Shan chastised.

There was a moan from somewhere nearby.

The two girls froze.

The light from under the garage door flickered as a pair of feet blocked the light.

Shan pushed her index finger to her lips.

The pair held themselves in silence, both staring down at the shadow, both praying the person on the other side of the shutter would go away.

Another moan issued from behind the door and the banging started.

“Shit,” Shan said. She stretched over and picked the hammer back up. She told Karen, “Open it.”

Karen simply stood there looking at the vibrating shutters, oblivious to Shan’s command.

“Open it!” Shan shouted.

The moaning became louder, more excited, but still Karen didn’t move.

Shan stood up and kicked down on the start peg. The ignition caught and the garage was filled with the burbling engine noise.

“Come on, open it!” she shouted again.

Reticently, Karen stepped up to the centre of the door and flipped the lock. She was about to let one of those maniacs in on purpose and it took all her courage to act. She and Shan were safe behind the shutter for now, but Karen knew she had to get back home.

She pulled at the top of the door while at the same time pushing her foot to the bottom. The door squeaked open a few degrees before catching on something. Karen pulled down hard with both hands and the resistance waned. She tugged, dropping her whole weight into the effort. The shutter swung up high, flooding the garage with light.

The hands had her before she could react—cold, waxy things with a claw-like grip.

Karen screamed. The motorbike behind her screeched and her friend blurred past her.

Karen shrieked, “Shan!” but the bike had whipped round and sped from view.

Karen pushed back at the attacker, a man a good foot taller than her. His hair was dark and matted, his flesh drained of colour, but his lips were red with the lustre of fresh blood.

“No!” she cried.

She slapped at the man, trying to push him off, but he held fast. A pink froth trickled from his open mouth as he lent in for the bite.

There was a shrill whine and the man lunged forward, falling on top of her.

Karen hit the concrete floor hard, knocking the breath out of her chest. The man landed with his face buried deep into her neck. Karen twisted and kicked, trying to free herself when the man flopped off her.

“Get up!” Shan screamed.

Karen looked up at her friend to see a clump of tangled hair dangling from the face of the hammer.

Shan offered her free hand.

“Come on! The street’s full of them!”

Karen scrabbled to her feet.

“Hold the front of the bike,” Shan said as she hurried to the back tyre. “On three, you pull the front end round this way.” She indicated the direction with a tilt of her head.

Placing her hands on the handlebars close to the steering column, Karen nodded she was ready.

“One, two, three!”

The two girls lifted and twirled the heavy bike round to face back out of the garage.

“Get on and hold on,” Shan said as she vaulted onto the saddle.

Karen did the same. “The helmet?”

“Fuck that.”

Shan wrenched the throttle and the bike was in the brilliant daylight of the street.

The wind threw Karen’s hair back in billowing sheets. Some of it whipped round to be caught in her mouth. Too scared to let go of Shan’s waist, Karen tried in vain to blow the hair away.

As they hurtled along, Karen peered through the fluttering locks of hair at the roads they sped down. The bike would slow down, twist, and zigzag, and then speed up again at seemingly random moments as her driver swerved to avoid unexpected obstacles.

The racing wind stung her eyes and made her gulp down breaths tainted with strands of her own hair. Karen gave up trying to see what was going on. She buried her head tight up against Shan’s shoulder and fought back the urge to cry.

***

“Do you believe that?!” Gary shouted at no one in particular.

“Keep your voice down,” Liz scolded. “You’re frightening my children.”

“I mean, come on—a flu epidemic?” Gary said, gesturing at the car radio.

“Last time I had flu I spent a week laid up in bed. I didn’t go around looting the place,” Stephen said.

“Then you didn’t have flu,” Gary said.

“What? You do loot?”

“No, the in bed for a week. My sister caught flu a few years back. She spent six weeks in bed and dropped nearly thirty pounds. No, this ain’t no flu.” Gary wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “I’m burning up in here. Can we have the AC on?”

“Yeah, sure.” Stephen fiddled with the controls on the dashboard and a fan started up.

“I don’t feel well,” Grant said pitifully to his mother.

Liz hugged the boy close, stroking his damp hair. “It’s okay. We’ll be at the hospital soon.”

“Look. A cop down there.” Gary said, pointing at the white and blue squad car on an adjoining street.

“We’ll ask him if he knows how we can get to the hospital,” Stephen said.

He checked his mirrors out of habit, indicated, and pulled on to the road where the police car and its driver were parked.

The police officer stood propped up by his cruiser. His arms were on top of the roof, his head buried deep in their folds, the lights pulsating eagerly, but the siren mute.

“It’s okay. We’ll stop and ask the policeman,” Stephen said to the rear of the car as he slowed down.

“Ask what—directions? Why the world’s fucked up?” Gary snapped.

“You’re not helping,” Liz said from the rear seats with her children.

Stephen stopped the car and opened the door. With an arm over the roof and one foot still in the car, Stephen called across to the man.

“Officer.”

The policeman didn’t react.

“Excuse me, officer.” Stephen said, a bit louder.

The officer’s shoulders twitched.

Gary unwound his window and called out, “Hey, wake up!”

Slowly the officer started to turn.

He looked through Gary, his face like stone.

Stephen tried again. “Officer, we’re trying to get to the hospital, but there was a crashed bus blocking—”

“Hospital?! Ha!” the policeman snorted.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t want to go there,” the policeman grunted.

Liz said, “Officer, my husband’s been murdered and my little boy’s been attacked. He needs medical attention.”

The policeman slowly shook his head. He said dryly, “It’s a big day for that sort of thing.”

“Come on, buddy, help us out here. I’m cut up all to hell,” Gary said, pointing at the conspicuous plasters smattered across his face.

“I’m not your buddy and for your information it’s all gone to hell.”

“What is going on?” Stephen asked.

“Fuck if I know,” the policeman said, shaking his head. “My advice is get the hell out of Dodge.”

“The radio said we should stay indoors,” Stephen said.

“Yeah, well, I’ve heard a lot over the radio since starting my shift yesterday. That makes as much sense as any of it.”

“What’s that noise?” Melissa asked from the back of the car.

“What noise, honey?” Liz asked.

“I hear it, too,” Stephen said. He cast around for a moment before pointing and shouting, “Look up there!”

The policeman turned in the direction Stephen pointed.

Even from within the car the noise could be heard building to a roar.

“What is it, ma?” Melissa asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t see,” Liz said. She craned her neck to peer out of the back window of the car.

Melissa unclipped her seatbelt and threw open the car door before Liz could react.

“Get back in here!” she called after her daughter.

Melissa just stood, one hand on the car door, staring off in the direction of the whining.

Liz shuffled over the back seat and came up behind her daughter. Everyone except Grant was out of the car now, looking to the southern horizon.

The whining noise deepened and Liz spotted movement low in the sky. Three darts, black and sleek, slipped across the azure-backed horizon. They tilted slightly, showing a flash of wing as they turned. They swept in low, almost touching the taller buildings. Suddenly all three aircraft changed their angle and climbed back into the clouds.

“What are they doing?” Liz asked.

As she spoke, there came a wave of dust with sparkle-like flashes trailing in its wake. Then an explosion billowed up along the line the planes had flown, a rolling plume of flame and smoke erupting into the sky.

“What the fuck?” Stephen said.

“Why is there no noise?” Liz asked.

“Who just bombed us?” Gary asked.

The billowing fire started to subside when the thunder hit them. A gust of wind carried with it the cacophony of destruction.

“Where is that?” Stephen said absently.

“About three miles away,” the police officer said.

“Who were they and what were they attacking?” Gary asked.

“They were ours, and my guess is the hospital.” The policeman took off his hat and tossed it onto the passenger seat.

“Why would they bomb a hospital?” Liz said, hysteria at the edge of her voice.

“Surgical strike,” the policeman said.

“You’re being funny now, aren’t you?” Gary said.

“Nope,” the policeman replied. “They’re trying to stop the spread, like amputating a foot to stop gangrene. Only problem is, it’s too little, too late.”

He bent down, slipped into the driving seat of the car, and slammed the door shut.

“Where are you going?” Stephen said with panic in his voice.

The police car’s engine sprung to life and the vehicle started to pull away.

Stephen ducked out from behind the car door and round to the cruiser.

“Where are you going?!” he shouted at the police car.

The window unwound and the police officer looked out at Stephen. He said, “I don’t know, but I’m not staying here.”

“What? What kind of an answer is that?”

The police car sped up and disappeared down the road.

“What?! That’s just shit!” Stephen shouted after it.

***

Thunder rolled over them with a palpable force. Shan slowed the bike and put a foot down to steady it. A wave of hot air swept across them, scorching the moisture from their eyes.

The wind increased and with it came the smell of burning.

Karen hopped off the back of the bike and stared dumbstruck at the rising wall of flame.

“What was that?” she asked.

Shan simply shook her head, devoid of an answer.

Karen stumbled forward, looking at the now subsiding fireball.

“My house?” she uttered softly. “My parents?” she said, still taking half steps towards the explosion.

“They might be okay,” Shan said, sensing her friend’s fragility. “It looked like it was just beyond your place, up at the hospital.” She batted her eyelashes, trying to coax the moisture back to her eyes. “They might not even be at home. Your dad will be away at his work by now.”

“No, he was working from home. They’ve closed the office ‘cause of this flu thing,” Karen said, still mesmerised by the rolling black clouds.

“Get back on and we’ll go take a look. I bet they’re okay,” Shan said.

“You don’t know that.” Karen shook her head in short judders, her eyes wide open.

“Okay, I don’t know—that’s why we’ll go look, okay?” Shan said, offering a hand out. “Come on, Karen. We’re attracting some attention here.”

Karen looked around the suburban street. She hadn’t been able to see all the turmoil from the back of the bike, but now it assaulted her. Front doors wide open, windows broken or sprayed with blood. Smoke from innumerable fires tumbling into the summer sky. The smell of burning and the taint of blood on the air. Screams, some distant, some terrifyingly close.

And then there were the people. Some were running, looking as scared as Karen knew she must look. But then there were the others, the shambling stiff-legged people, their faces an alabaster canvas splashed with glistening red.

“Okay,” Karen mumbled, the shock clutching at her throat.

She straddled the bike and wrapped her arms tight around Shan’s waist.

Shan clicked the bike into gear and began weaving her way past the gathering rabble.

The short ride to Karen’s house was marred by a plethora of fresh obstacles. Derelict traffic jams, sporadic fires, and the swelling numbers of seemingly hypnotized people inexorably drawn to the sound of the passing motorcycle.

Mounting the pavement, taking short cuts across waste ground, and taking the dirt bike down paths that would normally end up with a police pursuit and a spot on the six o’clock news, Shan managed to bypass the blocked roads.

Eventually the bike stopped.

“We’re here,” Shan said softly.

Karen’s nose filled with the smell of burning. She stepped off the back of the bike to stand, facing her house. There was a hot wind wafting glowing cinders in the air. The lawn that only this morning had sported lush green grass was now scorched black. The house itself looked for the most part intact other than the shattered windows and the blackened exterior.

Karen took a step towards the front door, but before she knew it she was running along the path. She hit the door at full tilt and tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. Grabbing the key from her pocket, she unlocked the door and dashed inside.

“Hello?!” Karen shouted, running along the hallway.

“Karen?!”a woman replied.

“Where are you?!” Karen called, trying to locate where the voice had came from.

“In here,” came the trembling reply.

Karen bolted into the kitchen. There was blood all over the floor.

“Dad?” Karen said, looking down.

“I don’t know what to do,” her mother sobbed.

There was a ripped tablecloth discarded on the floor, soaking up blood, and lying in the centre of the pool of blood was her father. Her mother had swathed her husband in the makeshift bandages, but hadn’t yet finished her task. There were still large areas of her father’s left side thick with blood and chewed-up pink tissue.

Her mother was sitting next to him, her hands covered in blood. On one side of her were strips of torn linen, on the other were shards of blood-stained glass.

“What happened?” Karen asked.

“There was an explosion. Your dad was in the home office by the window,” she said, shaking her head. “The windows just shattered.”

Karen knelt down beside her mother. “Dad?”

She stretched out a hand and touched her father on the shoulder.

“Dad?” Karen said more forcibly, but the only sound was her mother crying.

It was clear that she had stopped trying to bandage the wounds when she realized her husband was dead.

Karen took in a deep breath, but it caught halfway. It came tumbling back out on a sob. Her whole chest shuddered under the pressure of her tears. She felt herself weeping, her chest heaving as if she was going to be sick.

Between sobs she panted, “Oh God.”

She felt an arm around her. Karen jerked back in surprise before she realised it was her mother embracing her in a hug.

She let her mother pull her in close as if she were a little girl again. She buried her face deep into her mother’s shoulder, letting the tears soak into her blouse. The strangest thing was that she could feel her mother weeping, too. Just like her she was sobbing, snatching in breaths in between the tears. Never before had she felt such raw emotion in her mother. Karen couldn’t remember the last time she had been held like this, so vulnerable and so childlike, but never before had she felt her mother’s pain so attuned to her own.

She heard footsteps behind her in the hallway. She turned, expecting to see Shan entering the house, but it wasn’t Shan.

Two dark figures pushed their way in through the open door. The burnt people stumbled forward, fighting against their own charred skin with every step. The closest charcoal figure raised its arms to Karen. As it did, the skin down its bicep split, revealing glistening red muscle beneath.

“Oh God!” Karen uttered, voice trembling.

She pulled back to leave, but her mother still held her close.

Karen pushed away. “We need to leave.”

“We can’t. We can’t leave your father,” Karen’s mother said, still kneeling on the floor.

Karen broke free of her mother’s embrace and stood up.

“We need to leave now!”

The two creatures in the hallway started moaning, drawn in by the vitality of their prey and the scent of fresh blood.

“They’re going to attack us!” Karen barked.

“Who are, dear?” her mother asked.

Then she spotted the two intruders.

She stood up and walked to the kitchen door.

“Who are you and what do you think you’re doing in my home?!” she demanded, seemingly not noticing their hideous injuries.

Karen tugged at her mother’s arm. “We have to run.”

“Get out or I’ll phone the police!” her mother said sternly.

“Get away from them!” Karen cried.

”Let go of me.”

For a moment Karen thought her mother was talking to her, but then she felt the jerk.

Her mother shuddered as the first zombie grabbed hold of her.

“Get off of me!” she shouted, her voice shrill.

Then she screamed.

The two zombies tussled her mother to the floor, biting and clawing as they fell. Karen kicked and slapped, trying to get the creatures off her mother, but to no avail.

Changing tack, Karen raced over to the cooker and pulled a large kitchen knife from its block like a sword from its scabbard.

She whirled around and stabbed at the two attackers. Over and over she plunged the knife down into their crisp, charred skin, but no matter how furiously she struck they were unperturbed. Karen’s hand stung from the effort, but regardless of how deeply she plunged the knife in or how rapidly she stabbed, they seemed oblivious. The two ghouls ignored her and kept feasting on her mother.

Exhausted and with chest heaving, Karen fell back into the kitchen, still clutching the bloodied knife.

Her mother was no longer fighting. She lay there still.

Karen stood, holding the knife in front of her breast with both hands. She didn’t know when her mother had stopped struggling. She hadn’t noticed that the only screams were her own.

She stood, chest heaving, the only sounds that of her rising and falling breath and the slurps and smacks as the cannibals feasted on her mother.

“Karen!”

She turned to see her friend Shan at the back door.

“This way,” Shan said.

Karen ran and opened the back door, all the while keeping her gaze on the two monsters chomping down on her mother.

“What happened?” Shan asked, gazing at her friend’s hands.

Karen looked at the bloodied knife she held.

When Karen didn’t answer, Shan bobbed her head round the kitchen door to view the carnage inside.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Shan said.

She gently took hold of one of Karen’s bloodied hands and led her round the corner of the house.

The dirt bike was propped up against the wall, facing out towards the street.

“Where were you?” Karen asked.

“I heard you talking to someone, one of your parents I guessed, so I brought the bike round the back here to have a smoke.”

“My parents are dead,” Karen said.

“I saw,” Shan replied.

“There are two of them in there. I tried to stop them,” Karen said, looking at the knife. “They wouldn’t die. I stabbed and stabbed at them, but they don’t die.”

“Get on,” Shan said as she pulled the bike upright.

“Where are we going to go?” Karen asked. “Your place?”

“No way. I think my dad’s one of those." Shan nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “That would explain how he was behaving this morning.”

“Where then?”

“Don’t know. Away from here, at least. Head for the back of the Wreks. There’s farmland past there. It’ll be safe.”

Hesitantly Karen got on the bike behind Shan.

As the bike sped up, Karen tried to take a last look at her home, but Shan’s aggressive manoeuvres made it impossible to catch more than a blurred glimpse. Now all she could see were charred buildings and shambling monsters stretching their arms out in their desperation to devour her.

Chapter 5

Transmission

“Christ, it’s getting busy down there,” John said, peering out of the window.

He took another bite out of his sandwich, spilling crumbs down his shirt.

Colin sidled up to the window. “What’s going on now?”

“Well, there’s been a constant to and fro of cars since that explosion, but they’re all over the place. Doesn’t look like anyone’s got any idea where they’re going,” John said. “But look, now there’s at least a hundred of those fuckers down there.” He pointed out the shambling figures on the road. “See those ones there?”

He singled out a small group at the end of the street. “Yeah,” Colin said.

“They’ve just all come out of that apartment block. Came tumbling out all at once, tripping over each other to get out of the door.”

“Huh.” Colin shrugged.

“I guess they were chasing some guy with a backpack who came sprinting out of there just ahead of them,” John said.

“Where?” Colin asked, looking around the street.

“Oh, he’s long gone,” John said. “He disappeared round the corner at that end of the street. A dozen or so of those trancers went wandering after him.”

John gently nudged the man next to him with his elbow. “Bet you’re glad you decided not to go for that walk.”

“Um, yeah,” Colin said. He hesitated before adding, “I really should have tried to get to the school. There might be kids waiting there.”

“You’re kidding, right?” John said. “What parent would take their precious darlings to the school with that going on outside?”

“You don’t know the kids we were supposed to be taking,” Colin said. “Anyway, I guess you’re right. The headmaster was calling the parents to tell them the trip was cancelled. I was just going as a precaution.”

“I used to work with this guy once. Nice enough, but you knew something wasn’t quite right,” John said, giving no indication he was talking to Colin. “He was part of some Christian group. Said the world was going to end. The nutter went and sold everything he had—house, car, all his possessions, quit his job, the whole lot.” He shook his head. “Don’t know what he and his wife were doing at the turn of the millennium, but I doubt they had as much as the rest of us.”

“Before my time,” Colin said.

John snorted, “Forgot how young you are.” He pushed himself up onto his tiptoes for a second like he was stretching his calves out. He went on, “I bumped into him on the street a few weeks later. I didn’t say anything outright; I just asked how it was going. He didn’t mention anything about the fact we were all still here. Turns out his ministry was sending him and his wife to Russia to spread the ‘Good Word’. Guess they were too embarrassed to stay. But you’ve got to wonder if he saw all this coming or if he was just as boned as the rest of us.” John took a bite from his sandwich. A sprinkling of crumbs cascaded from his mouth as he talked. “I guess if God wasn’t talking to him in two thousand, why would he start now right?”

Colin looked across at the sandwich held between podgy fingers and watched it being quickly devoured by those slobbering lips.

“Hey, I’m getting kind of famished. Is there somewhere I can get something to eat?” he asked. He was genuinely starting to feel hungry, but there was something repugnant about John that impelled Colin to leave his company.

“Well, I guess the deli down the street is out of the question, but there is a vending machine in the canteen downstairs, behind the reception desk where you came in,” John said without taking his eyes off the carnage outside.

“Where the TV is?” Colin asked.

“Oh yeah, I forget you’ve been down already. Yeah, down there,” John said, stuffing another mouthful in.

Colin bobbed his head a little to acknowledge John’s answer and then made his way to the door.

He walked past rows of empty desks. There must be space for a hundred staff in this office, but only a handful of them made it in this morning and one of them had left already.

He got to the door and pulled the handle, but the door didn’t budge. He pulled again, wondering if he’d done something wrong, but still it stuck fast.

“Hey, John,” Colin shouted down the office. “Is there a knack to this?”

John started to say something, but his mouth was too full. Instead he waved and started over. He was still chewing when he reached Colin.

“How do—” Colin began, but stopped speaking when John raised a finger in the air to silence him.

John made an overly pronounced swallow and smacked his lips. He said,

“It’s a swipe thingy.” He held out his ID badge on its lanyard.

He pressed it up against a small grey box at the side of the door and there was an audible clunk. He pushed the door open.

“There you go,” John said.

“Thanks.”

Colin stepped through.

It was only after the door closed behind him that he began to consider just how would he get back in. He thought of rapping on the thick windowpane to get John’s attention again and ask him what he should do, but he decided not to worry about that just yet. Instead he skipped down the stairs to the ground floor and the staff canteen.

When he got there he had a shock. There were three people sitting at a table watching the satellite feed. They all turned to look at him as he entered.

Colin recognized Mo the security guard, but there were two women sitting with him, smoking and drinking coffee. They both looked gaunt and pale, not unlike the insane people outside. Each wore a blue apron and one had a matching blue bandana that kept her hair out of the way. The younger of the two wore a distinctive red and yellow shirt under her dull tabard.

“Um, I came to see if there was anything to eat?” Colin said, transfixed by the two newcomers.

Mo stood up and gave Colin a nod before he walked to the back of the room. Instinctively, Colin followed.

“Vending machine is here,” Mo said, pressing a button.

There was the whir of a motor and the carousel slowly turned. The machine had a number of compartments stacked five high. The motor clunked to a stop as the next compartment drew level with a sliding perspex door.

“Not much of a choice,” Mo conceded. “It hasn’t been restocked after the weekend yet.”

“Thanks,” Colin said.

“No problem.” Mo started to walk back to his seat.

Colin stuttered, “Um…?”

Mo stopped. “Yes?”

Colin nodded over at the two women. “Who are they?”

“Oh, that’s Magda and Alex, the cleaners,” Mo said. “They decided to wait it out here awhile before going home.”

“Oh, okay,” Colin said.

He turned his attention to the vending machine. The selection was indeed poor. After a half a dozen turns of the carousel, each time hoping something tasty would miraculously appear, Colin gave up and settled for the cheese baguette. He poured the change from his wallet into the coin slot until the machine beeped at its fill.

Colin unwrapped his meal and stood behind the three at the table, transfixed on the screen.

“Anything new?” he asked before taking his first bite.

The bread was stale and had a rubbery texture that reminded Colin more of jerky than bread. The cheese on top was dried out and flaky, but beneath that crust it had retained a modicum of freshness.

“No, nothing new,” Mo answered. “It’s still saying to stay in your homes. No real information.”

“What about the other channels?” Colin asked.

Mo picked up the remote control and started flicking through the stations.

“A lot of them are off the air,” Mo said while clicking the remote. “Some are just showing pre-recorded programs.”

He put the remote down within easy reach of the two women and patted it in a subconscious invite for them to change the channel to something of their choosing.

“What about the news channels?” Colin asked.

Mo picked up the remote control and gave a nod to the two women. They nodded back and with their approval. Mo switched to a news channel.

An unfamiliar newscaster sat square in frame and there was a ticker of information scrolling along the bottom of the screen.

“She new?” Colin asked.

None of the three replied.

“…unrest throughout the country,” the newscaster was saying. She pressed a finger to her ear. “I’m just being told we can go live to our outside broadcast unit.”

The screen flickered to a test signal, then back to the studio before finally bringing up the image of a reporter. The camera angles was slightly Dutch, set off true.

“Are we on?” the reporter asked someone off-camera.

“Where are they?” Colin asked, trying to make out a landmark behind the reporter.

There was a crowd of jostling people behind the reporter and it didn’t take long to realize the people in the background were policemen in riot gear.

“I’m told we’re live on-air, but I can’t hear you back in the studio. The police here have been reiterating the government advice to stay off the streets. Stay in a secure location. All morning the police here have been effectively operating snatch squads, but we have just been overwhelmed. They started the day making arrests and subduing those people refusing to disperse, handcuffing them with plastic restraints and then tying them down inside police vehicles. This tactic doesn’t seem to have lessened the mobs of angry rioters and all during the morning their numbers have increased.”

“Move! Move! Move over!”

The reporter was knocked out of the way and two policemen manhandled a restrained maniac past the camera. The prisoner snarled wildly and thrashed against his restraints.

“Breach!” someone cried off-camera.

The picture bobbed and shuddered as the obviously inexperienced operator tried to find the shot.

“They’re in!” someone else shouted.

The camera spun round just in time to see a blood-drenched civilian throw himself at the reporter. Sprays of crimson fluid jetted skyward and the reporter’s screams filled the air.

An unknown voice came across the broadcast: “Cut away! Cut away, studio one!”

The camera didn’t cut away. The reporter slapped out, the microphone still in hand. Loud crunches and pops could be heard as it was used to bat away the attacker. The cameraman stood transfixed by the fight, too unwilling or too uncaring to intervene.

“Cut to studio!” the disembodied voice shouted.

Over the reporter’s screams there was a crisp sound like fresh salad being crunched and blood started spurting into the air.

“For Christ’s sake, cut it! Cut It!”

The screen went blank, but the audio continued, all the more visceral without the picture, the sounds of screaming and wet gnawing up close.

A test card flickered onscreen and the sound cut out. It hung there for a few seconds before the view switched back to the studio and a visibly shaken announcer.

She sat silently, her mouth wide open aghast at what she had just witnessed.

There were off-camera sounds, voices filled with panic and chaos.

Suddenly a channel identification burst onto the screen. A pre-recorded voice boomed, “All the news from across the globe, brought to you twenty-four seven.”

Colin whispered, “Fuck.”

He looked over at the others. Mo had a hand in front of his mouth like he was trying to hold in sick. The two cleaners sat unfazed, still smoking their cigarettes.

“Anything more?” Colin asked. “I mean, is there an explanation as to why this is happening?”

Mo toggled the remote control and started surfing through the channels for another live feed.

Colin pulled his phone out and looked at the signal bars. There was still a no service line through the icon.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Then it struck him. He pulled the phone back out and opened up the operating system. He clicked through a couple of icons and found what he was looking for.

“Turn the volume down on that a minute, would you?” he asked.

Mo obliged. hitting the mute button on the remote.

With the TV turned down, a light hissing could be heard in the room. Colin sat down opposite Mo and the two cleaners.

“What you got?” Mo asked.

“I forgot there’s an FM radio on my phone,” Colin said, playing with the settings. “I’ve never used it before, but there might be a radio station.”

He quickly worked out how to use the scan function and started trawling through the frequencies. Occasionally the hiss of static was broken by a high-pitched whine or the unintelligible bleeps of machine code.

“There's nothing there,” Mo said.

“You might be right. I don’t even know if it works,” Colin replied. “It’s picking up some weird Morse code or something, though.”

“Interference from something electrical nearby?”

“Maybe...Wait!” Colin thumbed the volume control up. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Mo asked.

Colin cycled back down the channels.

“There!” He held the phone up to the side of Mo’s face.

“Ahh, I hear something,” Mo said hesitantly. “It could be a voice.”

Colin pulled the phone back to his ear and strained to listen.

“Have you got any headphones?” he asked.

“No,” Mo replied. “I don’t own a MP3 player; not the sort of thing I use.”

Colin looked at the two women. They looked back at him blankly, their blue smocks casting a cold hue over their already pale skin, making them look gaunt and slightly sinister.

Colin broke eye contact with them.

“I’ll go upstairs and see if anyone has a pair I can borrow,” he said quickly.

Mo nodded. “I’ll let you through the doors.”

“The doors?” Colin asked.

Mo waved his security pass at him.

***

Colin jogged up the stairs, leaving Mo to return to the canteen. The stairwell was colder than the rest of the building and the hard concrete and glass construction made his harsh echoing footsteps drown out the light hiss from the radio.

He got to the office floor and looked through the narrow window.

John was still standing at the window, but now he had a can of some diet drink in his chubby hand.

Colin rapped his knuckles on the glass. John continued slurping at his drink and staring out the window.

Colin knocked again, a little harder. A face snapped into view and Colin jolted back. The door clicked open and Sharon smiled.

“You don’t have a pass, do you?”she said.

Colin shook his head.

“I suppose, given the circumstances, it makes sense to give you one. Come over to my desk.”

Colin trailed her over to her desk. As she walked he cast his eyes up to her waist. Her yellow blouse was thin and he could clearly see the back of her bra through the material. He found himself admiring her fit and obviously toned body.

“Here we are,” Sharon said, opening a desk drawer.

She turned round and smiled while passing Colin a blank swipe pass.

Although her body was well formed, her face was far from attractive. She had a slightly hooked nose and a weak chin, but the most unattractive feature was the glossy orange sheen of fake tan.

“Thanks,” Colin said.

Sharon held the badge a little longer than Colin was comfortable with.

“I was going to try and get a signal on this,” he said, breaking the awkward moment. “Are there any headphones I could borrow?”

“Bound to be,” Sharon said. “There’s a call monitoring suite in that room down there. There’s bound to be a set of headphones to spare.”

“Thanks,” Colin said again and quickly peeled off.

It didn’t take long to find a pair of cheap plastic headphones and he slipped out of the office, purposefully avoiding eye contact with John and Sharon, and trotted up the stairs. He held out the phone like it was some kind of sensor, waving it in the air as he ascended higher. He hoped that the higher up the building he went, the better a signal he would pick up, but so far that wasn’t the case.

He arrived at the top landing. Ahead of him was a door with ‘Roof Access’ engraved in a small white tag. Looking around, he couldn’t see one of those ubiquitous grey swipe boxes all the offices had. This door had an old-fashioned lock. He turned the handle, but the door didn’t budge.

Colin turned to his right, to the entrance to the fourth floor office. He peered through the arrow slit window in the door that led into the office space on this floor.

The room was populated by rows of blonde wood desks, but nothing more. He ran his pass over the swipe box and the door lock gave a clunk.

He pushed the doors open and stepped inside. Unlike the first floor there were no computers on the desks and the chairs were neatly stacked in one corner of the room. As he prowled round the vacant office trying to get the best signal strength, the only sounds were his footfalls on the carpet and the hiss of the radio. If the lack of people in the office below was surreal, this was eerie.

Delicately, he nudged the frequency button, pushing the radio’s receiving range a fraction higher. He paused for a moment, trying to listen through the static. He wandered a few feet to the right and held the phone up just above eye level. Every time he moved, the static changed subtly and he would freeze, trying to hear through the noise for the human voice underneath. When he was sure there was nothing there, he tapped the button again and repeated his protocol.

It wasn’t long before a voice started wafting in through the interference. He found himself wandering closer to the window, catching snatches of a man’s voice. Unable to make anything out, he pushed the frequency up. The voice became slightly more distinct. Odd snatches of sentences escaped the fizzing sea of interference.

Colin found himself at the south-facing window looking out across the city. The lay of the land casually sloped as it made its way to the ocean only a few miles from here. On a clear day he had no doubt he could see all the way to the coast, but looking out of the window now, there was light smog. The summer’s clear blue skies had tendrils of smoke snaking their way up from the hundreds of sporadic fires the chaos had spawned.

Colin pushed the frequency higher, still trying to hear past the electronic smog, and there it was. The hiss melted away to reveal an audible voice.

***

“Listen, that’s all I can do for you,” Stephen said coldly.

“My son needs help. You can’t just turn us out,” Liz pleaded.

“I need to get back home. I can’t drive around the city all day,” Stephen said, looking at Liz via the rear view mirror.

“You can’t just abandon us or your colleague,” Liz said franticly.

“Gary’s just a security guard. I don’t owe you or him anything,” Stephen said, the anger rising in his voice.

Gary gave a light moan and his head rolled as if he were trying to muster the energy to join in the argument. Over the hours of driving around, he and Grant had become steadily worse. Now they were both uncommunicative, sweating, and ashen-faced.

“We’re not leaving until you take us to a hospital,” Liz said firmly.

Stephen turned around in his seat. “There are no hospitals, Liz. You saw what they did—they bombed it. What am I supposed to do, conjure one up?!”

“We need to get to a doctor. They need medical attention.”

“I can’t help you. Get out,” Stephen demanded.

“You have to help us,” Liz cried.

Melissa sobbed, “Ma, I’m scared.”

“It’s okay,honey. Just be quiet for now.” Liz turned back to Stephen. “Please, you have to.”

Stephen shouted, “I don’t have to do anything! Now get the fuck out of my car!”

“Please,” Liz begged.

Stephen seemed to calm down. He rubbed a hand over his tired face and then looked back at Liz. In a measured voice, he said, “It’s the easy way or the hard way. You choose.”

“Are you threatening me?” Liz asked.

Stephen didn’t hesitate to answer, “Yes.”

He pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped out.

The alleyway felt narrower than usual. There were a number of industrial-sized bins sitting ready for refuse collection.

He walked over to the chain gate of the office parking lot and unlocked it. He pushed the gate half open and stepped back to the car.

“Get out,” he said, staring Liz in the eyes.

The young girl Liz held appeared terrified, and the boy looked like he was in a trance. In the front seat, Gary was swaying gently, delirious with fever.

“Get out!” Stephen shouted, the anger flushing his face red.

He pulled open the front passenger door and manhandled Gary out of his seat. The security guard was drenched in sweat and far heavier than Stephen anticipated.

He stumbled backwards, hauling at the docile man. Getting his feet out of the car, he dragged Gary inside the gate and lay him down on the asphalt. As he straightened up he heard the car door slam shut.

Liz had stretched over and pulled the door closed. As Stephen ran up to the car she slapped down the door locks.

“Daft bitch,” Stephen growled.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket and dangled them in front of the window.

He hit the central locking button on the car key and the door locks sprung open.

Liz lunged out and managed to lock the rear passenger door again before Stephen could yank the door open.

Thwarted, Stephen grabbed the handle for the front passenger door and beat Liz to the goal.

He leaned inside the car. Liz was still half out of her seat, frozen in her failed attempt to secure the door.

Stephen pulled his fist back.

He grumbled, “You annoying cow,” as he punched her in the face.

Liz fell back into her seat, Melissa’s screaming and a swarm of buzzing in her ears. She screwed up her eyes against the bright light and realized she was being dragged from the car.

The ground was hard and unyielding as she felt herself being dumped down. Dazed and in pain, by the time she had managed to sit up, the car was gone, the sound of its engine quickly obscured by the crying and plaintive sobs from her daughter.

An alarm sounded, high-pitched and angry.

Liz turned round to see a fire exit wide open.

“Liz?” Colin panted.

With Melissa’s help, Liz got to her feet..

Colin called above the racket, “What happened?”

Liz ran her hand under her nose. It was tender and throbbing, but there was no blood on her fingers.

“Stephen,” Liz slurred. She looked back down the alleyway in the direction he had sped off. “He hit me.”

“Are you okay?” Colin asked, getting closer. He looked down at the delirious Gary. “Is he okay? Did you not get to a hospital?”

Liz shook her head and started to cry.

Colin looked around, unsure what to do. The little girl Melissa had buried her head in her mother’s abdomen. She had started crying, too. The young boy was lying on the ground, still holding his injured hand, looking very sickly, and Gary was mumbling incoherently.

As Colin was trying to determine what he should do, a rasping moan rose above the sound of the fire exit alarm. From across the deserted car park he could see a limping figure making its way towards them along the chain link fence. He stepped up to Liz's side and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Let’s get you inside,” Colin said, gently guiding her towards the office block.

With his eyes on the figure ambling towards them, Colin jogged across the parking lotto the gate.

The flimsy metal gate squeaked slightly as he pushed it back into place. As the two halves of the gate met, the chain mesh jangled, but didn’t line up.

Colin looked more closely at the lock. It was a simple slide-over bolt, but the problem was the bolt was all the way across, stopping the gates from sitting flush. The bolt was being held in the locked position by the padlock that normally kept the gate secure, a padlock that had been snapped shut.

“Oh, Christ,” Colin cursed.

He looked around for some way of barring the gate. As he did he caught sight of the advancing figure again. Now that he was closer, Colin could see he wore an unzipped grey jacket that was missing a sleeve from the shoulder down. His dark jeans were muddy and ripped through at the knees. The cartoon figures on the front of his T-shirt were obscured by the trail of rich red blood that until recently had flowed from the gash in the man’s throat. With his stiff limbs he was fighting to move each and every step forward. He swung his legs out as if he were trying to free his feet from wet cement. The force of the motion would throw him off balance slightly and he would totter for a moment before throwing his trailing leg forward. Arduous though the movement was, he persevered.

Colin broke his gaze with the man and resumed his visual search for something that would bar the gate. He saw Liz walking wobbly toward the doorway, her daughter helping her, but the boy and Gary were lying on the asphalt.

There were a couple of cars in the car park, but without the keys to start them, there would be no way to manoeuvre them in front of the gate.

Colin looked down at his slip-on shoes and khaki shorts.

No shoelaces. Not even a belt. Even a tie would do the trick, he reasoned.

“Hell with it.”

Colin grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt and started pulling it up and off his torso.

The fence rattled close by and the moaning grew louder. By the time Colin had fumbled his way out of the t-shirt the creature was at the gate. The air smelt of iron from the fresh blood that gently oozed from its neck wound.

Colin stuffed his t-shirt halfway into the space between links.

He curled the fingers of his left hand through the chain links and held the gate shut. He slipped the finger and thumb of his right hand through the void in the chain on the other gate and started plucking at the cloth of his t-shirt. He couldn’t get enough of his fingers through the hole to get a good grip of the material. Every time he tugged, the cloth slipped a little and gave way.

The gate rattled and Colin looked up into the blank stare of the zombie.

Something cold and wet touched the fingers of his left hand. He looked across to see the zombie’s fingers touching his.

Colin jumped back in revulsion. “Christ!”

The creature heaved its lips back and threw itself at the gate. With its mouth wide open, it gurgled out a fluid-muffled scream. Spits of fresh blood cascaded from its mouth.

Colin took a step back to avoid the sickening spray.

The gate swung open and the bloodied man stumbled in with his arms outstretched, grasping for its prey.

“What’s going on?!” Mo shouted as he rushed up beside the shirtless Colin.

“I need to get this fence shut! Have you got the key?”

The zombie snarled and lunged at Colin. Colin easily sidestepped it.

He said, “You get the gate locked. I’ll keep this guy occupied,”

Mo ducked round the zombie as Colin, naked from the waist up, played rodeo clown, shouting and waving his arms wildly.

Getting to the gate, Mo pulled out his set of keys and flicked through them until he found the small brass padlock key. Before locking it, he stuck his head out and looked both ways down the alleyway. Even though the refuse bins blocked much of his view, it looked clear. He stepped back, unlocked the padlock, slid the bolt across, and secured the gate.

Behind him, Colin was still backing up the parking lot, keeping the creature’s attention.

Mo shouted, “Gary, don’t just stand there—help him!”

Gary turned at the sound and painfully started walking over to Colin.

Colin caught the movement from the corner of his eye and turned in time to see Gary raising his arms to grab him.

“Christ!” Colin spat out as he threw himself out of reach.

The sudden dodge made him stumble. Losing his balance, he fell flat on his back.

Insulated from the pain of the fall by adrenaline and fear, Colin scurried away on his backside until he could get to his feet again.

“What’s up with you, Gary?!” Mo shouted, keeping his distance from his colleague. He looked over at Colin. “You okay?”

Colin nodded.

“Lucky they’re slow bastards,” he said.

“Gary, snap out of it,” Mo said. “What are you doing?”

Gary, his eyes glazed over, had switched targets and was now heading for Mo. Colin kept the other crazed man focused on him by staying in his line of sight and taunting him.

“He can’t answer you, Mo,” Colin said, panting slightly. “He’s gone.”

“What’s up with you?” Mo said, backing up to maintain his distance.

“He’s dead,” Colin said.

“What? No way.”

“It was on the radio. If they bite you, you’ll get infected and become one of them.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Mo asked. “We can’t just keep doing this until they get tired of chasing us.”

“They don’t move fast. We can make a run for the door and lock them out,” Colin said.

“Okay.”

Colin nodded. “Ready? Go!”

The two men turned and dashed for the fire exit.

Colin cursed, “Shit!”

Mo turned to see Colin running back to the gate.

“Where are you going?!”

Colin hit the gate and yanked his t-shirt free. He shouted back at Mo, “Go! Go! Go!”

Running full tilt, Colin easily dodged the two zombies and scurried into the office block just seconds behind Mo.

Mo slammed the door closed and the whining emergency siren stopped wailing. He sunk against the breeze block wall, his hand across his heart, breathing heavily.

“That was just whacked,” Mo said, shaking his head.

There was a thump at the door, followed by another and then another.

“What the hell is going on out there?” Sharon was trotting down the stairs towards Mo and Colin.

“I think we need to get everyone together,” Colin said, pulling his t-shirt back on.

“Why?” Sharon demanded. “What’s happening out there? Who’s banging on that door?”

“Get everyone to meet in the canteen,” Colin said.

“You’re not in charge here,” Sharon said coldly.

“I’ve got news for you: no one’s in charge here,” Colin countered.

Sharon looked over at Mo for support. Mo simply shrugged and stood up from his slumped position against the wall.

***

Colin pushed open the door to the canteen and was followed in by Sharon.

Liz was sitting with the two cleaning ladies, a wet cloth over her cheek. The young girl was flicking through the TV channels.

“Who are we missing?” Colin asked.

“Just John,” Sharon said.

Liz stood up. She asked, “Where’s Grant?”

Colin’s faced dropped. “I thought he was with you.”

“No,” Liz said.

She pushed the chair back and threw the cloth onto the table. The side of her face where Stephen had punched her looked red and swollen.

“You didn’t leave him outside?” Liz asked.

“No, no, I’m sure of it,” Colin replied. “We’d have seen him.”

Liz marched up to Colin. “We have to find him.”

Colin put his hands on Liz’s shoulders to stop her. He could feel her trembling.

“We’ll find him,” he assured her.

“What’s that banging?” Liz asked. She pushed to get past Colin. “Is that him banging on the door?”

“No, he’s not outside,” Colin said.

“Who’s banging then?!” Liz demanded.

“It’s Gary and some other guy,” Colin said, not letting go of Liz’s shoulders.

“You have to let them in—maybe they’ve seen Grant!”

Liz slapped Colin’s hand from her shoulders.

“No,” Coin said firmly. “They’ve changed. They’re like the others.”

“What others?”

“Like the ones who attacked you this morning—like the ones in the streets. They’ve been changed.”

“I was just with Gary. He was... Well, he wasn’t okay but he wasn’t one of them,” Liz said. “Grant! We need to find Grant before something happens to him!”

Colin heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He turned and saw Mo and John on their way down..

“Look, you stay here. Look after your girl. We’ll look for your son,” Colin said.

He gently applied pressure to Liz’s shoulders to steer her back to her seat.

Sharon stepped aside to make space for John and Mo to enter the canteen.

“Okay,” Colin began, “since we’re all in one place, I need to tell you something.”

He slipped his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his phone with the headphones tangled around it.

“I got a signal on this,” he explained. “It said these people are infected with some disease or something that makes them attack you.”

The room was silent, but in the background they could still hear the banging on the door.

“So we need to get Gary to a doctor then,” Mo said.

“No, there’s more,” Colin said, looking down at the phone. He took a deep breath and brought his head up to face the room. “It’s irreversible. The voice on the radio said they were dead.”

“You mean it’s fatal?” John asked.

“No, I mean it kills you then brings you back as one of those.” Colin looked over his shoulder in the direction of the emergency exit.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Sharon said.

“No, it’s true and the only way to stop them is to damage the brain,” Colin said.

“That’s outlandish!” Sharon countered. “You don’t expect us to believe that?”

“Listen,” Colin said, switching on his phone.

The phone lit up, showing a crack running down the screen.

“What?” Colin whispered, looking at the bleached-out screen.

“Let us all hear then,” Sharon said.

Colin studied the phone and the myriad cracks fanning out across it.

“It’s broken,” he said in resignation.

“Oh, how convenient,” Sharon replied.

Colin tapped the face of the phone. “I must have landed on it when I fell in the car park.”

“This is ridiculous. I need to find my son.” Liz pushed past Colin, making her way to the door.

“Okay,” Colin said, shuffling to place himself in Liz’s path. “Why don’t you stay with your daughter? We’ll look for your son.”

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“Look, when we find him he’ll be scared. He’ll want you. It’s best we know where to find you so we can bring him straight to you. You stay here and we’ll all go and look.”

Colin looked around for approval.

“Yeah, sure, you wait here and we’ll go look,” Mo said.

Liz took a deep breath and turned to gaze at her daughter. Melissa was clutching onto her mother’s dress. Although almost a teenager, Melissa looked younger and more vulnerable that she had since she was a baby. She placed her hand on the back of Melissa’s head.

Liz pursed her lips and nodded. “Okay.”

Colin turned to Mo, Sharon, and John, and made an ushering motion with his hands.

The four of them stepped out into the corridor.

“You know the building better than me,” Colin said. “Where could he be?”

“He could have wandered up the stairwells, into reception maybe, even the plant room or loading bay, but all the rest of the doors need a pass,” Mo said.

“That’s good news. It means he can’t be far,” Colin said.

“What about the cleaners?” Sharon asked.

“Alex and Magda,” Mo offered.

Sharon did nothing to acknowledge Mo’s prompt.

"Why aren’t they doing this?” she said.

Colin’s mind was blank. He couldn’t think of a good reason why he hadn’t gotten them involved.

Having heard their names, Alex and Magda were paying more attention.

“Their English isn’t very good,” Mo cut in. “By the time we explain to them what we want them to do, we’ll have been quicker doing it ourselves.”

“All right, Mo, what’s the best way to go about this?” Colin asked.

“I’ll check the lobby, reception, loading bay, and the plant room. I’ve got to walk through reception to get to the plant room anyway. The rest of you the stairwells, I suppose,” Mo said.

John let out a huff of air at the thought of the climb.

“Do what you like, but I have work to do,” Sharon said sharply and started walking back to her office.

“You want the East or the West stairwells?” Colin asked John.

”I’ll take the West,” John replied quickly.

Colin looked back at the canteen before addressing the two men. “Be careful. The kid’s been bitten. That’s how the radio said the infection spreads.”

“Do you believe that?” Mo asked.

“That guy in the car park out there had his throat torn open and he was still going. I felt his hand and it was ice cold.”

Neither John nor Mo looked convinced.

Colin lent in closer to the two men. “Whether or not they’re dead, the fact is that if you get infected you go mental and start attacking people. That’s reason enough not to take any chances.”

Mo and John nodded.

“Once you’ve done your search, meet back at the canteen,” Colin added.

The other two gave verbal nods.

The men parted ways.

***

Mo made his way to the lobby. He opened the door and stepped through, checking the corners and any spaces a small boy could hide in. He walked over to the desk to look behind it when he heard a noise.

He turned to see John nonchalantly tailing him into the lobby.

“Where are you going?” Mo asked.

“I’m checking the stairwell,” John said indignantly.

“Stairwell’s back there,” Mo said, confused.

“Start from the top and work down,” John said, pointing at the ceiling.

“What?”

“I’m taking the elevator up,” John explained.

"Oh, okay.”

Mo shook his head. Had he thought about it, he would have known there was no way John would walked up to the fourth floor.

John sauntered up to the elevator and pressed the call button.

“Bloody thing’ll take an age coming down all the way from the fourth,” he huffed.

Mo ignored him and went about searching the lobby and reception areas. There was a toilet and a security room and behind the reception desk to check.

When Mo had checked these, he moved on to the access corridor for the plant room and the small loading bay. John was still waiting for the lift.

Mo shook his head, despairing at John’s laziness.

“I could have been up those stairs and back down again in the time he’s been standing there, he thought.

He walked down the short corridor to the loading bay and opened the plant room door. There was instantly the noise of machinery and the hum of electricity.

Mo stepped in.

He called out, “Hello?”

Although the room was well lit, it was populated by towering metal cases adorned with dials and lights that provided a multitude of nooks and crannies ideal for hiding a small boy.

He stepped further into the room, trying to look past the rows of silver lagged pipes and blocks of ductwork.

Suddenly there was a whine and movement from above. Mo whipped round and looked up.

He let out a sigh of relief when he realised it was just the lift mechanism gearing up. He turned to continue his search and his heart stopped. Towering in front of him was a man in blue overalls.

“Oh, you gave me a start, Thomas,” Mo panted.

“What’s up?” Thomas asked.

“I didn’t even know you were in.”

“You know me; this place keeps me busy,” Thomas said.

Mo looked back at the plant room. He could see a newspaper spread wide open over a relatively short and flat item of plant equipment, a chair pushed back a short distance from it.

“What brings you in here?” Thomas asked. “I’m guessing it’s a quiet day, judging by how little the lift has been used.”

“I don’t know where to begin, Thomas,” Mo said. “It has been absolute chaos out there.”

“Agent Orange giving you grief?”

“Agent Orange? Sharon? No man, I’m being serious. World War Three or something has broken out out there.”

Mo turned and looked back up at the lift gearing, suddenly struck by a thought.

“Why was the lift at the top floor?” he asked.

Thomas shrugged. “Beats me. It went up just a minute ago.”

Mo turned and ran.

“John!” Mo shouted as he skidded into the lobby.

John turned, surprise on his face. “What?”

The lift pinged and the door slid open.

A blur of snapping teeth pounced, growling at John. John flailed his arms wildly as he was toppled to the floor.

Mo screamed, “John!”

“Get it off me!” John screamed from behind his arms.

“Colin! Colin!” Mo called, running in to help.

“Get off me!” John screeched.

Mo swooped down, grabbing the boy by the scruff of his neck. The boy thrashed and snarled with strength beyond his youth. He managed to pull the furious creature back a fraction. He again called down the corridor, “Colin! Colin!”

The livid, thrashing tangle of limbs hissed and wailed, trying to eviscerate the man on the ground.

The wheeling creature managed to break Mo’s grasp and fell on top of John again. John screamed in absolute terror.

Colin came tearing around the corner. Without reducing his speed, he threw himself towards the pair on the floor. Colin caught the boy full-on with a vicious tackle and they went skittering across the lobby.

Mo leapt at the knot of limbs. He grabbed the child’s arm tight and thrust his knee into his shoulder blade. Colin rolled free, leaving the boy pinned face down on the ground.

There was a crunching noise and Mo’s face dropped. The boy had thrashed so hard he dislocated his arm from its socket.

He looked over at Colin, revulsion sweeping across him.

The boy started to turn towards Mo, no longer constrained by the arm lock.

Mo dropped the lock and the boy’s arm flopped to the floor.

Colin jumped onto the boy’s back holding him down with his weight.

Liz thundered into the lobby.

She screamed, “Grant!”

The boy didn’t respond. He just continued to wriggle and squirm, trying to twist his head far enough around to bite his oppressor.

“Stay back!” Mo warned, but Liz was ignoring him.

Mo grabbed her from behind and held her back.

“Let go of me!” Liz screamed.

“Stay back—he’s changed,” Colin said.

“What the hell is going on?” Thomas asked, stepping into the lobby.

“Don’t hurt him,” Liz cried.

“Who the hell is he?” Colin asked, looking at the tall man in the boiler suit.

Mo started to answer, “Thomas the—”

Colin shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You have anything we can use to tie the boy up with?”

Liz sobbed, “No!”

“There’s some duct tape in the loading bay,” Mo said.

“Go get it.”

Mo looked reluctant to let go of his grip around Liz.

She pleaded, “Please just let him go.”

“Liz, I can’t,” Colin said. “Can’t you see he’s turned. He’ll attack you.”

Liz fell to her knees sobbing.

Mo went to grab her again, but Colin shook his head.

“Go get the tape,” he said.

Mo nodded and ran off to the loading bay.

“Ow. I think I’ve hurt my back,” John said, still lying in front of the elevator.

***

“It’s your turn, John,” Colin said.

John protested, “What? Why bother?”

“It’s not like you’re doing anything else,” Colin said.

“It’s just creepy. Besides, he’s with his mother.”

“That’s why I want someone to sit with them. I don’t want Liz doing something stupid, like untying him.”

John hadn’t moved.

“Get your ass up there and let Mo take a break,” Colin said sternly. “Now go on.”

“Why me? Why can’t he go?” John asked, pointing at Thomas. “Or you?”

He noticeably refrained from singling out Sharon, his boss.

“Cause we’ve all been,” Thomas said.

“I hurt my back and I think I might have concussion after this afternoon,” John complained.

“We checked you over. You’re fine,” Colin said.

“You can’t know that. You’re not a doctor.”

“Suck it up,” Thomas said. “I once broke my ankle up a mountain and had to walk six miles to get to the ambulance. You fell over in the lobby.”

“I didn’t fall over—I was attacked.”

“All right, enough of this squabbling,” Sharon said. “John, would you please just go upstairs and keep an eye on Liz?”

John huffed and reluctantly pulled himself up from his chair.

Colin placed his broken phone on the desk where he’d been sitting and wandered over to the window to look out over the street.

“There’s more of them out there now,” he said.

“So what if there are,” Sharon said sharply.

“Don’t pretend you’re still working over there,” Colin said, not even bothering to look over at Sharon.

She sat back. The computer had a number of spreadsheets and word documents open, none of which Sharon had done any real work to.

“I suppose we’ll be in here for the night,” Sharon said, standing up.

Colin nodded.

“There’s a bed and maybe a couple of blankets in the first aid station,” Sharon said.

“We’d better think about closing these windows. It’s warm enough for the time being, but I it’ll probably cool down overnight,” Colin said. “People will be getting hungry, too. Is there any food in the building?”

“Just the vending machines downstairs. Oh, and there are a half dozen boxes of chocolates in one of those cupboards. Leaving presents and incentives sort of thing.”

“Well, a box of chocolates each isn’t going to cut it.”

“If you have any better ideas I’d be open to them,” Sharon snapped.

“Whoa! I didn’t mean anything by it—I’m just stating a fact,” Colin said.

Sharon pursed her lips.“It’s been a difficult day.”

Colin sensed that was all the apology he was going to get.

“I noticed there were a few things in the vending machine,” he said. “Have you got a key so we can get them out?”

Sharon shook her head. “The vending machines are on contract. We don’t have anything to do with them.”

“Smash them open then?” Colin said.

“I can unscrew the access panel and get in that way,” Thomas offered.

“Will it not be easier to just drop the cash in?” Sharon asked.

“We got enough loose change? I used the last of mine on the sandwich I got out for lunch,” Colin said.

“There’s money in the petty cash,” Sharon said. “I’m sure I can authorise its use in circumstances like these.”

“That would be the simplest thing—”

The lights flickered and with a sharp plink turned off completely.

“What was that?” Colin asked.

“My terminal has gone dead,” Sharon said.

“Backup will kick in in a second,” Thomas said reassuringly.

There was a sequential ticking noise from overhead and in a wave the lights came back on.

“See? What did I tell you?”

“How long will it run?” Colin asked.

Thomas stood up from the chair he had been reclining in and looked at the lights as if he could divine some arcane knowledge from them.

“Well,” Thomas began, “if it’s just the lights and a few computers, we can’t be talking at much more than fifteen K. That’s not a heavy load. In fact it’ll be under the regulator’s minimal threshold—”

“How long, Thomas?” Colin asked again.

“I’d have to check the tank. I don’t think it’s been filled since the last continuity test, but these things usually run for a good twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Maybe more.” Thomas nodded his head as if agreeing with himself.

“There will be some torches in the loading bay or the security office, won't there?” Colin asked.

“Yeah, a couple. Nothing fancy—just cheap double-D flashlights. Why? What would you use them for?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to let the generator run,” Colin said.

”Why ever not?” Sharon asked.

“Well, for one, we don’t know how long we’ll be here. Surely there’s no point keeping the lights on all night while we’re sleeping.”

“There are a lot of scared people in here. I know it sounds childish, but it might not be a bad idea to keep the nightlight on, as it were.”

“You have a point, but there are a lot of those things out there.”

“Don’t call them that,” Sharon protested.

“Whatever you want to call them, there’s a lot of activity outside. Not all of it will be welcome. With the grid down, you might be turning on more than a nightlight—you’ll be turning on a beacon for people from miles around to see.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Thomas said. “At least the emergency services will see us.”

“Have you taken a look outside?” Colin asked. He waved his hand to invite the other two to take a look. “I don’t think there’s much of the emergency services left.”

Thomas walked over to the window, followed closely by Sharon.

“Besides, if we leave the generator running all the time we’ll be out of power in a day, maybe two.” Colin looked at Thomas for a nod of agreement. “If we ration it out, only use it when we have to, we can make the power last.”

“Why do we need it to last?” Sharon asked.

The three of them looked out across the vista of the city they could see from their vantage point. The sky was thick with smoke and the street below was teeming with wandering figures.

“I very much doubt this will be over in just a couple of days,” Colin said.

Chapter 6

Facing Facts

Liz looked at her son. He was bound with duct tape at the wrists, ankles, and across his mouth. There was also a knot of bungee cord tethered through a floor panel to prevent him from wriggling beyond the confines of his makeshift cell.

She sat on a chair in this empty office, listening to her child’s grunts echo off the bare walls.

She had watched the boy twist and contort, trying his best to break free with the limited range of motion he had. She tried to calm him down by talking to him, but he had resolutely ignored her. He didn’t respond to his own mother. He didn’t get tired of struggling. He didn’t even look like her son anymore.

Grant’s skin was waxy and grey now. His eyes rolled back deep in his skull so that all she could see were the bloodshot whites. Even then, over the hours sitting here, the last hues of colour had drained from him, leaving him ghostly and wan.

It was unnatural the way he constantly fought against his bonds. For hour upon hour he struggled relentlessly. All the time the child moaned from behind his taped-shut lips. It was the same moan that Liz could hear from beyond the windows out in the streets. It was a call, not a plea—a rallying call to attract the others like him.

“I want to touch him,” Liz said, staring at Grant.

She heard Mo shift position behind her.

“What?” Mo replied, genuinely shocked.

“I want to feel his skin,” Liz said.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Mo answered.

“He’s not right. I can see that, but I need to touch him to feel if he’s still in there.”

Mo shook his head. “I think it’s too dangerous.”

“I’m not going to untie him. I just need to feel if he’s still in there.”

Mo let out a puff of air through his nostrils and nodded his head.

“Okay,” he said reluctantly.

Liz stood up from the chair she was sitting on at the prescribed safe distance Colin had insisted upon. She stepped across to her child. He didn’t desist his struggle.

“Grant?” Liz said, kneeling down next to the boy.

Grant made no acknowledgment of his mother’s voice. He just continued to fight, trying to break free and attack her.

She stretched her hand out to cradle his cheek, but as her hand drew close he snapped round to bite it. The muscles around his lips strained as he tried to rip free off the duct tape over his mouth.

She brought both hands up and cradled his juddering head between them.

“Still now. Calm down,” she said softly.

The skin on Grant’s face was cold and stodgy to the touch. She slipped her right hand down to his neck and grasped it in a stranglehold.

“What are you doing?!” Mo exclaimed.

”I’m checking for a pulse,” Liz said.

“Do you believe what Colin said? That they’re dead?” Mo asked.

Liz didn’t reply. She sat quietly for a few seconds, holding the boy by the throat.

Eventually she stood up and walked past Mo.

Puzzled, Mo turned to follow and was about to chase after her when John came onto the floor.

“Liz,” Mo said.

She didn’t acknowledge him.

“Liz?” Mo said more softly.

She turned round, her head slightly bowed. She slowly shook her head, then turned and walked past John.

“Colin asked me to give you a break,” John said.

“Thanks,” Mo replied.

He took a last look back at the writhing child and left the floor.

“Liz,” Mo called.

He could hear crying coming from the toilet across the landing. He walked up to the door with the ladies pictogram, and rapped on it.

“Liz, are you okay?” Mo asked.

As soon as he’d said it he knew it was a stupid question. This morning she had seen her husband killed and this afternoon witnessed her son turn into a monster.

“Liz, I’d like to help.”

“Go away,” Liz sobbed.

“If that’s what you want.”

The sobbing stopped and he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The door swung open violently.

Liz stood before him. She was roughly the same height as Mo, but the anger held her rigid and Mo felt small and intimidated by her.

“My son is in that room in some horrific limbo state. My husband is dead in the street and I have a little girl downstairs no doubt just as terrified by all this as I am. But I don’t have the luxury of breaking down in tears because my daughter needs her mother to be strong. Can you not leave me alone for five minutes to do some grieving on my own?”

“I’m sorry,” Mo said, feeling belittled.

He backed up from the entrance to the woman’s toilets.

“If I can do anything to help, anything at all, just let me know.”

Liz’s angry glare did not soften.

Mo turned and headed back down the stairs.

***

Sharon was gazing out of the window onto the street as if she was watching TV in a showroom, trying to choose which one to buy.

“You okay?” Colin asked.

“Considering, yes I’m fine,” Sharon replied.

“I should have gone with Stephen when I had the chance,” Colin said.

“Why?” Sharon asked, still looking out onto the street.

“I should have tried to get to the school just in case any of the kids had turned up.”

“Oh,” Sharon said absentmindedly.

“I know they would have been dropped off by their parents—at least I hope they would’ve. I mean, I hate to think of some poor kid stranded during all this.” Colin continued, “Have you got children?”

“What?” Sharon snapped out of her trance. “No.”

“Me neither,” Colin said. “Would like to someday.”

He looked out the window. The sun was getting low in the sky and it wouldn’t be long before night fell. In the street below there were innumerable figures wandering randomly to and fro,so many it was becoming difficult to spot the tarmac at their feet.

“Yeah, I’d like to be a dad some day when all this is done with,” Colin said.

“What makes you think all this will be over?” Sharon asked.

“Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

Sharon shook her head. “Look at it out there. There are hundreds—if not thousands—of those maniacs in the street. There are fires all over the city and have you seen any signs that it’s going to end soon?”

Colin was silent for a moment.

“The government will swing into action. It just takes time for them to get organised, that’s all,” he said finally.

“This is happening everywhere, Colin. You saw the news when it was still broadcasting.”

“You really think it’s that serious?”

Sharon turned to look at the deserted office. She said, “Of course it’s that serious. I have a staff of almost three hundred. Take a look around. Do you see any of them?”

The empty office spoke for itself.

“One percent of my staff turned up for work today and that includes me,” Sharon said. “And I know we’re just a poxy little office doing a meaningless job in the grand scheme of things, but if this is typical of what’s going on elsewhere I don’t see how things can get back to normal, at least not quickly.”

“So we’re in this for the long haul,” Colin said.

“We need to start making plans, because I very much doubt we’ll wake up tomorrow morning to find street cleaners outside mopping up the mess.”

There was a clunk and the lights went out.

“What’s happened to the power?” Colin asked, looking up at the ceiling. “I thought we were running off the generator?”

“I asked Thomas to switch it off for the night,” Sharon replied. “I think you were right. I think we need to conserve what power we have and try not to advertise our presence here.Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check my laptop’s switched off. No point wasting the battery life if I’m not using it.”

***

Colin jerked awake from a sleep he would have sworn he’d never had. The woman’s coat he’d found on a hanger in a cupboard wasn’t long enough to cover all of him. He had scrunched himself into a ball, but as soon as he relaxed or turned he would expose a bare leg or arm to the cold air, and every time he moved he got a fresh whiff of the woman’s fragrance that lingered on the fabric.

This was not the only barrier to sleep. The manmade fibres of the floor tiles were rasping and bristly. The other occupants coughed or snored or whimpered in the dark. And the unfamiliarity with the building meant that any unidentified sound piqued his fear that one of those things outside had broken in or that the boy upstairs had broken loose. But despite this, exhaustion snatched at him and forced him to doze even if it was for only a few minutes.

He turned over and rearranged the coat trying to cover his legs up.

He breathed in and caught a mote of smoke over the perfume.

Nervously, Colin sat up and sniffed the air. There was a warm orange glow coming in through the windows, but it wasn’t the fires outside he could smell. He stood up as quietly as he could. He looked around, but there wasn’t enough ambient light to reveal the interior of the office. He cautiously made his way over to the window, feeling for tables or chairs that might impede his path. Before it went dark the maintenance guy had found three torches and placed them all end-up in a row on the windowsill; that way if someone needed to go to the toilet in the middle of the night there wouldn’t be any accidents.

Colin made it over to the window without any collisions and noticed one of the torches was missing. He picked up the second and switched it on. An oval of light fell across the floor. Using the faintly illuminated exit sign above the door and the sickly yellow of the torch, he successfully navigated his way out of the office.

With the power off, the security doors had defaulted to open and he walked on through without having to use his visitor’s pass. The door creaked ferociously, like a tree about to be felled by a storm. There were a couple of coughs from behind him and the fresh rustling of clothing, but no one got up.

On the other side of the door, Colin held the handle and let the door slip back into its frame as quietly as he could.

He took a sniff of air through his nostrils. There was a definite smell of tobacco lingering in the stairwell. He walked over to the handrail and looked down into the darkness. There was nothing. He looked up and saw a faint light at the top of the stairs.

He decided to investigate.

As he climbed he began to hear voices. Reaching the fourth floor, he saw the roof access door that had been locked shut earlier was now open. He entered and climbed up a smaller stairwell to emerge on the roof of the building.

The wind was gently blowing and the smell of burning assaulted his nostrils, overwhelming all trace of tobacco he’d followed from downstairs.

He took a few steps past the entrance and saw Thomas and one of the cleaners sitting on the edge of the building.

Colin walked over.

“Hi,” he said to announce his arrival.

“Hey there,” Thomas said.

“Hello,” the Polish woman replied.

In the light he couldn’t tell which one she was, Magda or Alex; he hadn’t gotten to know them well enough yet to tell them apart.

The cleaner offered over her lit cigarette.

”Oh, no thanks. I don’t smoke,” Colin said.

The woman seemed to understand and she drew the cigarette back to her lips.

“It’s the end of the fucking world out there,” Thomas said.

Colin looked out over the city. Much of it was ablaze. The clouds of smog that hung overhead reflected back the soft orange taint of the fires below.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” Colin said.

“What radio saying?” the cleaner asked in clipped English.

“Is that safe?” Colin asked, pointing at the woman’s legs dangling over the side of the building.

The woman bent forward to look down at the ground from between her feet.

“Whoa, don’t do that,” Colin said, feeling queasy.

“You worry too much,” she said, still looking down at the darkness below.

“What else did the radio say?” Thomas asked, taking a draw of his cigarette.

“I didn’t catch much; just that it’s a contagion spread by bites and that people should stay in their homes and...” Colin hesitated.

“And what?” Thomas asked.

Colin uneasily shuffled his feet on the gravel.

“I know it’s hard to digest, but the radio said they were dead. It said this disease or infection was bringing them back to life. They attack other people, biting and scratching at them, I guess as a way to spread the infection.”

His audience was silent, smoking their cigarettes.

“It said the only way to stop them was to decapitate them.” Colin saw the cleaner’s blank expression. “To chop off their heads.”

“Strzyga,” the Polish woman said, cigarette in mouth.

“Stiz…what?” Colin asked.

“Strzyga. The dead who rise from grave. Fairy story. Those whose souls don’t leave the body rise after death. Feast on human flesh,” she said. “Only way to stop them is…” She drew a finger across her neck and made a burbling hiss as she did so.

“Charming culture you have there, Alex,” Thomas said. He turned to Colin. “What else did the radio say?”

“Don’t know. I fell on it and it broke,” Colin said with a shrug.

“So what do we do?” Thomas asked.

“Don’t know,” Colin admitted. “I guess sit tight for a bit.”

“How long do we stay here?” the woman asked.

“The radio didn’t say anything to give me an idea. It must be pretty major. I guess we wait as long as we can, play things by ear.”

“What is this with your ear?” she asked.

“Um, it’s an expression. Means we’ll just have to wait and see what happens,” Colin explained.

The woman took a long draw from her cigarette and inhaled deeply. She held the smoke a lot longer than Colin thought possible before blowing it out in a steady stream.

“Best get some sleep.” She flicked the spent stub off into the void.

Colin watched as the tumbling ember plunged into the darkness and disappeared.

Alex swung her legs back over onto the roof and stood up. “Be ready to meet things by ear, no?”

Tuesday

Chapter 8

Life Lesson

The sun was up, Karen guessed, but the thick haze of smoke blotted its arrival in the sky. The headlight from the bike was still visible on the ash-coated road, but not as strong now. She wanted to check her phone to find out what time it was, but she knew she couldn’t stop. She could feel Shan’s arms wrapped around her waist, not as tightly as they had been at first, and her chest rising and stuttering as she sobbed.

Something warm trickled its way down the back of Karen’s neck. She didn’t know if it was blood or tears.

“We’ll be there soon,” Karen assured her friend.

“It hurts so fucking much,” Shan growled.

Karen turned the handlebars of the bike to avoid a zombie and the pain in her shoulder flared.

Still, it was nothing compared to her friend’s injuries. Karen had come off lightly. Her shoulder was chewed up pretty badly. Ordinarily she could see herself milking it for a couple of weeks of school, but she had no such luxury now. Her mother and father were gone and now she only had Shan.

Even then she could have lost her, too.

“It’s just round the corner and we’ll be there. Hang on, Shan.”

Karen mounted the pavement to cut past a knot of abandoned cars. As she did she felt Shan’s grip around her waist slacken.

“Stay with me, Shan. We’re almost there,” Karen said, engaging her friend to keep her conscious. “Look up ahead, What can you see?”

They drove past a bright yellow digger surrounded by mesh fencing to protect it from vandals. It sat on the outside of a playing field. Behind the grey fencing the flat grass swept up to a long blocky building.

“It’s the fucking school,” Shan groaned.

“Bet you didn’t think we’d be coming here during the school holidays,” Karen said.

Shan simply grunted.

Karen pulled up in front of the school gates. They were locked. Skirting along the side of the road she tried the pupil entrance further along, but it too was barred.

A handful of zombies had taken an interest in the buzzing of the bike and were plodding their way towards them.

“The dog bolt at the back of Science,” Shan mumbled.

Karen tugged the accelerator and sped off, following the line of the school fence. She quickly took the bike round a thick clump of bushes and round to a strip of wasteland between the school and adjoining housing.

There was an old wooden fence, greasy and knotted with splintered edges. Karen pulled the bike up to the fence and stopped it.

“That’s as far as we can take this,” she said.

Painfully, Shan eased herself off the bike and waited for her companion to park it. The adrenaline from last night had drained from her and she shook like there was ice inside her veins. Blood still trickled from the mess of torn flesh at the side of her face.

Karen saw her holding back and took the lead. One of the slats in the fence was missing and the two adjoining ones had been snapped at the middle. The hole was just big enough for the girls to tiptoe inside, then duck through the gap. A narrow path flanked by gangly grasses and only the breadth of a single foot width meandered its way down the corridor of waste ground. As they passed, their legs brushed the stalks back, leaving a faint line of pollen below the knee. To the left the stiff branches of bushes squeezed their way past the slats of the metal fence. On the right was the creosote-stained wood that formed the boundary to the back gardens beyond. A few metres into the corridor the path took a sharp left-hand turn. Ducking low, the girls squeezed themselves through the tunnel of snapped branches and through a twisted and bent hole in the fencing to emerge at the back of the school’s science block. The ground here was littered with discarded drinks cans, wrappers, and spent cigarette butts.

“How do we get in?” Karen asked.

“Break a window,” Shan answered.

“We can’t...” Karen stopped herself. After everything that had happened since yesterday, breaking a window was a small matter. “I suppose. Which one though?”

Shan pointed down the side of the school block. “That’ll do.”

They walked down a slight incline to join a paving slab path that ringed most of the school building.

“How do we break it?” Karen asked.

“I don’t know,” Shan snapped. “Find a brick or something.”

“Okay,” Karen said softly.

Shan slumped against the wall and made a controlled slide down it, ending up in a sitting position with her knees up by her chest.

“You be okay?” Karen asked.

Shan waved her off.

Karen started skirting the path and the edge of the playing field. It wasn’t long before she found a snapped corner of a paving stone she managed to work loose. She trotted back, holding the lump of concrete like a shot-putt.

Shan was still slumped up against the wall when Karen returned.

“Watch out,” Karen said.

She pulled her arm back and threw the lump of concrete at one of the classroom windows. The projectile went straight through the glass with a tremendous crash. The window was left with a hole twice the size of the object that had hurtled through it, but Karen was disappointed. She had envisioned that the whole window would just simply evaporate, leaving a clear window frame to climb in through. Instead there were razor edge splinters creeping out from the break.

Karen slipped off her shoe, and using the heel as a hammer she gingerly tapped at the remaining glass to free it. With each successful tap she would jump back out of the way of the crashing shards. Once the window was cleared,she swept the inside and outside ledges clean with the sole of her shoe. Confident she had removed anything that could cut her, she slipped her shoe back on and clambered into the classroom. She landed with a crunch as the broken glass shifted under her weight.

Karen looked back out of the window.

“You coming?” she asked.

“What?” Shan snapped. “No, I’m not coming. Go round and open the door for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh,” Karen said sheepishly, realizing her stupidity.

She trotted out of the classroom and into the hallway. It was a shock how alien it felt. With the power off, only the light filtering through the empty classrooms illuminated the corridor. The air was still and cold, but the silence was the eeriest thing. No period bells ringing, no sound of shoes squeaking on the polished floors, no voices.

There was a soft crunch of glass from underfoot. Karen scuffed the sole of her foot down the rough breezeblock wall, knocking free a mote of glass imbedded in the plastic.

She moved on to the fire door at the bottom of the middle stairwell. She pushed the bar down and pushed the door open.

She called out, “Shan.”

Shan moaned, and without raising her head she stretched out her arms at the sound of Karen’s voice.

Karen scurried over and took Shan’s hands.

“You’re freezing,” Karen said as she pulled Shan upright.

Shan gave a displeased moan and threw her arms around Karen.

“Come on, let’s get you to the nurse’s office.”

“Thanks,” Shan muttered.

The pair shuffled down the abandoned hallways to the administration block.

Although the nurse’s office was locked, it didn’t take much to break the flimsy internal door open. Karen laid Shan on the bed and rifled through the medical cabinet until she found all the equipment she thought she’d need.

“Any painkillers in there?” Shan asked, looking at the various first aid supplies.

“Nah, I don’t think they’re allowed to give you any. You’ve got to bring your own and have a note.”

“This is fucking killing me,” Shan protested.

“I’ll clean the wound out and get a dressing on it, then I’ll look for some painkillers.”

“Miss Gilmore has had a migraine forever. She’s always popping something,” Shan offered.

Karen turned round, a wad of white tissue in one hand, a pair of tweezers in the other.

“I’ll check her desk after I look after you,” she said.

“What’re you doing with those?”

“I need to clean the wound out. Otherwise it’ll go bad.”

Shan sunk back into the sick bay bed.

“Do it fast,” she said.

***

Mo walked into the canteen and saw only two of the tables occupied. There was a cluster sitting at the table in front of the TV: Thomas, Colin, Magda, and Alex. Further back, Liz sat with her daughter Melissa.

“There’s no banging on the fire door,” Mo said, taking a seat between Colin and Thomas.

“I took a look out the window. They’re still in the car park, just wandering around aimlessly,” Colin answered. “Reckon if we don’t attract their attention they won’t bother us.”

“What are we doing about breakfast?” Mo asked.

Thomas snorted out a plume of smoke from his cigarette.

“Not much of a breakfast,” he grumbled, holding out the lit cigarette as if he were examining it.

“I run off coffee most mornings, anyway,” Colin said, taking a swig from his plastic cup.

“Anything new on TV?” Mo asked.

“Fifty-seven channels and nothing on,” Thomas said.

“Just the looped announcement that people should stay in their homes, to avoid contact with others, and co-operate with local law enforcement and military forces,” Colin said.

“It’s just a recorded message; you don’t even see an announcer on screen. All it is is that.” Thomas pointed at the screen.

Mo looked at the static image. It was a crude graphic spelling out exactly what Colin had said.

“Suppose I’ll get some breakfast then,” Mo said, standing back up.

He walked over to the vending machine and punched the buttons for a coffee.

He carefully picked up the hot beverage and rejoined the group.

Thomas caught Mo’s eye and nodded over at the girl and her mother. The girl was eating an oat and nut bar and sipping from a can of cola.

Thomas whispered, “Tell me again why they’re getting a breakfast bar?”

“Are you serious?” Colin asked. “You telling me you can’t skip breakfast?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well, what do you mean?”

“How long are we going to be here?”

“I don’t know.”

“There’s my point.” Thomas said, prodding the table with his finger. “It’ll be easier to skip eating today than it will tomorrow or the next day. We should be conserving our resources.”

Colin shook his head. “She’s an eleven year-old girl and Liz hasn’t even opened hers.”

“Who gave them the food anyway?” Thomas asked.

“I did,” Colin answered.

“So you’re in charge already?” Thomas asked loudly. “You’re the one who decides who eats and when?”

Before Colin could defend himself, the canteen door opened and Sharon walked in. She had done the best she could to tidy herself up with fresh make-up and combed hair, but the difference from yesterday’s pristine visage was unmistakable.

“What are you doing smoking in here?” Sharon demanded.

“Having breakfast,” Thomas said in an overly loud voice.

“You’re not allowed to smoke on the premises.”

“I think you’ll find a trip to the Smoking Shelter contravenes health and safety legislation at the moment,” Thomas said, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“This is intolerable,” Sharon snapped.

“Take it up with HR,” Thomas replied.

Sharon’s face flushed scarlet. She looked to Mo and then back at Thomas before turning and stomping out of the canteen.

“Excuse me,” Colin said.

He stood up from the table and left the canteen. As soon as the door had shut behind him he jogged up the stairs after Sharon.

“Sharon.”

Sharon paused on the first landing with her back to Colin. He had the sense that she was composing herself before acknowledging him.

Colin skipped up the last few steps to draw level with her.

“Yes, Colin, how can I help you?” she said in a very controlled tone.

“I don’t know your staff, but Thomas strikes me as trouble,” Colin said.

“I have to admit this situation is revealing people’s true colours,” Sharon agreed. “What are you proposing we do?”

“Do?” Colin said. “I don’t know. I don’t think we can do anything just now. But if things get worse there will be less of a restraint on him.”

“Is this an area of expertise you have?”

“Um, I guess so,” Colin replied. “I’m a high school teacher.”

“A teacher?” Sharon said, disappointment in her voice.

“A teacher and I see this kind of power play in the classroom all the time—the bullies gathering allies, intimidating people, using violence to get their way. If we don't keep him in check he’ll start pushing us around.”

“So what are you proposing?”

“We need to keep a united front,” Colin said. “The moment he spots a weakness he’ll exploit it.”

“Very well,” Sharon agreed.

Colin nodded. “We need to put some structure in place, give everyone something to work for. Otherwise we’ll just fracture and start pulling against each other.”

“Okay,” Sharon said. “We start after breakfast. Try to work out a consensus as what we should be doing, prioritising our situation, look at what possible outcomes we have.”

“Good. Shall I go tell everyone to meet at, say, nine o’clock?” Colin asked.

“Yes, that will give me time to write an agenda. Nine o’clock in room A-1,” Sharon replied.

***

Although there were three empty floors to the building, Sharon had dictated they all meet up in one of the many conference rooms. The room could easily host a dozen or so people comfortably, but the atmosphere was anything but comfortable.

Sharon placed herself at the head of the table, close to the door. The others fanned out, forming small enclaves with empty chairs as the demarcation line.

Here are the power blocks, Sharon mused.

Colin had chosen to sit two places to her right with a view of the door. Colin was a people person, Sharon surmised. He would no doubt smile and nod to greet each arrival at the meeting. He had shown his tacit support for Sharon’s authority, but had purposefully chosen to sit with an empty seat between him and her, maintaining a little distance.

Taking the same position on the opposite side of the table was her sales manager John. He sat with fresh vending machine coffee and an A5 notepad. He hadn’t bothered to put his tie back on this morning and his shirt was creased and stained. There was an unpleasant odour of sweat and coffee hovering around the man that repulsed Sharon. Their situation was difficult, but there was still soap in the dispensers, paper towels, and running water. The man had no excuse for his slovenliness.

Sharon looked around the room, trying to ignore John’s aroma.

Liz and her daughter sat together midway down the table with Mo sitting opposite them.

The two Polish cleaners, Magda and Alex, sat side-by-side at the end of the table, still smoking. An empty plastic cup sat between them and served as an ashtray.

At the very far end of the table was Thomas. He had come in and swept his hand along the back of the empty seats like a psychic trying to gleam some ethereal information from his touch. When he finally took his place he pushed the chair far out and leaned back with his hands behind his head and his left foot resting on top of his right thigh.

There was little difference here and now to the everyday board meetings she attended. Everyone had to promote and protect their own interests, taking as much from the others as they could while managing potential conflict. The problem Sharon faced now was the lack of constraints. Thomas in particular, sitting directly opposite her, could disengage from the group, and with the normal rules of society in flux he might resort to physical violence to protect his interests.

“Thank you all for coming,” Sharon began. “We have a number of issues we need to address if we are to remain in this office block.”

“Food, for one thing,” Thomas interrupted.

“There are a number of issues we need to address and we won’t accomplish anything if we don’t take a measured approach,” Sharon said. “So I suggest we approach things in a logical manner and that way we’ll make the best use of our resources. I have a list of things here. We’ll go through them one at a time and we’ll all have a chance to give our input.”

Like the lap dog he was, John was nodding his approval, notepad at a fresh page, pen in hand.

“We’ll start with security,” Sharon said. She looked over at Mo. “Mo, you know more about the security of this building than anyone else. Can we remain in here safely? Will those people outside be able to break in?”

Mo’s face dropped and he leaned back in his seat. He hadn’t expected to have to participate in the meeting and was caught somewhat off-guard.

“Um, I’m not sure,” Mo said honestly. “They don’t seem to be trying very hard to get in.”

Colin entered the conversation with, “Gary and that other bloke in the parking lot just banged on the doors. They didn’t try to smash a window or jimmy the door open or anything like that. They just pounded on it with their fists.”

“What about the ones out front by the lobby’s glass windows?” Sharon asked. “Will they be able to smash the glass?”

“They might,” Mo said, “but not with their bare hands. They’d need to smash it with a brick or something. Even then it would take a fair amount of strength and a few good swipes.”

“They don’t seem to be smart enough to try that,” Colin added.

“So we’re safe for now,” Sharon summarised.

“I guess so,” Mo said.

“We’ll need to keep an eye on the situation,” Colin said. “For now they’re only slapping at the windows when they see one of us, but who knows if that will change.”

Sharon narrowed her eyes slightly as if she were processing this as new information. She nodded at Colin.

“Very good point,” she said. “Mo, you’d be best placed to take charge of building security. Are you up for the task?”

Mo was again taken by surprise to have been singled out and it look a moment for him to wrestle out a nod of acceptance.

“I’d like you to check the building periodically during the day,” Sharon said. “On a related note, I think we should hold morning and evening meetings to monitor our progress and keep everyone informed. That would be an ideal time to report back, Mo.”

“Um, yeah. Sure,” Mo said softly.

“Next is food.” Sharon looked directly at Thomas.

Thomas cocked his head and stared back at Sharon.

“We need to take a detailed inventory of what food we have,” Sharon said. “We have a few sandwiches left in the vending machine and sweets and such, but we need to know how much we have exactly so we can work out how long we can hold up.”

“What about the drawers?” Colin asked.

“Sorry?” Sharon said.

“Well, you’ve got four floors of office space and God knows how many drawers. I know myself that in my drawer in class I’ve got a packet of chocolate cookies. I’m guessing most people will have some comfort food.”

“Good point.”

“Well, I don’t know if we should resort to stealing people’s personal property just yet,” John said.

“What do you mean?” Sharon asked.

“It’s just that this whole thing might blow over tomorrow and people might get upset about us going through their personal things,” John said. “There could be lawsuits and the police and such-like.”

“I don’t think anyone will object too strongly about us eating their birthday chocolates, given the circumstances,” Sharon said.

“What about the damage to office property?” John said. “You’ll need to break into most of the drawers.”

“Oh, I can pop the locks of these drawers real easy,” Thomas said. “They’re barrel locks. It just takes a dunt with a hammer and a screwdriver and they pop right out. Minimum damage. If you want, I can just detach the housing at the back and get in that way. No damage at all, but it’ll take a dog’s age to fix it back up again.”

“Okay, then,” Sharon said. “Thomas, I’ll leave it up to you and John to go through the drawers on this floor.”

John held his pen up in the air. “I’m not sure—”

“I’ve noted your concern, John, and I’d like you to take an inventory of anything valuable that you feel the owner wouldn’t want lost. We can lock up personal items in one of the stationery cupboards. I’m sure you can organise enough zip-lock bags or boxes and label them appropriately.”

“Fine,” John huffed, resigned to doing things Sharon’s way, as always. He lowered his pen and made a splodge of black ink on the empty notepaper.

“Make sure you save any smokes you find,” Magda said to Thomas.

Thomas gave a deliberate nod.

“And when John and I have finished collecting the scraps from people’s desks, who will dish out the food?” Thomas asked.

“We’ll take an inventory of all the food and dole it out fairly between us,” Sharon said.

“And who determines what’s fair?”

“We all do,” Sharon said. “That’s one of the reasons for having a meeting. When we meet back up this evening we’ll know exactly what we have and can proceed from there.”

“Why just the drawers on this floor?” Colin asked. “What about the desks upstairs? They might have something worthwhile in them.”

Sharon smiled. “They’ll all be empty, Colin.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. The company has been downsizing this branch over the last two years. The people who used to work on those floors have been reassigned for over a year.”

“So three floors are just sitting empty?” Colin asked.

“That’s about it. Head office has been trying to outsource the rest of this department’s work, or lease the empty space or find us smaller premises. In the meantime it’s being treated as contingency resource. So, yes, it’s just sitting empty.”

“We used it last summer for the Building Empowerment seminars,” John added.

“Thank you, John,” Sharon said condescendingly. She cast a look around the room. “The next point of order is the power. The generator won’t have enough power to run indefinitely. I asked Thomas to turn it on this morning so we had power to use the vending machines and switch the television on. I don’t think it’s efficient to keep the generator running, so my proposal would be to limit the amount of time it runs for; say, half an hour in the morning and half an hour in the evening. This will give enough time for the water in the urns to boil and allow us to check if there have been any news updates.”

“Sounds sensible,” Colin agreed.

“What about the water?” Mo asked.

“What about it?” Sharon said.

“Well, if the power has gone off, it stands to reason the water will, too,” Mo said.

“That’s right,” Thomas added. “No point us looking for food in people’s drawers if we don’t have any water. We’ll die in a couple of days without water.”

“Okay, any suggestions?” Sharon asked.

“We need to save as much water as we can now,” Mo said.

“Well, can I leave you and Colin to organise that? I suppose we will need to set in place some protocols for using the restrooms and washing?”

“I think Mo will have his hands full with security,” Colin said. “Why don’t Liz, Melissa, and I work on the water problem?”

Without waiting to hear if Liz would agree, Sharon nodded her head approvingly. “Good. The three of you can see to that. Now, are there any other points of business?”

The room was quiet. The occupants looked round at each other to see if someone else would raise an issue.

“Good then. We’ll meet back here at five p.m.,” Sharon said.

The room was filled with the trundle of chairs being pushed back as people stood up to leave.

Thomas hadn’t moved. He sat there reclining with his hands behind his head and waited. He waited until everyone was standing up and John had his hand on the door handle.

“What about the boy? Thomas said, looking up the ceiling.

“What about Grant?” Liz asked softly.

Everyone stopped. Liz was staring blankly at the far wall.

“What about Grant?” Liz asked more forcefully.

Sharon sat back down, and the three men at the top end of the table followed suit. Thomas, Magda, and Alex remained standing, but didn’t move to leave.

“What about my son?” Liz asked again.

“What do you want to do, Liz?” Colin asked.

Liz’s eyes were puffy and red. She shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know because it’s not him up there. That’s not my little boy, but he’s not gone.”

“We don’t have to do anything about your son if you don’t want to,” Sharon assured her.

“Surely we can’t leave him like this,” Liz said. “I mean, you said he was dead and I don’t know what to believe.”

“Of course he’s not dead,” John said. “It’s just some crazy virus. When we get rescued they’ll pump him full of antibiotics and he’ll be right as rain.”

“I want to believe that, but no one’s coming to save us,” Liz said.

“What makes you say that?” John asked. “They’re bound to send help. It just takes time to get the rescue effort mobilised, that’s all.”

“Then why is the national news off?” Thomas asked.

“You’re not helping, Thomas,” Sharon chastised.

“I’m not helping?” Thomas replied. “I’ve done nothing but help. I’ve been the go-to guy with the gennie and I’ve taken my share of watches over that health hazard upstairs. How am I not helping?”

Colin leaned over the table and reached a hand out for Liz. Cautiously, she let her hand slip into his.

“Liz, we’ll help you through this,” Colin said. “We all will, won't we?”

A wave of agreement circulated round the room.

“We don’t have to do anything right now,” Colin assured her. “He’s secure; he can’t hurt anyone. If we get rescued we can discuss options then.”

“He is dead, isn't he?” Liz said, matter-of-fact.

Melissa started to cry.

“John, go and get Liz a coffee,” Sharon said. “Why don’t the rest of you get a jump on your various projects. Colin and I will see to Liz.”

One by one everyone else left the room.

Thomas stood up and loudly thumped his chair back in place under the table. He gave Sharon and Colin a cold look before making his own exit.

Chapter 9

New Arrival

“Karen?” Shan called.

Karen didn't stir.

“Karen!” Shan shouted.

Karen sat bolt upright, panic in her eyes. She looked around the sick bay and slowly her mind focused on her surroundings.

“Karen, I’m choking for a drink,” Shan said.

“Yeah, sure,” Karen replied.

“Pass me another couple of painkillers while you’re at it.”

Karen stood up from the chair where she’d fallen asleep, still slightly dazed by her sudden awakening. She scooped up the packet of painkillers and passed them over to Shan. With an expansive yawn, she turned and opened the door. The force of the pull aggravated her injury and her arm throbbed. She looked down at the white patch just visible at her neckline. It was itchy and she had to resist the urge to scratch as she walked down to the refectory.

It suddenly dawned on Karen she shouldn’t have given Shan the painkillers. She had already given her the maximum amount and she doubted Shan was due her next dose. Besides, she knew she would have to ration what meagre supply they had. Shan’s injuries would take weeks to heal, at least, and the two packets of headache tables in Miss Gilmore’s drawer wouldn’t last more than a few days.

Karen got to the smashed vending machine and reached into its guts for a can. The behemoth lay on the floor, its garish neon-lit facades shattered across the ground like a discarded jigsaw puzzle. It had proven impossible to get inside simply by breaking the front open. The girls, Shan in particular, had vented their frustration with the world on this poor, stalwart piece of equipment. With the machine on its side they had managed to buckle the lock by violent and repeated thumps with the same stone hammer they used to break into the school.

Karen was about to leave when she heard a splash. She looked down to see a pool of water running out of the refectory. She followed it back and saw that it was coming from the closed kitchen door. She tried the handle but it was locked.

The flow of water was steady, but not torrential.

Overflowing sink? she wondered.

She decided to get Shan her drink, then investigate. She turned and walked back to the sick bay.

Shan was asleep when she returned, so she left the drink and headed straight for the janitor’s office. Inside there was a case on the wall labelled ‘Keys’. It didn’t take Karen long to jimmy open the lock. She grabbed the keys, stuffing the ones she didn’t need into her pocket, but kept the key for the kitchen in hand.

When she got back to the kitchen, she saw the pool of water had slowed. There was a thin film of glossy water covering most of the refectory floor, but it didn’t seem to be spreading.

She unlocked the kitchen door and stepped in. This part of the school was foreign to her. She had been to many of the off-limits areas, (teacher’s lounge, secretary’s office, and the like,) but she had never seen the kitchens other than what she could glean from the other side of the serving hatch.

The serving area ran the full length of the kitchen and was barricaded by the shutters and the bodies of the Bain Marie’s. Behind that was a tiled wall and stainless steel counter. Under the counter were various containers and items of kitchenware. The tiled wall didn’t cover the full length of the kitchen. Instead it formed a partition separating the ovens and hobs from the service area. From here there was a faint gurgling noise.

Karen cocked her ear and listened more intently. The gasps and wet slurps came randomly and without reason. She pulled a large green-handled knife from a row of utensils. She walked round the wall, her trainers splashing in the thin film of water, her hand tight around the hilt of the knife.

As she turned into the room she heard the gurgling noise again. She looked down and saw a small grate in the middle of the floor. The grate was completely submerged and the water was making a faint swirl around it. As Karen watched, another bubble of air popped through the surface tension.

She breathed a sigh of relief. The disturbing noise was nothing more than the blocked drain’s feeble attempt to swallow the flood.

With renewed confidence, Karen surveyed the room. There was a large metal door at the far end where the water was trickling out. She walked up to it and eased up the lever handle. The door flew open and a tsunami in miniature came tumbling out. Karen stepped backwards, but lost traction on the wet floor and fell on her butt.

She squealed at the pain and the cold water soaking her backside.

She stood up, shaking the dampness from her sleeves and trying to brush the water from her jeans.

She huffed, realising she’d never be able to shake herself dry.

In front of her the walk-in freezer lay wide open. Judging by the remaining pools, the water being held back by the door could only have been a few millimetres deep,, but it had had enough force to knock her off her feet. The air in the giant freezer was still cool and the walls still held a coating of frost.

She walked into the doorway and immediately blocked her own light. There was a florescent strip in the freezer, but with the power off it was as useless as the freezer it hung in.

Peering through the murk, Karen couldn’t tell what was inside. She squinted, coaxing her eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. Her breath and the dripping of water echoed off the close metal walls. Slowly the abyss started to reveal itself in hues of grey.

The freezer was about a third full from what Karen could make out. Soggy cardboard boxes and plastic bags of slowly defrosting school dinners sat slumped on the shelves. She managed to locate a bag of hash browns and some battered fish.

She brought her bounty over to the cooking area. The ovens were electric and therefore wouldn’t work, but when she turned the gas on there was a satisfying hiss. She lit the hob and a steady blue flame burst to life. It didn’t take long to find some oil and a pan and within minutes Karen had plated up two meals.

Triumphantly, she exited the kitchen, a plate in each hand. The floor was still covered by a film of water and Karen, keeping an eye on her footsteps, was careful not to slip. She emerged from the miniature lake that covered the refectory and began following her wet footprints back to the sick bay.

Halfway there she stopped and froze in place. A second set of footprints turned right along a corridor where the marks trailed off into oblivion.

Karen looked down at the fresh wet marks she had just made alongside the first set. The water had begun to dry and the definition was weak. The trail wasn’t as evenly set as hers; they didn’t keep an even pace. She trod her foot down beside one of the tracks. Lifting her foot away, she examined the two marks side-by-side. Her trainers left a slimmer, shorter mark with a more rounded toe.

She felt the breath in her chest falter.

Quickly she scurried back to the sick bay.

***

“Do you have to be so noisy?” John asked.

“I’m hitting a lock with a hammer. What do you think?” Thomas replied.

John cringed as Thomas punctuated the sentence with a fresh strike.

Thomas slid the drawer open.

“Looks like a bust,” he said, peering into the drawer.

“We still need to check them to make sure,” John said, leaning in.

“Fire away, chief. I’ll get the next one open.”

Thomas moved over to the next desk.

“Look, you missed a packet of mints,” John said, laying the sweets on the keyboard to stop them from rolling off the desk.

“Hurray. We’re saved.” Thomas twirled the screwdriver in the air like he was waving a flag.

“Ha-fucking-ha,” John said sardonically.

Thomas nodded over to where Liz and Melissa sat.

John turned to see Liz’s furrowed brow and chastising gaze. He threw a hand to his mouth, realising he’d uttered a profanity in the presence of a young girl.

“Oh… sorry,” he said.

Melissa seemed not to have noticed. She was sitting on a swivel chair, spinning herself round and round.

Thomas walloped another lock.

“Can’t you keep it down? That noise is going straight through me,” John said.

Thomas ignored him. He slid the drawer out and gave the inside a cursory look.

“Melissa,” he called out, reaching in the drawer.

“Uh-huh?” Melissa answered, putting her feet down to stop her makeshift fairground ride.

“Here,” Thomas said handing something over.

“What is that?” John asked.

“For me?” Melissa asked, taking the object. She turned to her mother. “Can I?” she said hopefully.

“What is it?” Liz asked.

“It’s a hand-held games console of some kind,” Thomas explained.

“That’s someone’s property,” John said.

Again Thomas ignored him and moved onto the next drawer.

“You can’t just give that away,” John argued. “It belongs to someone.”

“Write it down on your notepad and give it a break,” Thomas said without looking up.

He battered the next desk drawer and pulled it opened.

“Can I have it, ma?” Melissa asked, confused.

“You can borrow it,” Liz said. “You need to remember to give it back when all this is over.”

“Which desk was that?” John asked impatiently.

“That one there,” Liz pointed out.

John pursed his lips. He knew very well which desk it had come from, but something officious inside him wanted to make Thomas acknowledge his casual theft.

Thomas looked disdainfully at the contents, then puffed out a sigh.

“Next,” Thomas said in a singsong tone as he moved onto the adjoining desk.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” John asked.

Thomas waved the hammer and screwdriver at John. “The same thing I’ve been doing for the last half hour.”

“That’s my drawer,” John said.

“Doesn’t mean we don’t have to check it,” Thomas countered.

“Yes it does. I have my personal items in there.”

“Sorry, I’m under orders.”

“That’s my desk and you’re not busting it open,” John snapped.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you want me opening it? You got a chicken dinner in there?” Thomas asked. “Or are you maybe stealing office supplies?”

“What?! No!” John protested.

Thomas lowered his voice and leaned in.

“Maybe a stash of porno mags, eh?” he said with a wink.

“No!” John said, flustered.

“Butt plug and a copy of Big Boys in Boots?” Thomas teased, careful to keep his voice down.

“What? Shut the hell up—you’re sick,” John said, his face flushed red.

Thomas stood back, a wide smile on his face. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you—”

“Thomas!” Liz chastised.

“Sorry, Liz,” Thomas said.

He moved on to the next desk.

“You’re not funny!” John spat. “You’re not funny in the slightest.”

Thomas broke the lock open and pulled out the drawer. He took a glancing look inside and quickly moved on to the next one.

He looked over at John. The man was still flustered from his ribbing. He was hiding something in his drawer, Thomas knew it. But he also knew it would be nothing special. Maybe a couple of bars of chocolate, a sandwich at best—hell, maybe it was some gay porn. Thomas didn’t care, but what he did care about was his smokes. He knew they would be in here a good few days, at least. Without food, things would be difficult. Without cigarettes, they would be impossible. By distracting John and getting ahead of him he now had the opportunity to swipe any cartons of cigarettes he came across. Of course, he’d have to be subtle about it, but at least now he had some leverage. He could always call John out about the contents of his drawer.

“What was that?” John asked.

“What was what?” Thomas replied, smashing open another drawer.

John walked over to the window.

“I’m sure I heard a bang,” John said, casting his view out of the window. “There! A guy with a gun—and he’s shooting his way through those things out there.”

“Good luck to him,” Thomas said, feigning interest as he slipped a packet of cigarettes into his pocket.

“He’s almost at the building,” John said excitedly.

He opened the window and the crack of a firearm could be heard more clearly.

Thomas stopped his pilfering and walked over to the window.

“Up here!” John shouted. He waved to the man on the ground.

“Hold on, there—what are you doing?” Thomas asked.

“He’s seen us,” John said.

“So what if he has?”

“We’ll open the front door!” John called out, waving to the man.

“Hold on. You’re just going to let a complete stranger with a gun come in here?” Thomas asked.

“He’ll get eaten alive out there. There’s hundreds of them,” John said, marching to the stairs.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Thomas said, chasing after him. “He could be anybody. He could be some psycho, happy to shoot us for a packet of smokes.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” John said, opening the door to the stairwell.

Thomas placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder. “You’re not letting him in!”

“You’re not in charge,” John said firmly.

“I’m not letting you!” Thomas said through clenched teeth.

“What’s going on? I heard shots,” Sharon said, coming out of the toilet.

“There’s a guy in the street,” John explained. “I was going to let him in.”

From up the stairs came the thundering of feet and Colin came gliding down.

“Come on!” Colin shouted without stopping. “There’s a man out there!”

Within seconds the group reached the lobby. It was darker in here than it had been. The light of the day was being sucked into the ragged figures that blocked the windows. Now that they had spotted movement behind the glass, they started pawing and thumping at the windows.

“How’s he going to get past that lot?” Sharon asked, looking at the crowd.

“More to the point, how do we stop them getting in?” Thomas asked.

Colin picked up one of the cheap chairs that visitors would sit in while waiting in reception. Brandishing the chair, he said, “John, you knock the fire door open. I’ll use this to push any back that try and get through. As soon as he’s in, you pull the door shut. Okay?” He turned to Sharon. “You run back upstairs and direct him in.”

Sharon nodded and jogged to the stairs.

Even over the moans of the infected outside, they could hear the cracking sound of a gun being fired.

A few of the besieging creatures turned and started walking towards the source of the noise, but most maintained their position around the glass facade.

John took up position at the emergency exit. The tinted pane of glass was smeared where the infected had tried to scratch their way inside.

“Jesus!” John exclaimed.

“What is it?” Colin asked.

“These poor bastards. Look at the state of them.” John scrunched up his eyebrows and shook his head. “They’re… they’re gross.” He tried to swallow down his revulsion. “They're bloody and fucked up. And their eyes? Oh, Christ, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Thomas, can you take the door instead of John?” Colin asked.

There was no reply.

“Thomas?” Colin looked round, but the maintenance engineer was nowhere to be seen.

“Fucking dick.” Colin shook his head, then turned back to John. “John, it's me and you. We can do this, okay?”

John nodded and stepped up to the door.

A wide spray of blood exploded across the window, accompanied by the sound of hail clattering against metal.

One of the besieging wretches slumped to the ground. There was a loud crack and a second fell.

“This is it!” Colin said, bouncing with the chair, readying himself for action.

The husk of a man by the emergency door disappeared and in its place was a figure with a long auburn beard and sunglasses.

John jumped in shock, then just as quickly threw the door open. The man dived into the lobby, shotgun in hand.

Colin thrust the chair out at the opening.

“Wait!” the bearded man shouted.

The infected crowd was pushing in and Colin looked around for an explanation to the man’s cry.

From behind his drooping moustache, the man raised a shrill, two-tone whistle.

Something brushed past his leg and was gone before Colin could spot what it was.

“Go!” the new arrival shouted. “Shut it!”

Colin shoved the crowd back with all his strength, losing the chair to the pawing hands. With the weight of the mob outside in his favour, John was able to slam the door shut with ease.

Colin let out a sigh of relief. He patted John on the arm. “Good work, man.”

“Good girl,” the new arrival said.

Colin turned round to see the man lying on the ground with an energetic pitbull rubbing its snout against his beard.

“Need a hand getting up?” Colin offered.

The man was an archetypal biker: head to toe in black leathers, long red beard with streaks of grey, and a skull and cross bones bandana.

He wrapped his gloved hand around Colin’s and let the man help him to his feet.

The glove felt sticky. Colin looked down to see the pinch marks and vitriol fluid left from the zombies’ bites running from the gloves up the sleeve of the biker’s jacket. On his feet now, the man was a good five or six inches taller than Colin. Colin hoped this was exaggerated by the rugged pair of biker boots the man wore.

“I’m Colin. This is John.”

The man was still breathing heavily and timed his response to the heaving of his chest.

“Billy,” he puffed out.

The short stocky dog was yapping happily round Billy’s feet.

“And his name?” Colin asked.

“She’s called Blow,” Billy replied. He waggled a finger in the direction of the street. “It’s fucking intense out there.”

The stairwell door opened and Sharon came into the lobby.

“Everything okay down here?” she asked.

“It’s all good, Sharon,” John said.

“Where’s Thomas?” Sharon asked.

“Beats me. He disappeared as soon as you went upstairs,” Colin said.

“Are you the lady from the window?” Billy asked.

Sharon nodded.

“Then me and Blow owe you a big thanks. I don’t know how much longer I’d have lasted out there.”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re all right,” Sharon said.

“How are things out there?” John asked.

Before Billy could answer, Sharon stepped in. “I think we should let our guest catch his breath first. Then, if you don’t mind...?”

“Billy,” the biker offered.

“Billy, I’m sure we all have a lot of questions we’d like to ask you,” Sharon said.

***

“I’d like to start by introducing and welcoming Billy,” Sharon said.

The group had sat down in exactly the same positions they had this morning, with Billy slotting in between Colin and Mo. Sharon took this as a good sign; it meant that there had been no sudden shift of politics. Nothing major had blown up that could disrupt the equilibrium of the group. And although there was a very definite power block aligned against her, she knew that for the moment she was in charge.

“I’m sure we all have a lot of questions for Billy,” she said.

“I doubt I’ll be able to answer many,” Billy said. He leaned back in his chair, his leathers creaking. Since arriving, he had taken the time to clean himself up, although he still smelt strongly of body odour. “What’s happening out there?” Colin asked.

“I can’t say I know much more than you.” Billy said, shaking his head. “It’s seven shades of hell out there. Saturday night everything was fine. Now, what, two days later?”

“Three days. Today’s Tuesday,” John chipped in, trying to be helpful.

“Sunday, Monday, Tuesday,” Billy counted on his fingers and carried on, “There’s no normal people out there, or if there are, they’re few and far between.”

“What’s been happening?” Sharon asked. “There’s nothing on the news. Is it something to do with this flu we were hearing about?”

Billy shook his head.“Ain’t no flu, lady. The flu doesn’t bring people back from the dead.”

“I heard over the radio they were dead,” Colin said.

John cut in, “But that’s just impossible.”

"Impossible or not, I saw my own son turn. He was bitten by one of the infected in his workshop. He got the sweats and died not eight hours later. Two minutes after he stopped breathing, he was up and coming at me.”

“Surely they’re not dead dead?” John said, immediately wishing he’d been more eloquent.

“I’ve never shot a live person, but I’m guessing they don’t chase after you with half their chest missing,” Billy explained.

“It doesn’t matter if they’re dead or just suffering from some infection,” Colin said. “If they’re attacking you, you have the right to defend yourself.”

“What about the police or the army?” Mo asked.

“I didn’t see a single soldier out there. There were a few jets and choppers in the air and I did bump into a handful of cops.”

“And what did the police have to say?” Sharon asked.

“They told me to bolt up and sit tight. They were pretty badly shaken up. One of them even gave me the boom stick there.” Billy nodded over his shoulder to the shotgun propped up against the wall behind him. “Imagine that. The Federales giving old Billy a gun and telling him to be on his way.” He gave a chuckle.

“So did you have a plan to go anywhere?” Thomas asked.

“I was planning to go to my son’s place, up the coast,” Billy answered.

“I thought you said your son was dead,” Liz said.

“My other son. I’ve got three. The other one’s overseas at the moment. Anyway, that went to pot half a mile up the road there when my bike’s reserve tank ran dry. Thought I’d be okay to scrounge fuel, but most of the cars out there are dry.”

“Why are they empty so soon?” Sharon asked.

“The pumps were running dry by the end of last week with the flu scare,” John said. “I waited in line for an hour after work on Friday to get a tankful.”

Billy went on, “I don’t know if they were all empty, I just know the ones I tried were and the one I did find with fuel creeped me out. There was a dead woman in the front seat—well, kinda dead—who kept trying to take chunks out of me through the glass.” He paused for a moment. “Well, that aside, before I could even start siphoning off, there were a dozen of those ghouls on me. I tried to circle back round, but it was way too busy. Then thankfully I found myself here.”

“Well, you might not be too thankful when you find out the details of our situation,” Sharon said. “Having looted the vending machines and the desks, we have roughly three days’ worth of food. Slightly less now you’ve arrived.” She gave a nod to Billy. “The bad news is, it’s mainly confectionery. The few sandwiches that will pass as proper food need to be eaten soon, before they spoil.”

“Three days’ worth of food?” John asked. “Is that enough?”

“You can survive for weeks without food,” Thomas said. He looked John up and down, then added, “Well, some of us could last longer.”

“Fresh water is the priority,” Colin said.

“No, we’re fine for that,” Mo said

Sharon showed him a puzzled look. She asked, “How so? The water might go off any minute.”

“There’s a delivery of bottled water for the coolers down in the loading bay,” Mo explained.

“How many?” Colin asked.

“Half a dozen five gallon bottles,” Mo answered.

“You need two litres of water per day,” Colin said. “So how many litres are there per gallon?”

“Just over twenty,” John said.

“How’d you get to that so quickly?” Colin asked.

“Working out mileages on expense forms,” John replied.

“So how many days supply is that, John?” Sharon asked.

John put his pen to paper and started scribbling out the numbers.

“The ten of us...” John said, tapping out a head count with his pen, “and that’s thirty gallons of water. Um… at two litres per day, we got six and a bit days.”

“Ten of us?” Billy said. “What about my dog?”

The brown and white animal was curled up on the floor next to Billy’s feet, sleeping off the excitement of this afternoon.

“How much does a dog need?” John asked.

“I don’t know,” Billy said. “I stick out a couple of fresh bowls a day.”

“That’s not that much, I suppose,” John said, chewing at the end of the pen.

“Remember, we’re not counting the water coolers already in the building,” Mo said.

“And we can just keep filling those up from the mains for as long as we have pressure,” Colin added.

“So we’ve got at least a week’s worth of water,” Sharon surmised. “We’ll need to keep the unopened bottles in reserve in case the main water does get cut off.”

“We can set up some kind of rainwater catcher in case it rains,” Mo offered.

“Is it just me, or is everyone here happy with a week’s worth of supplies?” Thomas asked.

“Well, what would you have us do, Thomas?” Sharon asked.

“You’ve just told us we’ll be fine without food for four weeks,” Colin said.

“You can survive for four weeks without food, but it’s not going to be pleasant. We need to go and stock up,” Thomas said.

“What? That’s just idiotic,” Sharon replied.

“We’ve only got enough food for today before we start gorging ourselves on chocolates,” Thomas argued. “We’ll go stir crazy in here without proper food to eat.”

“You heard the announcements on TV: Stay indoors,” Sharon said. “Besides, have you looked out the window today? I very much doubt the supermarkets are open.”

“I’d advise against popping down to the shops,” Billy said. “Those things don’t move fast, but the streets are heaving with them.”

“We need to go out and get food,” Thomas said sternly.

“It’s too dangerous,” Sharon said. “Besides, this whole thing could blow over in a couple of days.”

“This isn’t some passing rain storm ,” Thomas said. “We can’t just duck under cover for a few minutes and carry on. This is the fucking apocalypse.”

“I think you’re exaggerating a bit there,” John said.

“Take a look outside and tell me you see rainbows and sunshine.”

“Look, I agree with you both,” Colin said, cutting in over John’s forthcoming rebuttal.“We need food and it’s a mess outside. This thing is obviously wide-scale, but it doesn’t mean we won’t have the police or the army strolling down that road at any moment. This is big.It’s bound to take the government time to organise. I think we look to being rescued, but we prepare for being on our own.”

“Sense at last,” Thomas said.

“Well, what would you propose?” Sharon asked Colin.

“We’ve got food for today and tomorrow. If the situation’s the same outside tomorrow, I say we go looking for supplies.”

“Is that okay with everybody?” Sharon asked.

There was a round of nods.

“Okay, when we meet back here at nine a.m. tomorrow, I want you all to have thought about the best way to go about this. We’ll spend Wednesday planning and organizing, and if there’s no change to our situation, then my suggestion is to put our plans in action first thing Thursday morning. Now, is there any other business?”

“Cigarettes,” Magda said in a crisp voice.

“I’m sorry?” Sharon said, not sure what was meant by the statement.

“Were cigarettes found?” Magda asked.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe John or Thomas can shed some light on that?”

“Yes,” John said emphatically. He turned over a few sheets in his notepad.

Thomas slouched back, somewhat deflated by the prospect that he would have to share. He felt the bulge of the packet in his pocket and was grateful he’d managed to at least pilfer those.

“Here we go,” John said. “Do you want the totals by type or desk?”

“How many cigarettes?” Alex asked bluntly.

“Um...” John scanned his notes. “Two full packs, which is forty cigarettes, and a further thirty-four loose. That’s seventy-four in total.”

The two Polish cleaners started muttering to each other incomprehensibly. After a moment Magda spoke.

“Is twenty-four each between three of us, is it not?” she said, casting an eye over Alex and Thomas.

Alex turned to Billy.

“Do you smoke?” she asked in her heavily-accented English.

Billy nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Thomas opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it.

“Okay,” Sharon agreed.

“Between five,” Liz suddenly interjected.

Everyone at the table turned their heads to gawk at Liz.

“But you don't smoke,” Melissa said firmly.

Liz nodded, but didn’t make eye contact with her daughter. “I used to before you were born. I feel like restarting.”

“Now’s not the time to start smoking again,” Thomas said. “Besides, you’d only get a few days’ supply. It hardly seems worth it."

“Yeah, it’s a bad habit to restart,” Colin added.

“I want a smoke,” Liz said.

Thomas shrugged. “Come now—”

“Give me a fucking cigarette!” Liz shouted, slamming her fists on the table.

Melissa jolted back, shocked by her mother’s behaviour.

“This isn’t worth an argument,” Sharon said diplomatically. “I don’t see any reason why Liz shouldn’t get a cut of the found cigarettes.”

“So that works out at fourteen each,” John said. “Well, fourteen each and four left over. I don’t know how you want to work that one out.”

Sharon stood up. Liz was still fuming and her daughter looked ready to burst into tears.

“I think we can call this meeting adjourned. John will take care of the cigarette situation and we’ll meet back here tomorrow morning at nine am with contingency plans in case we don’t get rescued.”

Without waiting for the room to acknowledge her, Sharon turned and left.

***

“There’s someone else here,” Karen said, putting the plates down.

Entering into the first aid room she had almost convinced herself that Shan left the footprints, maybe having decided to take a stroll while Karen made something to eat. That hope had vanished as she entered the room and saw Shan fast asleep on the medical bed.

“There’s someone else in the school,” Karen repeated.

Shan pushed back the rough blanket like a child in a tantrum and tried to focus on what her friend was saying. She started to yawn, but winced when the pain snapped at her cheek.

“Someone else—who?” Shan asked.

“I don’t know who,” Karen whispered harshly.

“Is it like the Janny, or one of the teachers, or some random?”

“I don't know. All I saw were their footprints.”

“Maybe they were made weeks ago and you just didn’t notice them,” Shan reasoned.

Karen shook her head vigorously. “No, it was the water. The footprints were from the water—they would have dried out.”

“Let’s look,” Shan said, swinging her legs off the bed.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“It could be anyone or even one of those things,” Karen said.

Shan picked up the lump of concrete in one hand.

“Then we’ll take care of them like we did at the farm,” she said.

“No, Shan, we shouldn’t have done that,” Karen said.

“He fucking asked for it. Now shut up and show me where those footprints are,” Shan demanded.

She grabbed hold of the door handle and threw the door open. She stepped in to the corridor.

“Which way?” she asked flatly.

Karen pointed and followed after her. Eventually the pair reached the junction in the corridor.

“Up that way,” Karen said. “The tracks went up that way.”

“I don’t see any,” Shan said, sticking out her bottom lip.

“There were wet. They must have dried up.”

“You don’t say,” Shan snorted dismissively.

Karen walked down the hallway back in the direction of the kitchen. There she reacquired the trail.

“Over here,” Karen said.

Shan sauntered over, bereft of her friend’s sense of urgency.

“Yeah?” Shan asked.

She played with the lump of concrete, spinning it around in her hand and testing its weight by bouncing it in her palm.

“Down there you can see my prints and the second person’s side-by-side,” Karen pointed out.

Shan bent down to examine the marks.

The water was indeed drying out and the footprints had started to evaporate and contract.

“I don’t see it,” Shan admitted after studying the tracks.

“They’ve dried out a bit, but those ones are far bigger than mine.”

“Or the smaller ones are you first time round and they’ve dried up, making the other look bigger.” Shan stood up, satisfied with her answer. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

She turned back to the sick bay.

Karen stood in the hallway for a moment, inspecting the marks on the floor.

“I didn’t just imagine those,” she said to herself.

She looked back up at Shan.

“I didn’t imagine it!” Karen shouted.

Shan turned round. “Come on, supper’s getting cold.”

She turned but her path was blocked. Standing in front of her was a tall pale woman.

Shan raised her arm up and brought the concrete hammer down as hard as she could.

The woman started to say, “What are you two—”

Shan’s blow struck the woman directly on the temple. There was a dull crack that sounded like a fresh twig snapping and the woman stopped talking.

She remained standing for an instant, then keeled over sideways. She toppled into the wall, her head snapping backwards as she crashed to the floor.

Karen screamed.

Shan stood there holding the makeshift weapon, frozen in astonishment.

The woman lay on the floor, her head cocked at a peculiar angle, her legs crumpled underneath her.

Karen gulped in a couple of sharp breaths and then continued screaming.

“Shut up!” Shan shouted hysterically.

Ignoring her, Karen kept on screaming.

Shan walked up to her friend and slapped her across the face.

“Shut up!”

“That was Miss Alvarez!” Karen said, staring at the body.

“She was one of those mental people,” Shan said.

“She spoke—she was normal,” Karen replied.

“She was one of those fucked fuckers, Karen,” Shan said more forcefully.

A pool of blood was oozing out of the dead teacher’s auburn hair and onto the floor with surprising rapidity.

Karen stepped back, shaking her head. She stuttered, “No… no, she...”

Shan dropped the weapon and grabbed Karen by the shoulders.

“She was one of them and she attacked us,” she said menacingly. “You got that?”

Karen shook her head slightly.

“You got that?” Shan asked again.

Karen could sense the anger in Shan bubbling up just like it did yesterday.

“If anyone asks when this is all over, she was one of them,” Shan said.

Karen looked her in the eyes and saw the animal ferocity barely being kept in check.“

”Okay,” Karen said softly, too terrified to say anything else.

“Good. Now dinner’s getting cold. We can deal with this mess later.”

Shan casually stepped over the body and walked back to the first aid room.

Karen gazed down at the dead teacher and the oozing blood, her appetite completely lost.

***

“Okay, what have we got?” John asked, looking at the food.

There was a pitiful selection of sandwiches spread out on one of the desks.

“Just a minute,” Sharon said.

She picked up the first sandwich and placed it running straight to the table edge. Then she picked up the next one and laid it down alongside with an inch of clearance. One by one she did this until all five of the traditional sandwiches were in a neat row. Then she lay down the tortilla wrap and the two long French-style baguettes at the end.

“Ten of us and eight sandwiches,” Sharon announced as if no one else could count.

“There’s a couple of baguettes there,” Colin noted. “We could cut them in half. They’re a bit bigger than the rest.”

“Well I’ve got my eye on the Cajun chicken wrap,” John said.

“What if I want that one?” Thomas said.

“Jeez—we’re not going to start that bullshit are we?” Colin huffed.

“Look, there’s plenty to choose from,” Sharon said.

“I don’t mind which one I get,” Liz said, trying to be conciliatory.

Mo bobbed in and took a look at the assembled sandwiches.

“I don’t mind as long as it doesn’t have pork or prawns,” he said.

“I don’t like prawns neither,” Thomas said.

“This is going to descend into chaos if we don’t come up with a pragmatic method,” Sharon said.

“Okay, so what do we do?” Colin asked. “Draw lots to decide who picks first and second and so on?”

“I have a better idea,” Sharon said.

She sat down at her desk and pulled out a notepad and pen. On the blank page she wrote out her name three times, turned the page over and then wrote out Colin three times.

“What you doing?” Billy asked.

“It’s simple,” Sharon said, still writing names in the notebook. “We bid for the sandwich we most want.”

She tugged the pages from the notebook and handed out the sheets.

She instructed, “Tear these into three strips each with your name on it. You now have three bids. If there’s a sandwich you really want, you put all three of your chits on it. If you’re not too bothered, but have a preference, you can spread your bids around.”

“What if we all put three on the Cajun wrap?” Colin asked.

“Then it won’t work,” Sharon said. “But if, say, I put three on the Cajun wrap and you only put two then I get the wrap and you get your second choice.”

“Yeah, if no one else has put three on Colin’s next favourite,” Thomas said.

“And what if me and you both put ours on the Cajun wrap?” Billy asked. “What then?”

“Then we toss for it and whoever loses has to eat the sandwich no one wanted,” Sharon said.

Colin shook his head. “It sounds overly complicated.”

“It’s market forces at work,” Sharon said confidently. “It will work, trust me.”

“Might as well give it a try,” Billy said.

“What we do?” Magda asked, puzzled by the whole situation.

“Write down on your slips of paper which sandwich you like. Remember you can spend all your chits on just one or spread them around.”

Sharon stepped over to the confused cleaners and ran through the concept again, trying to dismantle the language barrier.

“Cajun Wrap’s getting a lot of attention. I’d avoid that one,” Billy said jokingly.

There were murmurs and requests for pens as the group wrote down their preferences.

“What now?” Thomas asked.

“Now we place our chits down next to the sandwiches we want,” Sharon said.

There was some jostling as they all came up to the table and placed down their bids. Once everyone had stood back, Sharon stepped up to count the votes.

“Well, only one for the cheese and relish,” she said, lifting up the scrap of paper. “Mo, you happy with that?”

“Sure,” Mo said, stretching over to receive his winnings.

One by one Sharon counted the votes and doled out the meals until only two remained on the table.

“So what do we do now?” Thomas asked, looking at the pile of papers sitting next to the Cajun wrap.

“Well, John and you have spent all three of your chits on the one sandwich,” Sharon observed.

“I’ve said already I don’t like prawns, so John will have to take that one,” Thomas said, getting quite animated.

“I’m not going to take a prawn one just because you don’t like them,” John said firmly.

“You’re not allergic to shellfish, are you, Thomas?” Sharon asked.

“For all you know I could be,” Thomas said.

“So no then,” Billy interjected.

“All right, you can toss for it,” Colin suggested.

“As good a way to do it as any,” John agreed.

“Whoa, I don’t want the prawn sandwich,” Thomas huffed. “If I’d wanted the prawn one I would have voted for it.”

“That’s the chance you take betting on the one thing,” Sharon said.

“Okay, you call, Thomas,” Colin said, coin in hand.

“I don’t want to call. I want the wrap,” Thomas moaned.

“Oh, stop whining. You might win the wrap anyway,” Billy said.

“John then,” Colin said.

“Heads,” John said quickly before Thomas could change his mind.

Colin flipped the coin high in the air, caught it and flipped it onto the back of his hand.

“Heads it is,” Colin announced.

“Yes,”” John said triumphantly as he dipped in and lifted up the wrap.

“Oh, come on! That prawn sandwich looks awful. It’s probably off by now, too,” Thomas complained.

“Dem’s da breaks,” Billy said, smiling.

“Fuck you,” Thomas said. “It won’t be so funny if I get food poisoning and puke all over the shop, now will it?”

“Stop being a sore loser,” John said, taking a massive bite from his winnings.

Thomas turned and stomped out of the room.

“Hey you forgot your sandwich,” Sharon called after him.

“Fuck you,” Thomas replied.

Wednesday

Chapter 10

Implementation

“I say a couple of us take John and Sharon’s cars to the local supermarket and raid the place,” Thomas said.

“Not gonna work,” Billy said.

“Oh yeah? How not?”

“Cause they’ve already been looted. I passed three supermarkets and a dozen convenience stores on my way here and every one of them had their shutters ripped open and their shelves gutted. Hell, even the electrical goods were gone—useless shit like TVs and microwaves.”

“Okay,” Sharon said. “But we need food. Where will there be a stock of food that won’t have been stolen?”

“People’s houses,” John chipped in. “People tend to have a good few days’ supplies and if the stores have been looted they have even more.”

“I don’t like that idea, John,” Sharon said. “What if the occupants are still there? Are we going to fight them for it?”

“If we have to,” Thomas answered.

“Don't be so blasé, Thomas,” Billy said. “It’s one thing to sit here and say you’d bash some old couple over the head for a tin of beans. It’s a completely different thing standing in their kitchen.”

“There will be plenty of houses out there where the owners have fled or have become one of those things,” Thomas argued.

Liz pointed out, “Even if we do go to a house, there’s only going to be enough food for a few of us. We’d need to go to several houses.”

“I’m not sure we should be stealing,” Mo said.

“What do you suggest then? Cannibalism? Do we start eating each other?” Thomas gnashed his teeth for emphasis.

“No, no!” Mo protested.

“Quit it, Thomas. You're just being obnoxious,” Sharon said.

Colin slapped his hand on the desk. “School!”

“What?” Sharon asked, puzzled by the interjection.

Colin smiled, pleased at his eureka moment.

“School. It’s simple.”

Thomas snapped, “Colin, just get to the point,”

“I was on my way to the school where I teach when I got caught up in this,” Colin said.

“I thought it was the summer holidays?” John said.

“It is. Me and one of the other teachers were due to take a group of kids on a camping trip,” Colin explained. “I was on my way over there because the trip had been cancelled. The head was calling round to tell the parents not to turn up, but he wanted someone there in case some of them didn’t get the message. There’s a mini bus sitting there with a trailer full of camping supplies.”

“How’s a bunch of tents and a couple of canoes going to help us?” Thomas snipped.

“There’s camping supplies in there: Food, water purifying kit, tons of useful stuff,” Colin said.

“So how far away is the school?” Sharon asked.

“Ten minute drive?” Colin estimated.

“It may have been ten minutes last week, but I can assure you the roads out there aren’t clear,” Billy said.

“We take one of the cars.” Colin said. “I get dropped off and I can drive the mini bus straight back here.”

“What’s to say you won’t get to the bus and make a run for the hills?” Thomas asked.

Colin screwed up his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t!”

“So you say,” Thomas said.

“I hate to admit it, but Thomas has a point,” John added.

Sharon cleared her throat to attract the group’s attention.

“No one is here against their will. If anyone wants to leave, you’re welcome to as long as it doesn’t put the rest of us in danger. I think now’s the moment to ask ourselves if we want to stay or leave?” Sharon looked around the group. “Given the state of things outside, I believe our best chance is to bunker up in here if we can get the food supplies. Billy, you’ve been out there more recently than the rest of us. What’s your thoughts?”

“I’ve got to agree with Sharon,” Billy said. “It’s a mess out there. None of us would last for long on our own.”

“Now I don’t know the first thing about survival, but I do know about teamwork. We are more likely to survive this if we work together than if we pull apart,” Sharon said. “If anyone wants to leave, the ideal opportunity will be when we go foraging for food.”

Straightening herself, she summoned up all the corporate management training sessions she’d been on. She pushed the chair out from behind her and stood.

“Now’s the time to say if you want to go,” she said, looking around the faces in the group.

Everyone was uncharacteristically quiet. There were a few nervous glances across the table, but no one voiced a preference to leave.

Seeing the implied acceptance, Sharon raised a smile.

“We may not have chosen to be brought together, but it’s a fact, and if we are going to survive then we need to pool our abilities.” She sat back down and continued, “Now, if the bickering is over, let’s plan how best to go about this. The sooner we can organise a plan the sooner we can implement it.”

***

Most of the group gathered at the loading bay. The room was small and cramped and had a musty smell; it was no more than a clear space with a long set of shutters running almost the length of the back wall. A set of concrete steps led down about three feet to a sturdy metal door adjacent to the shutter. The height difference was obviously to allow large trucks to back up and be unloaded, no doubt like the one that had delivered the massive water bottles stacked against the back wall.

Thomas called out, “Where’s Billy?”

“Just coming!” Billy shouted back.

The office block had seemed quiet and abandoned until now. With almost everyone down on the first floor milling about the loading bay, it felt oppressive and overcrowded. Crammed up so close there was an unpleasant smell of sweat.

“Melissa?” Billy called.

“Yes?” the young girl replied.

Billy knelt down so that he was eye level with the girl.

“Can you do me a big favour, doll?” he asked.

Melissa looked at him a hint of suspicion in her eyes.

“What?” she asked him flatly.

“It might get a bit messed up out there and my wee doggy…” Billy paused and looked down at the dog. Blow was her usual self, skittering around her master’s feet, tail wagging. “I don’t want anything happening to her. Would you be a darling and look after her until I get back?”

A smile lifted across Melissa’s face.

“Could I?” Melissa said, looking up at her mother.

Liz nodded.

“I’ll look after her, Billy. I promise,” Melissa said, scooping the dog up in her arms.

The dog looked around, startled by the sudden affection, but didn’t try to break from the embrace.

“Thanks,” Billy said.

He picked up his shotgun and swung it over his shoulder before giving the dog a quick rub behind its ears.

“I’m ready,” he announced.

“Let’s just run through this one last time,” Sharon said.

“No thanks. We’re good,” Thomas said dismissively. “On three you hit that shutter switch.”

Sharon didn’t have time to protest at Thomas’ contempt before he started his countdown.

On the signal, she turned the switch and the shutter clattered to life. A beam of strong sunlight leapt into the loading bay through the widening crack. The metal shutter seemed to screech and clatter far louder than ever before.

Over the noise of the shutter trundling open, there came a moan, loud and harsh and raspingly dry.

Two shadows rushed at the gap, then two pairs of hands were thrust in. The loading bay being a few feet higher than the parking lot level meant that the two attackers were stopped at chest height by the ramp.

Gary and the stranger thrust their whole upper bodies into the loading bay and pawed wildly at the people inside. Their faces were grey, the skin slack under their bleached eyes, and as they drew close their foul stench completely overpowered the unpleasant smell of body odour.

“Oh God…” Sharon snatched at her mouth in an attempt to hold back the putrid aroma and the churning vomit in her guts.

Thomas dashed in and smacked Gary over the head with a heavy wrench. Gary’s skull cracked and he fell down to lie quiet and inanimate on the ground.

Colin swiped at the second creature with the length of pipe. The metal piping bounced off the side of the man’s head with a thunk.

The dishevelled attacker moaned more fervently at the indignity of the blow. It turned to Colin and tried to grab at him. As it did Billy swooped in and cracked its skull open with a solid smash from the butt of his shotgun.

“Thank me later,” Billy said, jumping down off the ramp.

“Okay, let's go!” Colin called.

“Um… I’ve changed my mind,” John said, holding out his car keys.

“What?” Colin asked.

John shook his head. “I’m not coming. I’m not going outside.”

Thomas moaned, “Fucking pussy.”

Colin rolled his eyes, remembering how quickly Thomas had bolted when they let Billy in.

“Let’s roll,” Billy said, snatching the keys from John.

John turned and scurried off back into the perceived safety of the office block.

Sharon turned to call after him, but thought better of it.

“Do you need me to come with you?” she asked.

“We’ll be fine,” Colin assured her.

The four men—Billy, Colin, Thomas, and Mo—moved swiftly across the car park.

Mo broke off from the group and made for the gates. He jogged lightly, hunched down low in an attempt to remain unseen. He arrived at the gates and took a long look up and down the alleyway. It looked clear. Behind him he heard the car’s engine starting. He unclasped the padlock and pulled the bolt back. Looking over his shoulder, he could see Billy in the driving seat with Thomas next to him. Colin was nowhere to be seen, but Mo guessed he was in the back seat. The car started to roll towards him. Mo pulled both gates wide open and the car trundled through.

As it left Billy made a mock salute and turned off down the alleyway.

Something on the ground caught Mo’s eye. He bent down and picked it up. It was a small pink and white quartz pebble. He looked around at all the other bits and pieces of detritus. There were plenty of other stones scattered here and there, smaller chunks of aggregate no doubt left over from building the office block or paving the parking lot. This small lump of water worn rock was out of place here.

A wave of loneliness swept over Mo.

He stood up and slipped the stone into his pocket.

The car zigzagged around the dumpsters lining the back alley and out of sight onto the street.

“Good luck,” Mo said as he shut the gates.

He turned and walked back to the loading bay. On the ground lay Gary and the dishevelled stranger.

The pair had started to give off an awful reek. It was a tart smell, like something starting to rot in the back of a refrigerator—the kind of smell that stopped you breathing through your nose and forced your tongue to the bottom of your mouth to try to escape it.

“Can’t leave you lying there,” Mo said, struggling against the aroma.

He looked up into the open loading bay. There was no one left. The moment Mo had shut the gate, knowing they were again safe, the others had gone back inside.

Mo spotted a metre-tall roll of white, translucent plastic packing foam. Short of any other material to use as a shroud,he fetched it and went about wrapping the bodies.

***

“What are we going to do with her?” Karen asked.

Shan shrugged.

“We can’t leave her out in the corridor,” Karen said.

“Why not?” Shan asked, not really paying attention.

Karen listed off, “Cause she’ll start to stink the place up. ‘Cause she’s a health hazard. ‘Cause she’s a human being and deserves some dignity.”

“Kyle said she got AIDs from shagging that Math teacher,” Shan said, rubbing her hands against her jeans.

“What? That’s bullshit,” Karen said. “And you’re just trying to avoid the point. We need to do something about her body.”

“Well, you can. I don’t give a fuck.”

“No, Shan, we need to do it. If we don’t do it now she’ll start decomposing and it’ll get worse. This is getting done. Now come and help me.”

“Can’t make me,” Shan sneered.

Karen put her hands on her hips and glared. Shan was right; Karen couldn’t make her.

Karen stood for a moment, desperately trying to think of something to say that would convince Shan to help, or at the very least, a parting jibe that would cut at her.

Nothing came to mind.

“Fine, then. Fuck you.”

Karen turned and exited the first aid room.

She walked the short distance to where the body of Miss Alvarez lay. The blood had congealed and lost its sheen. It was darkened and browner in colour.

Karen had pulled down a black curtain from the drama class and draped it out alongside the corpse. The plan was to roll the body into the cloth, wrapping it up and hauling it outside.

She knelt down by Miss Alvarez’s body and wrapped her hands around her slender ankles. The flesh was warm and sticky. Karen lifted the legs up, surprised by the weight, and swept them onto the black curtain.

Next she walked round to her side with the intent of pushing her onto the makeshift shroud. The blood had spread out like a halo from her wound. It soon became apparent that unless Karen stood in the pool, she wouldn’t have the leverage to tip the body over.

Instead she walked round to the other side and knelt down on the curtain. She bent in and took hold of Miss Alvarez’s hand, and pulled. Her floppy arm whipped round with far less resistance than Karen expected, but as she heaved, the whole body simply slid towards her, rumpling the cloth.

Karen jammed a toe into the body’s chest and tugged. This time the torso started to rise up and over.

A moan slipped from its lips and Karen screamed, jumping back.

Miss Alvarez slumped forward and landed on the curtain. The moaning ceased.

Karen felt the rough brickwork of the wall at her back and her heart hammering against the front of her chest.

“What is it?!”

Karen turned round to see Shan standing at the far end of the corridor.

Karen returned her focus to the body on the floor. She pointed at it and said, “She... she moaned at me.”

Shan marched down the corridor to stand over the corpse. She put her hands on her hips and looked down at the body.

Without warning, Shan whipped her foot back and kicked the dead teacher in the head. Her skull ricocheted to end up looking up at the ceiling.

“She’s still dead,” Shan said.

She walked away.

“Where are you going?!” Karen demanded.

“I need the toilet.”

“Wait—what?” The toilets are at the other end of the corridor.”

“I know,” Shan replied. “I’m going to take a crap on Principal Wood’s desk.”

Karen screwed up her face and shook her head. She shouted, “There’s something wrong with you!”

Karen cringed immediately after the last syllable escaped her lips. She had seen Shan beat girls for less.

Shan walked on, turned the corner, and left Karen’s view.

Her reply echoed back to Karen from the unseen corridor. “Whatever!”

Shan’s glib retort did nothing to allay Karen’s rising fear. Shan had always been wild and spirited, but as the world fell apart there was nothing to constrain her belligerence. Now her behaviour was more reckless and dangerous and Karen didn’t think it would take much for her friend’s allegiance to dissolve.

Chapter 11

School Run

“Look out, you’re going to—”

The sound of meat and metal colliding cut off the rest of Colin’s statement.

“You hit him deliberately,” he said.

Billy hit the water spray and the windshield wipers. The wiper blades squeaked their way over the grimy glass, pulling scraps of bloodied flesh with it. It took a few good swipes and a liberal amount of water before the view was clear again.

“What am I supposed to do?” Billy said. “The road’s too narrow too dick about.”

Colin sat back in the seat, deflated. Out of the side window he could see the looted shop fronts, burnt-out cars, and decaying corpses, some lying still, others shambling towards the car.

“Where do we go from here?” Billy asked as they came up on a junction.

“South. Your right,” Colin said.

“I don’t know why we didn’t think of this before!” Thomas exclaimed.

“Think of what?” Colin asked.

With that, the car was filled with the strumming of a guitar and the wheezing of a harmonica.

“What the hell?” Colin asked.

“Where’s the button?” Thomas muttered to himself.

The nasally vocals cut off and were replaced by static hiss.

“Hey, I was listening to that,” Billy complained.

“Fuckin’ boo-hoo,” Thomas said. “Ask John for a copy of the CD when we get back.”

“The radio—of course!” Colin sat forward again.

“Ah, here it is,” Thomas said triumphantly.

The thick blue digital figures on the display whirled forward for a second before clicking to a halt.

“Turn it up,” Colin said over the headrest.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Thomas replied, flicking the volume control round. “Shut up—that’s it!”

A measured female voice came across the speakers. It was cold and steady with no hint of emotion.

“…a package of initiatives presented to the government by a combined military and scientific think-tank...”

“Is that a computer reading that?” Colin asked.

“Shut it!” Thomas barked.

“...by the Defence Secretary within the hour. The government has declared martial law. As of O-five hundred hours this morning, lethal force has been authorized when dealing with civil unrest. Persons not complying with a military order can face summary execution…”

“What?! They’re shooting people now?!” Colin asked.

“I don’t know—I’m trying to listen to this fucking thing!” Thomas shouted. “Now shut the fuck up!”

“Turn it up. I can’t hear it for you two,” Billy said.

“...operating under a shoot-to-kill policy between these hours. Under the state of martial law, the government has issued orders to call up reservists and off-duty military personnel to report to their nearest base regardless of service branch…”

“She just keeps saying the government; who’s actually in charge? Who’s giving the orders?” Colin asked.

“I’ve fucking warned you, shut the fuck up!” Thomas exploded, scrambling round in his seat to flail at Colin.

“Cut it out, you two, eh?!” Billy called.

He stretched over to increase the volume, but Thomas’ thrashing around knocked his hand and the radio dial went tumbling to the floor.

The radio hissed aggressively.

“Ah!” Billy screamed. “You battered my fingers, you clumsy fuck!”

The car took a wild swing to the right, then heavily to the left as Billy over-compensated.

“The radio? You’ve knackered the radio.” Thomas’ complaint was drowned out by the screech of metal.

“Christ!” Colin squawked as he was thrown across the back seat.

As the car continued driving forward, the screeching grew more high-pitched and the car’s movement more sluggish.

“What the hell? Are we caught on something?” Billy said as he pushed down the accelerator.

The engine revved and a pair of blood-stained hands slapped up against the right side rear window.

“Christ! They’re on the car!” Billy shouted.

The smell of rubber and the screech of tyres was increasing.

“You’re going to burn the clutch out!” Thomas warned.

Hands started banging against the rear window and the sound of moans rose above the shrieking cacophony of mechanical noise. Then abruptly the screeching stopped as the car jerked forward.

Still trying to recover his balance, Colin was thrown forward in the seat in front of him.

“Okay, okay! Everyone calm down!” he shouted.

“What the hell was that?” Thomas asked.

“No damage done—we just got hooked up a little,” Billy said.

Colin looked across at the door he’d been sitting next to. The glass had a seismic crack sprawling out from the bottom, stretching all the way to the top. Moreover, the door sported a crease, a raised line that widened and deepened the further back it went. The plastic moulding was cracked and white with stress.

Colin let out a gasp of spent breath and shook his head.

“Don’t think John will be too pleased with what we’ve done to his car,” he said.

“We? Was all this dick’s fault,” Thomas said.

“Me?!”Billy snapped. “If you hadn’t been throwing a hissy fit—”

“Ho! Guys!” Colin said loudly. “We’re almost at the school. Let’s focus, okay?”

The pair in the front of the car stayed silent. Colin sensed it wouldn’t be for long.

“Take a left down here and it’s at the end of this road. You can't miss it,” he said.

“Where’s the knob gone?” Thomas asked, his head darting around.

“We can find it in a minute. We’re almost at the school,” Colin said.

“What kind of shitty radio has knobs these days anyways?!” Thomas exclaimed, his head between his knees, scanning the footwell.

“It’s a retro design statement. You can clearly see the thing’s digital,” Billy said, pointing at the LCD display.

“Guys, pay attention. It’s just up here,” Colin said.

“Get your hands off—I’m driving,” Billy snapped, batting Thomas out of his way.

“I’m looking for the knob to fix the radio,” Thomas snapped back, peering at the driver’s footwell.

“I think it fell on your side,” Billy said.

“Look, we’re here! Forget about the fucking radio!” Colin barked. “I’ll nip out and open the gates.”

“Hold on there,” Billy said. “Three of them at the gate.”

“One each,” Thomas suggested.

Billy held his hand out. “I’ve got a better idea.”

He slapped his hand down on the horn.

The zombies turned at the noise.

“”Over here, you fucks!” Billy shouted, his head halfway out the window.

“What are you doing?” Colin asked nervously.

Billy honked the horn again. The trio of creatures lumbered away from the gates and closer to the car.

Shifting the car into reverse, Billy backed up from the pursuing creatures.

“Hold on,” he said.

He slammed the gearshift into first.

The car sped forward and slammed into the three ghouls.

Billy pumped his fist and whooped, “Steee-rike!”

“That’s your cue to get the gates,” Thomas said to Colin.

“Shit,” Colin huffed.

“What is it?” Billy asked.

“The door’s jammed,” Colin hissed, pulling at the handle.

“Give the keys to Thomas,” Billy said.

Colin shook his head. “I’ll just slide across—”

“Give him the keys, quick! Don’t fuck about,” Billy ordered.

Thomas’ hand was flat out between the front seats.

Colin slapped the key into his waiting palm and Thomas was out of the car.

“The lock is stiff! Don’t be too gentle with it!” Colin shouted out of the open door.

“Close the door,” Billy said.

“What?”

“Stretch over and pull the door closed.”

When Colin failed to move, Billy snapped,“Fuckin’ close it! We’ll drive through and Thomas can close the gate behind us.”

“Uh, sure.” Colin stretched over and shut the door, then clambered into the front seat.

Thomas rushed up to the sturdy black gates. It only took a few seconds to find the seating for the key and throw the gates open wide.

Billy drove through at a speed Colin found unsettling. There was a buck as the car bumped over some pulped body part and slip of the rear tyre as it lost traction on the viscous innards. Colin felt sick rise in his throat. He was accustomed to entering the car park with students and other teachers milling around. Billy’s kamikaze speed served to highlight the difference between those halcyon schooldays and the end of the world.

“That it there?” Billy asked, separating Colin from his thoughts.

“What? Oh, the mini bus. Yeah,” Colin said, swallowing down the fresh bile.

Billy brought the car to a screeching stop in front of the bus.

“What you waiting for?” he asked.

“Huh?” Colin grunted.

“Get out and get her started,” Billy said.

Colin stepped out of the car.

“What’d you do that for?!” Thomas shouted from down the car park.

“What?” Colin asked.

“Fuck off like that?!Could you not have waited two seconds for me to get back in the car?!”

“Stop whining,” Billy said, climbing out of the car. “Besides, the exercise is good for you.” He turned to Colin. “Now get this thing started and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Yeah, just a minute…” Colin hesitated. “That’s Jenny’s car!”

He walked over to the red car parked up behind the mini bus.

As he walked around the bus, Colin let his fingers drag across its paintwork. He felt a thin film of sludge against his fingertips. The bus had only been sitting out here since last Friday, but already there was a thick layer of grime on it. Colin didn’t think it had been used. The dirt was the accumulation of the soot and ash that the last few days of chaos had swept up into the atmosphere.

He stopped dragging his fingers over the bus and looked down at the black film that he had dredged up. At Jenny’s car he went through the same procedure, ploughing a furrow through to the clean.

“Feels greasy,” Colin said.

Billy walked up behind Colin and ran his finger along the paintwork. He rubbed his fingers together and looked out over the playing fields.

“What was that building over there?” Billy asked, pointing at a burnt-out ruin.

“Old folks’ home, I think.”

“Fat,” Billy said, wiping his hand on his shirtsleeve.

Colin walked over to the driver’s side of Jenny’s car and tried the handle. It was locked. He shaded his eyes and peered inside.. There was an empty fast food drinks carton and a couple of discarded wrappers, but the interior was otherwise empty.

“She must have been here a few days,” Colin announced to Billy and Thomas.

Billy was tugging at a limb wedged under the wheel arch. It could have been an arm or a leg from all that Colin could tell. He didn’t want to look too closely to find out for sure.

“Come on, stop playing detective and let’s go!” Thomas shouted.

“That’s why they were at the gate?” Billy asked.

“Why what now? Who cares? Come on!” Thomas said urgently.

Billy stopped tugging at the body part and straightened up.

“There’s someone in here,” he said.

“Jenny,” Colin said, quietly at first. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted at the school, “Jenny!”

“Quiet now,” Billy warned.

Colin felt Billy’s blood-soaked hand on his wrist, pulling his arm down to his side.

“Don’t make too much noise. It attracts them,” Billy said.

Colin looked down. The blood—or whatever it was—from Billy’s hands had transferred to his wrist. He could feel the hairs on his arms plastered to his flesh with the tackiness of the macabre fluid.

Colin tugged the tail of his t-shirt across the mark and wiped it clear as best he could.

“This Jenny…” Billy said softly. “She special to you?”

“No,” Colin blurted without thinking. “I mean yes. I mean, I’d like her to be.”

“Okay, let’s get inside and take a look around,” Billy said.

“What the hell for?” Thomas asked.

“Colin here wants to find his girlfriend,” Billy said, slapping Colin across the back.

Colin felt the fabric on his back pull away slightly with Billy’s wet slap. He shuddered, thinking of the revolting transfer undoubtedly left behind.

“Fuck her,” Thomas said.

Colin had already begun walking towards a side door.

“Come on, he’s going to look for her whether you like it or not,” Billy said. “He has the key for the bus.”

“Fuck knows what’s in there,” Thomas said. “I’m not going in.”

“If you stand out here they’re going to spot you and make our leaving very unpleasant,” Billy said. “Besides, there may be stuff in here we can use.”

He turned and followed Colin into the school building.

***

“Did you hear that?!” Karen asked.

She had perked up like a gofer at the sound.

“A car horn. So what?” Shan replied.

“I’m going to take a look,” Karen said excitedly.

“What’s the point?” Shan asked.

“Other people. It might be a rescue.”

“No one’s coming to rescue us and we don’t want other people,” Shan said sternly. “They’ll find Miss Alvarez.”

“What if they do find Miss Alvarez?” Karen said in a sarcastic tone. “She was one of them, after all.”

“You’ll be in as much shit as me,” Shan countered.

“How do you work that one out?” Karen asked.

“Sure, Miss Alvarez was an accident. People might believe you. But if they find out about what happened up the Wreks…”

“That was you,” Karen said.

“And you did nothing,” Shan replied. “You’re just as responsible as me. You helped every step of the way.”

“Fuck you!” Karen shouted.

She walked out of the nurse’s room.

“Where are you going?” Shan asked.

“Up to the library to get the best view of what’s happening out there,” Karen said, marching off.

Reluctantly, Shan followed.

As Karen opened the door to the library, the smell hit her. It was the smell of books. A week ago it was one of the most stomach-churning smells imaginable. Now her imagination was stretched somewhat.

She ran over to the north-facing long corner window and looked out onto the school’s concourse. She looked towards the school gates, but there was nothing there, not even the three creatures at the fence. Walking over to the other window on the south side, she could no longer see the gate or the entrance road that led to the car park. Instead she could see the houses that bordered the school and the fence that marked the strip of waste ground she and Shan had used to access the school. A little further round from there, she could see the main road that led to the school.

The door to the library opened and Karen gasped in fright.

“Jumpy,” Shan said as she entered.

“Shan, look at this.” Karen waved her friend over to the window.

“Some dick honking his horn?” Shan asked.

“No,” Karen said, staring out of the window.

“Oh,” Shan said.

The gate to the school was wide open.

Shan turned away and started walking back to the stairs.

Karen followed her.

“Shan, aren’t you worried?” Karen asked.

“What’s it matter?” Shan said. “We’re safe in here.”

A voice rolled up the stairwell: “Jenny!”

“Shit—someone’s inside,” Karen said.

“Quick! Hide!” Shan said, ducking back into the library.

“Why?”

“Cause we killed Jenny,” Shan said. “Jenny is Miss Alvarez.”

Karen was about to correct her use of the word ‘we’, but then thought better of it.

“We tell them we found her that way or that she was one of those things,” Karen reasoned.

“No!” Shan said harshly. “We avoid them altogether. You and me—no one else.”

“But what about them?” Karen asked, pointing out the window at the figures shambling to the school gates.

***

Colin called out, “Jenny?!”

“In here!” Billy shouted.

Colin went running through the refectory and in through the open kitchen door.

There were empty packets of food and dirty utensils and crockery all over the place.

Thomas came up behind Colin and looked over the scene.

“Someone’s been cooking in here,” he said, stating the obvious.

Colin whipped round and ran from the kitchen.

“Jenny!” he shouted with renewed vigour.

“Where are you going?” Billy asked as Thomas turned.

“I was going to help him look. Sooner he finds her the quicker we leave,” Thomas said.

Billy shook his head and opened up a storeroom door.

Even though the only illumination in the kitchen came from a pair of grubby skylights, Thomas could see the dry store was full of food: bags of flour, canned goods, drums of cooking oil, powdered milk and eggs, dehydrated fruit and vegetables.

“There’s a year’s worth of food in there, at least,” Thomas said aghast.

“Maybe not a year, but it beats the tits off that camping gear,” Billy said. “Right. Sleeves up. Let’s get this stuff loaded. Grab the keys to the bus off Colin before he strays too far, will you?”

Thomas nodded and chased after Colin.

“Hey, Tom!” Billy shouted after him.

“It’s Thomas!” came the reply.

Billy ignored the correction. "Find out where the home economics department is! There will be food up there, too!”

Chapter 12

Trade Up

“What’s for lunch?” Mo asked as he entered the canteen.

Immediately he saw Sharon and John sitting together and at their usual position. The two cleaners were sitting in front of the TV, smoking.

“Um, we have a couple of those oat bars left,” John said.

“Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye out for the guys returning?” Sharon asked.

“I am,” Mo said in protest. “I only came in to get a drink and something to eat.”

Sharon nodded her head, but didn’t verbally acknowledge him.

“An oat bar is fine,” Mo said to John.

John stood up and plodded over to one of the cupboards.

“Anything new on the TV?” Mo asked.

“No. Just static and test cards,” Sharon said.

“Static?”

“Well, blank channels not broadcasting anything.”

“Why’s the power still on?”

“I asked Thomas to leave it on just in case we need it, like operating the loading bay shutters.”

“Okay,” Mo said. “Only isn’t that a waste of power?”

“It is,” Sharon replied sharply. “But since none of us know how to work the generator, I felt it was prudent.”

“Okay,” Mo said softly, not wishing to upset Sharon further.

The door to the canteen opened and Melissa walked in, the dog trotting along beside her. She held a games console that had been borrowed from one of the forced-open drawers. It was an old, chunky thing, but it was the only entertainment the child had.

“Are there any more batteries for this?” Melissa asked.

“Yeah, sure, there are some in the stationery cupboard upstairs,” Sharon said.

John passed the breakfast bar to Mo and Mo gave a grateful nod.

“Sharon, should we be using the batteries to power that?” Mo asked.

“What is this, Mo?” Sharon asked.

“What is what?” Mo asked.

“First the power, now the batteries? Why are you trying to undermine me?”

Mo looked around at the other people in the room. John was standing shoulder to shoulder with Sharon and the two cleaners had picked up on the tension in Sharon’s voice and were watching the altercation.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Mo said. “I only mean is it wise to use the batteries on a games console? Might we need them for the torches?”

“Why are you picking at me?!” Sharon barked. “Are you trying to make me look bad in front of everybody?”

“No, that came out wrong,” Mo said.

“That’s what it sounds like.”

Mo shrugged. “No, that’s not it at all.”

“Don’t even try it,” Sharon said. “Believe me, you don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Mo protested.

Sharon ignored him and walked past.

“Let’s get you some fresh batteries, sweetie,” she said, placing a gentle hold round the girl and ushering her from the canteen.

“What just happened?” Mo asked, confounded.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching out for the guys returning?” John said, obviously siding with his boss.

“Yeah, yeah. I am,” Mo said.

He turned and exited the canteen.

As he entered the hallway he could see Sharon and Melissa heading up the stairs to the first floor office. Mo didn’t want to be anywhere near Sharon after her blow-up, so he decided he’d take the elevator to the fourth floor purely so he could avoid her.

As he entered the lobby there was an increase in the banging and moaning. The black mass of dead bodies pressed against the windows writhed and pulsated like a sea monster wrapped around the building. The creatures outside seemed so malevolent to Mo that they even sucked the light out the room.

He pressed the button to call the elevator. There was a soft ping and the door immediately sprung open.

Mo didn’t enter the lift straight away. He walked over to the office entrance and examined the glass.

As he drew closer, the ruckus from the other side grew more frenzied.

One of the panes had a half a dozen pit marks in it with frosted glass craters. There were a few stress cracks zigzagging away from the impact points. The damage had been done by one of Billy’s wayward shotgun blasts.

Mo ran his hand over the glazing. It felt smooth. The damage only affected the outside layer of glass.

“Need to keep an eye on you,” Mo said.

The throng held at bay on the other side of the glass were growling and moaning feverously, jostling with each other to get closer to their prey.

Mo stood up and a shudder squirmed down his spine. The windows were packed with dead faces staring at him, futilely grasping at him, their jaws already working up and down as if they had already started to devour him.

If the crack got worse the whole window could cave in, letting the zombies flood into the building. If that happened, the survivors could block off the stairwells and remain safe on the first floor, but they would lose their access to the ground floor. The loading bay and the plant room would be inaccessible.

Mo decided that if Thomas and the rest weren’t back by nightfall, they would need to switch off the generator and block the stairwells as a precaution.

He walked back over to the lift. He stepped inside and hit the button for the third floor. He placed a hand in his pocket and felt the small round stone in there.

***

No sooner had she exited the elevator than the doors clunked shut and the carriage started its downward journey. Liz stood at the fourth floor door, strangely paralysed by the noise of the descending elevator. She stood with her outstretched hand on the door, frozen at the precise moment before she should have started to push. Someone had called the lift. Liz didn’t know why this disturbed her. She had no reason to fear discovery. All she was doing was visiting her son. Her dead son.

The watch that was so fastidiously maintained all day Monday and through the night to Tuesday morning had melted away. No one came up to the fourth floor now unless it was to climb the short steps up onto the roof. Maybe Mo came up here and checked in on her boy when he did his rounds. Liz didn’t know for sure.

Behind her she heard the hard twang of the lift pulley come to a sharp stop.

She took her hand off the door and took in a deep breath. She stood up, straightened and smoothed a crease from her dress with a flat handed swipe. Again she placed her hand on the door and was about to push it open when from behind her the elevator started up again.

Liz took her hand from the door and covered her face with her palms. She could feel herself panting behind the mask of her cupped hands.

What was the point? In that office, tied down like a wild animal, was her son—her dead son. He didn’t acknowledge her presence, didn’t smile when he saw her. He was in that meeting room struggling perpetually against his bonds, but it wasn’t him. There was no pulse, no heartbeat—nothing of the young boy she once loved.

What was the point of torturing herself? Why go in there and be reminded of the creature her beautiful young boy had become?

The noise of the elevator grew louder as it drew nearer.

Liz pulled her now wet hands away from her face. She turned and quickly made her way through the door to the roof, wiping the tears from her eyes as she ran.

She didn’t want to see her beautiful boy feral and corrupted by whatever poison had consumed him. Likewise, she didn’t want anyone to see her so distraught, so vulnerable, so grief stricken.

***

“Why are you leaving it there?” Thomas asked, looking at the mountain of food by the doorway.

“Cause I don’t want those things outside to see us and start bawling,” Billy said.

Thomas took a quick look out the door.

“Don't do that!” Billy said, pulling him back.

“There’s none out there,” Thomas said.

“It only takes one to spot you and it calls in a horde of the fuckers,” Billy said. “Did you get the keys?”

Thomas held up a single ignition key and wiggled it.

“Good,” Billy said. “Now it only needs one of us to gut the kitchen of supplies, but there might be other useful stuff in here.”

“Like what?” Thomas asked. “Chalk?”

Billy shook his head. “When were you at school? It’s all smart boards and shit now.”

“So what are we looking for?” Thomas asked.

“I don’t know for sure. I mean there’s probably food in the Home Ec department. First aid kits. Just stuff.”

Thomas looked at him blankly.

“Okay, you get the food from the kitchen ready for loading. I’ll take a look around,” Billy said.

“No chance,” Thomas retorted. “You’re just looking for an opportunity to skive off.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, you can stay here and help load the stuff up, then we’ll both go looking,” Thomas said.

Billy rubbed his eyes to dispel the fatigue he suddenly felt.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way,” he said.

***

Colin opened the door to Jenny’s classroom. He’d hoped to see her sitting there at her desk, with a tower of term papers on one side and mug of coffee on the other.

But the classroom was empty.

“Staff room,” Colin said to himself. He closed the door.

He realised he wasn’t calling out her name anymore; something was holding him back. His heart soared when he had seen her car in the parking lot. A fantasy had leapt to mind: he and Jenny thrown together by this awful catastrophe. He would be the only familiar presence in this terrifying new world and Jenny would latch herself to him. The normal controls of the world were gone and the two of them would likewise throw off all control and intertwine—passionate lovers at last.

Colin walked into the abandoned staff room. Unlike the rest of the school there was something here that caught his attention: the faint smell of coffee. He walked up to the coffee machine. It was one of the expensive ones that made real coffee rather than the instant vending machines back at the office block.

He placed his hand on the side of it and was disappointed to find it cold.

He pulled his hand away, dejected that his hunch hadn’t paid off. As he did a dark brown drip fell onto the catch tray underneath.

Quickly he pulled out the cartridge and examined the grinds. They were damp. Someone had made coffee. Maybe not in the past few hours, but far more recently than last Friday when the school closed for the holidays.

Invigorated by this finding, he searched more closely for clues. In the sink he found a rinsed-out mug. He pulled it out and held it up to the light. Around the rim was a lip print. A faint wrinkled pattern left by lip-gloss or some such product.

“She was here, she had to be,” Colin said to himself.

He put the mug down and raced out of the staff room. As he raced from the room he ran straight into a girl.

Karen screamed and was knocked off her feet.

“Run!” Shan screamed, sprinting off down the corridor.

“Ow!” Colin grunted, landing badly.

“Karen!” Shan shouted from some way down the corridor.

“Karen?” Colin said.

“Mr. Lee?!” Karen blurted in surprise.

“Shan?” Colin said, looking up the corridor. He got to his feet. “Shanquel?”

Karen was still lying on the ground, looking terrified.

Colin held his hand out. Karen just lay there, her eyes wide in terror.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Karen,” Colin promised. “How long have you pair been here?”

Karen glanced back down the corridor, but Shan was long gone.

“Are you two okay? It’s... well, it’s a mess out there. What about your parents?”

“They’re dead,” Karen said.

She slapped Colin’s hand out of the way and stood up by herself.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Karen,” Colin said. “Look, I’m here with a group of people. There’s a few of us holding up in an office block not far from here. You’ll be safe with us there.”

“We were safe enough here until you came,” Karen said.

“We’re not going to hurt you.”

“What about those randoms outside?” Karen asked.

“We’ll keep you safe from them. I promise.”

“Bullshit. Why’d you lead them here then?”

“What? We didn’t lead them here,” Colin said.

“Oh, yeah? Come and see.” Karen nodded to the stairwell.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you,” Karen said and trotted off towards the stairs.

Colin jogged along behind her. The girl was spry, pelting up the stairs with astonishing speed. She was well ahead of him and through the library doors and out of his sight. For a moment he wondered if this was a trick to try to give him the slip, but when he ran into the library Karen was standing by the south corner window.

He walked up behind her and looked out.

His jaw dropped. “Bloody hell!”

The road that had led them to the school was packed. In broken steps, an army of zombies was marching on the school. Some of the vanguard had already started to congregate around the fence and shuffle up to the gate.

“Why did you bring them here?” Karen asked.

“We didn’t,” Colin said. “I mean we didn’t mean to. They must have been following the car.”

As he watched, a zombie bumped into the gate and to his horror the gate eased open enough for the creature to amble through.

Colin cursed, “Christ! That dick didn’t lock the gate!”

Colin ran for the exit, then stopped and turned back. He grabbed Karen’s hand and, despite her screams of protest, he dragged her along with him.

“Billy! Thomas!” Colin screamed, running into the refectory.

Neither of the two men could be seen, but stacked against the outside wall, neatly piled, was the contents of the kitchen store.

Still dragging the schoolgirl by her wrist, Colin walked out of the side door onto the parking lot. He looked out towards the gates. Already half a dozen zombies had pushed their way in. Keeping his eyes on the gate, he walked up to the mini bus and tried the door. Thomas hadn’t gotten around to opening it.

“Get back inside and wait by the door,” Colin said.

“Why?” Karen asked.

“I’m going to shut the gate. When Billy and Thomas get back we’ll get the mini bus out of here.” He let go of the girl’s arm and bent down to look her in the eyes. “I promise I’ll get you out of this.”

“Wish you hadn’t bothered coming here,” Karen said.

Colin stood up and spotted Jenny’s car.

“Have you see Miss Alvarez?” he asked.

Karen appeared frightened again.

“Have you seen her?” Colin asked more forcefully.

“She’s dead.”

“What?” Colin said flatly.

“She’s dead.”

Colin shook his head and placed a balled right hand to his mouth.

In her mind, Karen was weighing her options. She could tell him the truth that Shan had killed her, or she could lie.

“She was one of those things,” Karen heard herself say.

Colin howled, “Oh, Christ, no!”

He stumbled backwards, reeling from the news.

Down the parking lot a zombie moaned, loud and long, a doleful call like that of a mournful dog. It was foremost, though, a cry for the others of his kind to rally to.

Colin turned and looked towards the moans through anguished tears. The six or so lumbering zombies slowly trudged towards them and behind the school gates a throng of their decayed brethren jostled to squeeze through. He snorted in a scorching breath hot with grief and gazed down at Karen. The poor girl was clearly terrified.

Colin wiped the tears from his face and steadied his breathing as best he could.

“Okay,” Colin said, mustering as much calm as possible, “get back inside, out of sight. I’ll be back.”

He dashed over to John’s car and hoped that Billy had left the keys in the ignition. Pulling the door open, he let out a breath of relief when he saw that he had.

Colin slipped inside and started the engine. Reversing the car round in as tight a circle as he could, he did an about-face with the car. There was an angry thump from the back tyre as it scuffed up against the kerb that marked the beginning of the playing field. Colin ignored it and looked down the parking lot.

All of the zombies who had squeezed through the gap were now alert to him and walking in his direction.

Colin revved the engine and then dropped it into gear. The car shot off from its standing start much quicker than he had anticipated. He steered it straight towards the closest zombie. Striking the first creature square on with the front of the car, it snapped down hard against the hood of the car and slithered up the windscreen over the roof. The car’s momentum was slightly reduced by the impact, but Colin was far too disorientated by the collision to keep proper control. The car skidded as he tussled with the steering wheel, trying to put the car back on course for the second zombie. It wasn’t enough and he careened past the second creature. Ahead, closely grouped, were the next three targets. Colin held the wheel steady and kept his foot on the accelerator. In quick succession the car battered into the trio.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

The strikes came too quickly for Colin to register them as anything other than a blur and a tumultuous crashing.

In a surprising act of autonomy, the car’s wiper blades slid across the blood-smeared screen, attempting to clear the view, but it was a hopeless task. Gore and grime was being wiped to and fro across the windshield, obliterating any chance of seeing through it.

Peering through the murk, Colin abandoned his plan to try hitting the last zombie and aimed as best as he could for the gates. Little chinks of the road ahead revealed themselves as the wipers busily swiped backward and forwards, smudging the gory splatter into homogenous pink goo.

The dark outline of the gate leaped up in front of him. For a split second Colin felt himself becoming weightless, then everything went black.

***

“Come on, big guy. Let’s get out.”

Colin's hearing was muffled by ringing. He felt strong, muscular arms around his chest.

“Help me out here, buddy,” the voice said, heaving at him.

His neck and shoulders buzzed with pain like he’d been repeatedly slapped, but he pushed out with his legs, letting himself be pulled from the car.

“Billy?” Colin asked.

“Sure is, buddy,” Billy replied.

Colin’s senses started to come back into focus. He pushed the deflated airbag out of his path and stumbled out of the car. The ringing in his ears changed and he looked out over the school gates. There was a throng of undead pressed up against the fence, clawing at the air, trying to get in.

“Watch your step here,” Billy warned.

Colin looked down to see a lifeless corpse sprawled on the tarmac. It was right up against the side of the car and must have been trying to smash its way in to get him before Billy dispatched it.

“Thanks,” Colin said weakly.

“You blocked the gate pretty good, but it won’t take them long to take the fence down,” Billy pointed out.

Colin found his eyes sweeping along the front of the car. It ended quicker than he expected. The gate’s long, sturdy bars bit deep into the car and bent slightly towards it where they erupted from the paintwork.

“You okay to go?” Billy asked.

Colin went to nod his head, but pain shot up the length of his spinal column.

“Sure,” Colin hissed out against the agony.

“I can’t wait to see John’s face when you tell him about his car,” Billy said.

The large man ducked his head under Colin’s arm and supported him on their trip back up the car park.

As they got closer to the mini bus he could see Thomas and Karen loading it up.

Colin immediately moved to help, but Billy held him back.

“Go sit in one of the front seats and keep an eye on those fences,” Billy said. “We’re going to load up the bus with as much stuff as we can before we leave.”

“Jenny and Shanquel?” Colin said.

“I’m sorry, mate. We found your friend. She’s been dead a couple of days now.”

Colin took a deep breath. “And Shanquel?”

“Who?” Billy asked.

“Shan,” Karen said from somewhere behind Billy.

“Shan…right, your friend. We haven't seen her,” Billy said.

“We need to find her,” Colin said without conviction.

“If there’s time, buddy. Now you take a seat and watch those fences.”

Billy ushered Colin into the bus.

Colin sat in the chair opposite the driver’s seat. He felt woozy, his eyes heavy. He turned to Thomas, who was loading up the back seats with cans.

“Thomas, we need to find Jenny and Shanquel,” Colin said.

“Um, we’ll get on that.” Thomas said.

Colin turned back round, feeling sleepy. He looked along the road to the gate. There was a car against it. It looked like John’s. On the other side of the gates there was a solid wall of bodies. Their arms were outstretched, begging to be let in.

Colin stood up and immediately had to hold onto the seat across the aisle. His legs felt weak and his head was swimming.

“Where you going, big man?” Billy said from behind him.

Colin looked round to see Billy stacking tins of pineapple rings in the back of the mini bus.

“They want in,” Colin said, pointing at the crowd.

“They sure do, buddy. Let’s say you sit back down and keep an eye on them, eh?” Billy said, placating him.

“That looks like John’s car,” Colin said.

“Sorry?” came the voice from behind.

Colin turned round to see Thomas loading a pallet of cans into the back of the mini bus.

“I need to find Jenny,” Colin said.

Billy came up to join Thomas. The two men spoke quietly for a moment, then moved back to the school building.

“Mr. Lee?” A girl’s voice.

Colin jolted his head up.

“I must have been sleeping,” Colin said. “Have you got your homework, Karen?”

“I don’t have any homework, Mr. Lee,” Karen replied. “School’s stopped.”

“Yes, of course,” Colin said, remembering the events of the past few days.

Karen looked intensely into Colin’s eyes.

“Are you feeling okay, Mr. Lee?” she asked. “Your friends told me to come sit with you and make sure you were okay.”

“That looks like John’s car crashed into the gates,” Colin said.

“It was you drove it into them, Mr. Lee. Don’t you remember?”

“It was you who,” Colin said, exaggerating the last word. “It was you who drove into them. Not it was you drove.”

“Um… sorry, sir.”

“How long have you been at the school?” Colin asked.

“Since Tuesday,” Karen replied.

“Have you seen Miss Alvarez?”

Karen sat still, not wanting to answer.

“Well, answer the question,” Colin demanded in a harsh tone.

“Um…” Karen hesitated.

“Where’s your homework, girl?” Colin said.

“Oh my god!” Karen screamed.

She ran from the bus.

“They’re in!” she shouted at the school building.

Billy and Thomas came running out, Thomas empty-handed, Billy cradling a massive bag of dried pasta.

They looked out towards the gates. Although Colin had effectively blocked the entrance, the wire fences around the playing fields were nowhere near as sturdy. A large section of the fencing had buckled and become trampled flat by the mass of reanimated bodies pushing in on it.

Thomas ran past Karen and into the driver’s seat.

“Don’t just stand there!” Thomas shouted. “Get in, girl!”

Karen stood, unable to move. The sound of the bus’ engine joined the wailing of the dead.

She heard the back doors of the mini bus slam shut. Billy ran up to her. He was a hulk of a man, his greying red beard whipping in the wind.

“One last thing, Thomas,” Billy said, slapping the side of the bus. “Then we’re good to go.”

He trotted back into the school.

Karen followed him halfway.

She called out as loud as she could, “Shan!”

Then she waited silently, hoping for a reply. The only sounds that came back were the moans of the approaching dead.

The door bounced open and Billy came scuttling through, struggling with a huge cooking pot. As he waddled past her, Karen could see the massive gun metal-grey pot had all manner of utensils crammed inside: spoons, labels, knifes, even other smaller pots.

“Come on, girl. We need to leave,” Billy said softly.

Karen cupped her hands to her mouth.

She screamed, “Shan!”

She scanned the windows for a sign of her friend.

From the bus she heard Billy dumping down the pot and the rattling of the various odds and ends within.

“Shan!” she called again.

“Get her on!” Thomas called from the bus. “We have to go!”

“Okay, girl, we need to leave,” Billy said, placing a strong hand on her shoulder.

Karen looked up at Billy with sad eyes, and nodded. She let the stranger lead her to a seat beside Colin.

Colin was asleep, his head tilted back. Karen sat looking out of the window.

“How do we get out of here?” Thomas asked no one in particular.

“I don’t know. Is there another road into the school?” Billy replied.

“Girl,” Thomas said.

When Karen didn’t reply, he spoke louder until she broke from her trance.

“What?” she cut back.

“Is there another road out of here?” Thomas asked.

Karen looked up at the car park. It was now thick with the walking dead.

“No,” she said.

“There’s got to be,” Thomas said nervously.

Karen’s mind pictured the hemmed-in strip of wasteland she and Shan had used to enter the school. The bike parked at the entrance would only carry two of them and there was no way the others could make it far on foot, let alone carry all the supplies.

“Over the playing field,” Karen said suddenly.

“The playing field?” Billy asked.

“They started doing some work on the corner that keeps flooding—drainage, I think,” Karen explained. “They had to knock down a length of the fence to get the diggers in. It’s just that temporary mesh stuff they have in place and there’s a ramp onto the main road.”

“Go for it,” Billy encouraged.

“Which way?” Thomas asked.

Karen pointed.

Thomas put the bus in gear and they drove off, bouncing across the field.

***

“Wake up, sleepy head.”

Colin felt a hand tapping his cheek. He pulled open his heavy eyes. Billy was uncomfortably close to his face and he could smell his bad breath in his nostrils.

There was a screeching noise, metal on metal, and the mini bus juddered and lurched. There were cars all around, mainly burnt out or smashed up. A banner fluttered in the wind. He read the words, but they made no sense in his clouded mind.

“Come on, wake up,” Billy urged.

“Can he drive?” Thomas asked.

Billy shook his head.

“What’s wrong with him?” Karen asked.

“Either a brain haemorrhage or concussion. Hopefully the latter,” Billy replied.

The mini bus ground to a halt and Thomas hopped out of the driver’s seat.

“What can we do for him?” he asked.

“Fuck all,” Billy replied. “If it’s concussion he should just be able to sleep it off. If it’s something more serious, he’ll die and there’s nothing we can do to help him.” He patted the extremely drowsy-looking Colin on the shoulder. “Sit tight, buddy. We’re moving out in a minute.”

He nodded at Karen and they followed Thomas out.

Thomas was on the ground, half under the mini bus.

Billy pointed at the shutter door. “Give me a hand with this.”

Karen stepped in behind him.

Billy bent down and tugged at the shutter’s handle. There was a click and the metal slats rose up a few inches.

“We’re in luck—it’s open,” Billy said. “Now I’m going to pull this all the way up and you keep watch for anything… unpleasant. You got me?”

Karen nodded. “Sure.”

Billy flexed upright, bringing the shutter with him, and the daylight exposed the interior of a workshop, like tomb robbers breaking into a burial chamber.

“Hey there!” Billy called, but there was no reply, living or dead.

He scurried inside and made a quick scout about.

“Looks clean,” he said.

There was the clang of metal on the concrete and Karen whipped round.

“Here’s the bastard!” Thomas called out.

Karen and Billy turned to see Thomas standing up at the front of the mini bus.

“What is that scaffolding bar?” Billy asked.

“It’s an outer strut of one of those temporary mesh barriers we tore down. It was imbedded in a radiator.”

Billy shook his head.

“Can we fix it?” Karen asked. “I mean, we’re at a garage, right?”

“Yeah, sure I can fix it,” Thomas answered.

“Don’t be stupid,” Billy said.

“You don’t think I can fix a simple radiator?” Thomas asked, offended.

“I don’t doubt you could, but how long will that take? Two hours? Four?”

“Maybe, if I find the right parts. Or I can weld it closed. It’ll be messy, but it’ll get us home.”

Billy marched up to a beige metal box fixed to the wall inside the workshop. He pulled at it, but it didn’t open.

“What’re you doing?” Thomas asked.

Ignoring him, Billy picked up a wrench and smacked the metal box. The front snapped off its hinge and flew open. Billy casually tossed the wrench to the floor and tilted his head sideways to scan the keys on the rack.

“Got you,” he said, plucking a key from its hook.

“What’re you doing?” Karen asked.

Billy walked over to a large black people-carrier and hit the unlock button. The vehicle’s lights flashed and the doors unlocked with a chirp.

“Give me a hand hooking this thing up,” Billy said, nodding at the toe hook on the back of the car.

“Or we just jack a new ride,” Thomas said.

Billy looked over at the young girl. She had her arms folded over her chest as if she were cold. She was maybe two foot shorter than him and he guessed one of his arms weighed more than she did in total. In spite of her frail frame, he could see intensity in her eyes.

“What about you, kid? Can you drive?" Billy asked.

“I’m too young to have a license,” Karen replied.

“I didn’t ask if you had a license, kid.”

“I’ve driven Nate’s round a parking lot,” Karen said.

Billy looked at Thomas and they held their gaze on each other for a while as if they were communicating telepathically.

“Fuck it,” Billy muttered.

He walked over to the metal box on the wall he’d prized open and pulled down a key. It had a fawn cardboard tag with a registration number scrawled across it. Billy didn’t even read the tag. He held it aloft like a magi about to start an incantation and press the button.

The lights flashed on the Audi up on the workshop ramp.

“Not that one,” Billy said as he tossed the key aside.

He picked up another key and pressed the button. This time a saloon car chirped and flashed.

“That’ll do,” Billy said. He tossed the key over to Karen. “Load it up with as much stuff as you can from the bus. Doesn’t matter what, just get it in there. It won’t be long before we draw in company. Soon as we do, get in and follow Thomas.”

“How do we know the car will work?” Karen asked. “We’re in a repair shop, after all.”

Billy tilted his head to get a better look at the car.

“Don’t look fucked up,” he answered glibly.

Karen still looked worried.

“It’s a dealership, kid,” Billy explained. “These guys are in for their free service: fresh air-con cartridge, oil change—you know, ten thousand-mile service.”

“Stop gabbing and give me a hand with the trailer,” Thomas demanded.

Billy scurried over and started to help Thomas move the trailer from behind the bus and onto the tow hook of a people-carrier.

Karen walked over to the car and eyed it up like it was a threat. She had driven around the odd empty parking lot, mainly with Shan’s boyfriend, but these had been ten-minute affairs with plenty of room to make mistakes. She looked out of the open workshop doors. On the forecourt there were rows of burnt-out cars. Karen had held out little hope of finding a replacement vehicle as they chugged up to the dealership in the ailing mini bus. The glass facade of the show room was smashed in and the cars either stolen or wrecked. The rioters had obviously ignored the workshop at the back of the showroom in their orgy of theft and destruction.

The world had collapsed and in its dying gasps people hadn’t fought to survive—they had fought to acquire a better car or to vent their frustration on these inanimate shells of metal.

“Don’t just stand there—get packing,” Thomas said from behind her.

Karen looked round to see Billy and Thomas finish hooking the trailer up to the people carrier. They were now grabbing arms full of supplies from the back of the broken down mini bus and transferring them to the newly acquired vehicle.

“I’m not sure about driving the car,” Karen confessed.

“Can you start it?” Billy asked.

“Of course,” Karen answered.

“Can you turn the steering wheel?” Billy continued.

“Yeah.”

“Then you’ll be fine. The rest is gravy.”

“Let’s face it,” Thomas added, “you’ll not have any cops pulling you over and asking for your licence just because you failed to stop at a light.”

“Thomas here will take the lead, you in the middle, and I’ll follow up in the rear with the people carrier and the trailer,” Billy said. “Colin’s in the back with me and I’ll keep the passenger seat free. If anything goes wrong, I’ll pull up alongside you and you can ride shotgun with me.”

Karen nodded and let a slight smile grace her lips.

“Good. Now load as much shit in these cars as you can before we start attracting attention.”

Comforted by Billy’s words, Karen opened the back door to the car and started filling it up with the various cans and bags of food from the mini bus.

“Should we search the garage for useful stuff?” Thomas asked, holding an armful of dried goods.

“I don’t know,” Billy said. “What are we likely to find? A vending machine and some key fobs?”

“It’s a garage, man—there’s a ton of tools and kits here," Thomas said.

“What would we do with them?”

“I don’t know…fix things.”

“I don’t think it’s worth the payoff. If we’re going to raid places, we should go for high value targets like food depots.”

“But we’re here,” Thomas argued. “We don’t need to go out of our way just take the opportunity.”

“Wait—be quiet a second,” Karen said.

Everyone stood still.

Karen peered out of the open entrance. The narrow view was the same as before, torched cars and debris.

“What is it?” Thomas asked.

Karen cocked her head. “I heard something. It was...”

A moan drifted towards them on the acrid wind.

“Shit,” Billy cursed softly. “Get in the cars.”

“No, wait,” Thomas said. “Keep loading. I’ll take care of this.”

He bent down to a square red jack on the floor. He placed one foot on the body of the jack and quickly unscrewed the long metal handle. He held it in one hand and tapped the shaft against the palm of his other hand.

“Right, let’s shut this fucker up,” Thomas said, taking long strides out of the garage doors.

Billy got back to loading up the supplies, but Karen watched as Thomas quick-stepped up the short incline from the service bay. When he disappeared out of sight, she turned back to loading up the car.

“Do you think Shan will be okay?” Karen asked.

“You know her better than us,” Billy replied. “What do you think?”

“I guess she can look after herself,” Karen said. “I mean, I know she can look after herself, it’s just that she can take things too far. You know, go over the top.”

“Yeah, I know,” Billy agreed.

“She can look after herself, but she needed me to hold her back a bit—not that I could sometimes.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Billy said. “I used to ride with a guy just the same.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Karen asked.

“Doubt it. He was fond of a drink and didn’t have the sense to leave his bike. Got a call one morning from his maw that he was in hospital. He’d lost control coming home from a session and got himself in an argument with a truck. He lived just long enough to sober up and realize how stupid he’d been.”

“Oh,” was all Karen could say.

Looking at the young girl, Billy realized he had spooked her a little. Embarrassed, he broke eye contact.

“Where the hell is Thomas?” he asked. “You keep loading. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Marching out of the doors, Billy stood at the top of the incline that led into the workshop. He looked around, but couldn’t see Thomas anywhere.

The moaning that had led Thomas out of the garage had ceased, but there was a distant humming, like bees in a swarm.

Billy walked up to the right to get a view of the way they had come. He turned the corner of the car dealership and was afforded a view that struck him cold.

Down the road they had just taken from the school came a wall of undead. Still a quarter of a mile away, the zombies had been far out-paced by the ailing school minibus, but they were doggedly following its course.

Billy turned tail and ran back. He went straight past the entrance and down to the left side of the building.

On the gravel verge by one of the billowing dealership flags, there lay a soldier dressed in battle armour and wearing a helmet. Through an eye socket there protruded the red powder-coated handle for the jack.

Billy shouted, “Thomas!”

There was no reply. He took a few paces further and cupped his hands around his mouth.

He called again, “Thomas!”

Thomas appeared from behind a brick wall. He was grinning from ear to ear.

Draped from his shoulders were four or five assault rifles.

“Ah, you’ve seen my handiwork then,” Thomas said, looking at the immobilised zombie. “Took forever getting him pinned through the eye; bloody helmet getting in the way.”

“Where the fuck did you get those?” Billy asked in amazement.

“Back there.” Thomas nodded over his shoulder. “There’s an army truck on its side. Thought they’d come in useful.” He trotted past Billy, carrying the heavy guns. “There’s more stuff in there, but be careful,” he added with a mischievous laugh.

Billy jogged around the corner to see a massive jeep-type vehicle on its side. There was a fresh scrape up the road where it had obviously skidded over.

“Must’ve been going some speed, boy,” Billy said to himself.

The truck was tan coloured, either destined for or recently returned from a tour in the Middle East. Behind the thick metal mesh that screened the whole vehicle, Billy could see the driver slumped at the bottom of the cab, blood on the inside of the windshield. Halfway out of the machine gun turret hung a second body, that of a young soldier. His left arm lay under him and must have dislocated from the shoulder.

Billy walked to the back of the massive six-wheeler to where the rear hatches were open. There was some banging from inside.

Cautiously, he peered through the open doors. Immediately the zombified soldier groaned and lunged at him.

Billy stepped back, but then realised he was in no danger. The hapless soldier was strapped firmly into a seat with a four-point harness. On its forearm it sported a blood-stained bandage, no doubt from the wound that originally infected him.

“Poor bastard,” Billy said.

“Who?” Thomas asked, coming up behind him. “Oh, Private Gibson there.”

“We’d better work quickly; there’s a mob of those dead fuckers following us from the school,” Billy said.

“This was a stroke of luck,” Thomas said.

Billy shook his head. “Not for them it wasn’t.”

Chapter 13

Blowout

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Mo stepped out onto the third floor. A couple of days ago he was mentally berating John for his laziness in taking the lift, and now here he was doing the same.

But Mo’s laziness wasn’t physical. He could easily jog up the stairs. Mo was purposefully avoiding Sharon and the confrontational attitude she’d taken towards him this morning. Mo didn’t know what he’d done to provoke her displeasure. He’d encountered prejudice and hate many times in his life, none of it based on anything tangible. Being the pragmatist that he was, he didn’t waste time trying to figure out what, if anything, he’d done to incur Sharon’s anger. So Mo decided to take the path of least resistance and avoid Sharon as best he could.

He stood with his hands clutched round the cold railing, looking down the stairwell. It was void of signs of life.

Sharon and Melissa must still be in the first floor office, Mo thought.

His stomach made a growling noise so loud that the rumble echoed off the walls. He was hungry, but wanted to avoid going to the canteen for as long as possible. Sharon might go off at him again, or John might make some snidey comment.

The hunger was no worse than fasting and far less of a discomfort than having to deal with Sharon and her crony, John.

An unsettling thought occurred to Mo: What if the guys don’t make it back?

Sure, the food would last longer, but Mo would have to deal with Sharon’s politicking of the others. Was she trying to edge him out? Trying to turn the others against him?

Mo had heard staff bitching about her being two-faced. At the time he’d put the backstabbing down to the redundancies and the ill feelings the loss of job security had created. He was a placid kind of guy, but Sharon was the polar opposite: aggressive, stubborn, and self-absorbed—everything he had come to expect in a manager.

He knew he would have to be careful in the coming days.

He walked into the gents’ toilet. With the generator running, the lights sprang to life as he entered the room. He went to the sink and started the tap running.

Mo knew he wouldn’t be able to do this for long. The water pressure would drop and he wouldn’t be able to wash himself properly. But for now he could, and he was thankful for such a blessing.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was too short to show any sign of neglect, but raising his chin high he could see the stubble making an appearance over his neck and jaw. He swept a hand over his cheek and felt the bristles that were starting to give his skin a darker tint.

“Where am I going to find a shaving kit in here?” he asked his reflection.

Other than Sharon, no one else seemed to be making the time to stay clean.

Mo gave a smirk to himself in the mirror, realising there was one trait he and Sharon shared.

He rolled his sleeves up, took off his socks and shoes, and set about his ablutions.

It only took a few minutes to go through his ritual of cleaning. When he was done, he walked out of the toilet and into the third floor office. He had chosen the third floor, as this gave him a modicum of isolation. Liz’s infected boy was tied up on the fourth floor, as far away from their living quarters as possible, and the third and second floors were empty save for desks and chairs. There was no reason anyone would come onto this floor. No reason anyone would disturb him. Little chance he would be discovered.

He walked over to the meeting room. It was nothing more than a glass box dropped at the end of the office. All the floors had two meeting rooms, one at each end. No imagination to the building’s design; it was just a cheap battery farm to house phone-monkeys.

Before entering the room he decided to take a walk over to the window and check if Colin, Billy, and Thomas had made it back yet.

***

Bolting out of the loading bay, Mo could see three cars lined up in the alleyway waiting patiently at the gate. The smog-muffled sun was on its way down, drawing darkness with it.

His lungs pounding, Mo thundered across the tarmac, key in hand.

“Come on, we ain’t got all day!” Thomas called from his open window.

Mo slipped the key in the lock. “Everything go all right?”

“Fine, fine,” Thomas replied. “But get a move-on, will you.”

Excitedly Mo nodded and pulled the gates open.

A moan echoed off the walls of the alley. Mo looked up from holding the gate open, but couldn’t see any zombies.

As soon as the gates were fully open, the procession made its way into the parking lot.

Mo looked into the window of the middle car and saw a teenaged girl. As Billy pulled past he made a quizzical face and pointed at the second car.

Billy unwound his window. “Waif we picked up. Don’t shut the gates just yet.”

Mo frowned. “Why?”

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Billy said.

There was the sound of barking and an excited blur exploded from the loading bay to dance wildly in front of Billy’s car.

“Good girl. Good girl,” Billy praised in a high-pitched tone. He hopped out of his vehicle, and grabbing the dog by the jowls he rubbed at its head vigorously. “Good girl. Now stay.”

The dog immediately stuck its backside to the tarmac, tongue out, panting heavily.

Running to catch up with the dog came Melissa and the rest of the building’s occupants.

Billy proceeded to Karen’s car.

“Leave the engine running and get out,” he said.

Karen obeyed and slipped out of the car. As soon as she did, Billy took her place. He put the car in reverse and burled it around to face the alleyway. Then, much to everyone’s surprise, he drove the car through the open gates.

“Where the hell is he going?” Thomas asked, standing by his procured car.

John hopped down from the loading bay steps.

“Where's my car?” he asked.

“We traded her in,” Thomas replied with a smirk.

“Seriously, where’s my car?” John said angrily.

The sharp crunch of metal and dull thud of plastic drew the group’s attention back to Billy.

“What’s he doing?” Sharon asked.

“Well, if he’s trying to make a run for it, he’s fucked it up,” Thomas quipped.

Billy had struck one of the large commercial refuse bins and was nudging it down the alleyway. The plastic scraping against the stone sent a tremendous din reverberating off the canyon-esque walls of the buildings.

“He’s blocking the access,” Mo said.

“Why?” John asked.

“I get it,” Thomas said.

He ducked back into the car and started up the engine. Like his comrade before him, he swept the car around in reverse until he faced the gate. This time though, he turned right and began pushing a refuse bin to block the south of the alleyway.

“Will someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Sharon demanded.

“It’s them,” Karen said softly.

“Who? You’re not making much sense,” Sharon said indignantly. “And who are you anyway?”

“They followed us. Thousands of them,” Karen replied.

“They followed you? Why did you lead them back here?”

“The fence won’t keep them out,” Karen said. “They’ll break through it like they did at the school.”

“They’re barricading the alleyway,” Mo said.

“Will that be enough?” John asked.

“I don’t know,” Mo answered.

“Maybe if they can’t get in they’ll leave us alone,” Karen said.

“I very much doubt that,” Sharon said, walking back into the building.

***

Colin opened the door to the canteen and was hit by the atmosphere. The rest of the building’s captives were inside, laughing and talking and eating. Although the camp lights cast a harsh white glow, there was a jovial party mood. The smell of cooking raised everyone’s morale and it felt more like an impromptu barbeque than a compulsory sanctuary.

“Ah, sleeping beauty’s awake!” Thomas exclaimed.

There was a weak cheer from the gathered survivors and Colin raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“You feeling better, big man?” Billy asked.

“Yeah, a bit thirsty and a pounding headache, but yeah, good,” Colin said. “What happened? I don’t remember much.”

“I’m guessing you banged your head when you crashed John’s car into the school gates,” Billy told him.

“It’s dark outside; how long was I out?” Colin asked.

Billy glanced at his watch. “A good six hours.”

“Would you like one?” Liz offered, holding out a breaded lump of chicken.

Even bathed in the sickening blue flame from the camping stove and the harsh white light of the lantern, the amorphous chunk of factory-rendered meat looked very appetizing.

“Please. I’m famished,” Colin said, rubbing his stomach.

“Should we be cooking all this stuff?” John asked. “I thought you wanted to save it.”

“This won’t keep,” Liz explained. “It’s all the food from the school freezers that defrosted. At least if I cook it off, it’ll last cold for a day or two.”

“Looks like you’ve cooked off enough food to last a month,” Thomas chimed.

“You’ll be surprised how quickly it will go with eleven mouths to feed,” Liz said.

There was the clunk of glass against glass and Sharon made a fake cough to draw everyone’s attention.

Clutched in her hands were four glass bottles.

She announced, “I was saving these for... well, I’m not sure now, but it feels appropriate to open them tonight.”

She set three of the bottles down on a convenient table and ripped the foil from the fourth. In a rather unladylike stance, she gripped the bottom of the bottle between her thighs and the neck with both hands.

“One, two, three!”

Sharon popped the cork from the bottle. There was a dull sizzle and the cork tumbled to the floor.

“Disappointing,” Sharon said, obviously expecting more of a spectacle. “I’m sure it will still taste just as good.” She beckoned the group over. “Grab a cup everyone. John, be a dear and open the rest of these.”

“These were the prize for the highest monthly sales total,” John said, picking up a bottle.

“Don’t think we’re going to meet target this month, John, now do we?" Sharon said, filling a coffee mug with the champagne.

“Suppose not,” John said reluctantly as he popped the cork.

A line formed and Sharon and John started pouring the beverage into a variety of drinking vessels.

“Hold on a minute,” John said, tilting the neck of the bottle vertical again. “Aren’t you a little young to be getting a drink?”

Karen stood with a plastic cup in hand, her head cocked.

“How old are you, girl?” John asked.

“Eighteen,” Karen lied automatically.

“Karen!” Colin snapped from behind.

“No, really—how old?” Sharon asked.

Karen looked over at Billy as if for support. Billy gave a nod.

“Fifteen,” Karen said.

“I don’t see the harm in one glass,” Colin said.

“Thank you, Mr. Lee,” Karen replied, holding her cup out.

“Call me Colin. We’re not in school anymore.”

“Ma, can I have a drink too?” Melissa asked excitedly.

“You’re much younger, honey. I don’t think so,” Liz said.

“Oh, ma!” Melissa said, folding her arms and scowling.

“You wouldn’t like it anyway,” Liz added.

“Would you allow a buckfizz?” Billy asked, waving a carton of orange juice.

“A what?” Melissa said.

“Well, I...” Liz smiled at her daughter. “Okay then.”

“What is it?” Melissa said curiously.

Billy filled a third of a cup with champagne and topped it off with orange juice.

“Would you mind if I had one, too?” Karen asked, holding out her cup.

“Champagne too strong for a hardened drinker like you?” Billy joked.

“No, it just doesn’t taste all that nice,” Karen admitted.

“What about you, ma’am?” Billy said, making a bow to Liz.

“You know, I think I will,” Liz said.

“Straight up or with a mixer?”

“Straight up, I think.”

John passed Liza blue mug with the Superman logo emblazed on the body. She accepted it by the handle and gave him a “Thank you” before taking a greedy mouthful. She closed her eyes and took a long breath of air through her nostrils, allowing the champagne to sit in her mouth and the bubbles tickle her tongue. With her eyes still closed, she tilted her head back and swallowed.

“Who’s not had a drink yet?” Sharon asked. She went on point and tried to scan the room. The camp lanterns brought welcome islands of light to the gloomy canteen, but their glow only held back the darkness for a few metres. She spotted the security guard at the back of the room. “Mo, you don’t have a glass.”

“No, I’m okay, Sharon. Thank you,” Mo replied shyly.

“Oh, go one, Mo,” Sharon cajoled. “Once it’s gone, I don’t know when we’ll taste more.”

“No, honestly, I’m fine,” Mo said.

“He doesn’t drink,” John interjected.

“You don’t drink?” Sharon asked.

“No,” Mo said with a weak smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite. Thank you,” Mo replied.

“Well, more for the rest of us,” Sharon said, turning round to pick up a bottle. She studied the three on the desk. “Where’s the fourth one?”

“I don’t know,” John answered.

He looked around the canteen to see if he could spot where it had gone, then noticed Thomas, Magda, and Alex making for the door. He nudged Sharon.

“What?” Sharon asked.

John pointed at Magda’s distinctive yellow and red football top as it disappeared through the doorway.

Sharon snorted out a “tisk” and shook her head.

“Should we say something to them?” John asked.

“No, John, it’s fine; a bottle between three seems fair,” she replied. “In fact, since Mo isn’t drinking, I think we got the better part of the deal.”

Thursday

Chapter 14

Haul

Colin woke up. His mouth was dry and his head still throbbed. The coat he’d been using as a sheet was bunched up around his feet. He sat up and stretched out. His neck and shoulders were hard and inflexible. He put a hand on the nape of his neck and rubbed it, feeling the muscle taut and unyielding.

Whiplash, he reminded himself.

Bleary-eyed, he tiptoed over to the water cooler and was halfway there before noticing the office was empty. No one else was on the floor. The sun was up, but it was impossible to tell what time of day it was due to the soot-laden clouds. The sunlight was defused through the smog, giving no clue to its position in the sky.

Colin poured himself a cup of water and drank it greedily. Out of habit he started to scrunch the cup, but then stopped.

“Don’t have an infinite supply of these, now do we?” he said to the white plastic cup.

He gently set it down on top of the water cooler for later.

Wind was groaning down the avenue outside. Colin could hear it even through the closed windows. He hobbled over to take a look for signs of how hard the wind was blowing—flags flapping, trees swaying—anything to give him a clue to the ferocity. The wind could herald a break in the weather. The last few days had been hot and sticky. A rainstorm might cool things down a little and wash some of the stench from the air.

He stood propped up against the windowsill and looked out. What he saw outside shocked him. The sound wasn’t the wind—the sound was the collective moans of the hundreds of zombies in the street.

Colin pressed his hands against the cold glass and stared at the scene, transfixed. Randomly wandering down the street were dozens of shambling corpses, but most worrying of all was the moat of undead at the front of the building. The knot of ghouls was especially populated around the access to the office. There had to be at least a hundred creatures packed around the lobby’s entrance. The creatures seemed intent on jostling around the front of the building. Most were pale and wan, but a few bunched together almost directly beneath him had what looked like blood-caked faces. The rusty brown tint made them look almost alive, like they had haphazardly applied fake tan. But their harsh, jerky movements gave their true nature away.

One of the creatures looked up at random. It locked eyes with Colin for a second until a rag of yellow and red cloth being waved about by a nearby zombie caught it’s attention. Colin didn’t think the creature had spotted him behind its clouded retina, but he realised he’d held his breath all the same.

The white, milky eyes showed no intelligence, no mote of humanity.

“Strzyga,” Colin said, mesmerised by the creatures.

He stood back from the window. Shaking himself free off his morbid curiosity, he decided to find the others.

Fighting against the lethargy of his muscles, Colin made his way down to the canteen. He could smell the coffee and hear the boisterous chatter well before he opened the door.

“Morning,” Billy saluted.

“What’s all this?” Colin asked, inspecting the chaos.

Many of the tables had been pushed to the walls to form a counter. In the space created by their move, there was the haul from the school, food on one side, camping kit on the other.

“You want a coffee?” Billy asked. “We found the good stuff. It’s instant, but it’s better than the stuff in the vending machines.”

“Since no one turned up for this morning’s nine a.m. meeting, I decided it would be best to inventory everything,” Sharon said.

“I’d love a coffee. And some painkillers if you’ve found any yet,” Colin replied, ignoring Sharon.

“No can help on the painkillers,” Billy said. “How do you want your coffee though?”

“Milk and sugar,” Colin replied.

“It’s powdered; make any odds to you?” Billy asked.

Colin tried to nod his head, but his neck wasn’t up for moving. “That’s fine.”

Karen, Liz, and Melissa were sitting on the floor going through the supplies. The little brown and white dog lay on its side, receiving an occasional ear scratching from Melissa beside her. Standing over them were Sharon and John, who from what Colin could surmise were sorting and cataloguing the finds. On the tables were large, multi-coloured packing crates with interlocking lids.

Scanning the loose camping equipment, Colin looked for the first aid pack.

“Anyone seen a first aid bag?” he asked.

“Yeah,” John answered. “It’s in that crate there. Why?”

Colin walked to the crate and peeled open the lid. Inside was an assortment of camping supplies liberated from the school. He pulled out the pack, flipped the flaps that formed the lid back in place and sat the pack down on top. Unzipping it, he started to rummage around inside.

“What are you doing?” John demanded.

Colin ignored him and continued his search.

John stepped closer and asked again, “What are you doing?”

Colin let out a huff of disappointment and just managed to stop himself from swearing in front of the little girl.

“Hey, what are you doing?” John asked angrily.

“Looking for painkillers, if you must know,” Colin said.

“You just can’t take stuff; I’m cataloguing it,” John replied.

“Are you for real? This is my first aid kit, and as it is, there aren’t any aspirin in it anyway."

“Isn’t there aspirin in the first aid down here?” Billy asked.

“No, you're not allowed to have painkillers in a first aid kit,” Sharon answered.

“What?” Billy said.

“It’s to do with allergies and doses,” Sharon explained. “You might cause more harm than good and you know how litigious things are these days.”

“Yeah, but I packed this myself and put a packet of aspirin in here,” Colin said. “Do you know how much of a headache it is looking after a dozen stroppy teens?”

“I think I have some in my drawer upstairs,” Sharon offered.

“Bloody Woods has been in here and whipped them out, I bet you,” Colin cursed.

Karen blurted, “Wanker Woods?”

“What now?” Liz asked.

“Oh, the head teacher,” Colin said. “He was worried about the insurance for the trip. He went through my risk assessment like I was planning to blast the kids to the moon in a space capsule with a pride of hungry lions. I bet he’s removed them from the pack. I knew I should have kept them on me.”

“Here you go,” Billy said, handing Colin a coffee.

“Thanks,” Colin said, accepting the hot beverage.

“Well, you shouldn’t just be taking things,” John said. “We only have a limited supply.”

Colin slugged back a gulp of coffee and held up two fingers to John.

“Did you see that?” John said indignantly.

“No one gives a shit, John,” Billy said.

“So what’s going on here?” Colin asked.

John’s face was still in a scowl as he explained, “Isn’t it obvious we’re—”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Colin said.

“We’re sorting out the supplies from the school,” Billy replied. “The stuff was all messed up after both you and the supplies were just chucked in.”

“Look, have you seen out the front?” Colin asked.

“Yeah,” Billy replied. “I think we led them here yesterday. Pied Piper-style, buddy.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Colin asked.

“Not much we can do about it,” John sneered.

“Well, I know we can’t go outside and clear them out, but remember there’s a cracked glass panel in the foyer,” Colin pointed out. “The pressure on it is just going to keep building.”

“Now that we have the guns, can’t we just thin them out?” Sharon asked.

“We’ve scavenged maybe a couple hundred rounds,” Billy said. “Even if every shot puts one down, it’s not going to make a dent in their numbers.”

“Rounds?” Colin said, confused.

The canteen door opened and Mo strolled in.

“Where have you been?” John asked in an accusing tone.

“Me?” Mo asked, surprised. “Well, um, I’ve just been up on the third floor.”

“Doing what?” John asked.

“Doing his rounds, John—what do you think?” Colin said.

“Yeah, my rounds. That’s what,” Mo said.

“Like I was saying, and I’m sure Mo will agree with me here,” Colin began, turning to bring Mo into the conversation on his side, “that cracked sheet of glass is just going to get more and more pressure put on it until it shatters.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mo said with a nod.

“What do we do then?” Colin asked.

“We can lock the doors to the stairwells,” Mo offered.

“Will that be enough?”

“What you doing dogging it in here, Billy?” Thomas said, entering with an armful of rifles.

“Where did they come from?” Colin asked.

“Oh, sorry, Thomas. Colin here has been talking about barricading ourselves in,” Billy explained.

“And that’s an excuse to let me do all the work?” Thomas asked.

“The guns,” Colin said. “Where did you get the guns?”

“Oh, that’s right—you were in cloud cuckoo land in the back of the car,” Billy recalled. “We stumbled on a crashed army truck. Grabbed all the stuff we could.”

“I wanted to grab the fifty-cal, but Billy wouldn’t let me,” Thomas said.

“A what now?” Colin asked.

“The heavy machine gun up top,” Billy explained.

“I could have had that off in minutes using the tools from the garage,” Thomas said.

“You didn’t sound so confident at the time,” Billy replied. “Besides, what the fuck would we do with it?”

“We could have wasted a good few of the fuckers outside,” Thomas answered.

“You wouldn’t have made a dent in them before you ran out of ammo,” Billy said. “And anyway, no one here has got the faintest idea how to fire one of those things.”

“I’ve fired a gun before,” Thomas protested.

Billy shook his head. “Yeah, sure. We’re not talking about Laser Quest here—these are pieces of military hardware.”

“I do,” said a soft voice.

Everyone turned to look at Liz as she sorted out tins on the floor.

“I’ve fired assault rifles before,” she said, this time more confidently.

“You know how to use a machine gun?” Colin asked.

“I’ve fired those before—a while ago, I grant you,” Liz said.

“When was that?” Melissa asked, learning yet another new thing about her mother.

“I was in the Cadets at school,” Liz explained.

“So are you some kind of mad special forces gun nut then?” Billy asked.

Liz shook her head. “No, I haven’t done anything like that since I left school.”

“Reckon you still know your way around these things?” Billy asked.

“I’m sure it’ll come back to me,” Liz said.

“Good. Then we’ll get you to show us how to use them,” Colin said.

Liz nodded. “Okay.”

“Where do you want them? They weigh a ton,” Thomas complained.

“Down there for now,” Sharon directed. “And maybe after lunch Liz could show us all how to use them.”

Thomas dumped the rifles down with an ugly clatter.

“How’s about you watch what you’re doing with them?” Billy protested.

“Steady on—they’re not going to break,” Thomas replied.

“I wasn’t worried about that. They might go off.”

“They’re not going to go off; the safeties are on!”

“I don’t know that, now do I?!”

“And you didn’t think I have the brains to think about that.” Thomas tapped a finger against his head.

Billy folded his arms over. “No, I didn’t; you’ve done nothing to prove otherwise.”

"What happened to you?" Colin asked, pointing at Thomas’ face.

Thomas was too focused on his argument with Billy to hear Colin.

“What happened to your face?” Colin asked forcefully.

There was a long scratch down the side of his cheek, the brown scrape still fresh on the puffy red skin. Thomas’ hand automatically went up to touch it.

“Did one of those things scratch you yesterday?” Colin asked.

“Oh, that. I slipped up on the roof last night. Must have done it on some gravel or something,” Thomas said.

Colin looked at Billy for confirmation.

“Yeah?” Billy shook his head, leaning in to examine it more closely.

“You were with me all day yesterday, Billy. I haven’t been infected,” Thomas said.

“Nah, he’s good,” Billy said. “I don’t remember seeing that yesterday. It must have happened last night sometime.”

“Thank you,” Thomas said sarcastically. “Now are you coming to help? There’s still a good few trips worth of kit out there.”

“Sure, but as I was saying, I think Colin’s made a good point about securing the place,” Billy said, getting the conversation back on track.

“We should maybe think about fortifying the stairwells,” Colin suggested.

“Maybe leave a couple of guns by the barricades just in case they do break in,” Billy offered.

“Why don’t we just get a gun each?” Sharon asked.

“Only five guns,” Thomas answered.

“Well, the girls won’t get one, and Billy already has his shotgun,” Sharon said.

“We’re still short. Or do you propose we bid for them like those sandwiches?” Thomas mocked.

“We’re only three short,” Sharon argued. “Those cleaner girls are never around to help out; I mean, where are they now? And it’ll be more hassle than it’s worth trying to explain things to them. If something did happen and they had a gun, it would take too long to explain what it is you want done. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Still leaves one gun short,” Colin said.

“Maybe someone won’t want one on principle or something,” Sharon said off-the-cuff.

“I’d want one of those automatics.” Billy said.

“Don’t be greedy. You’ve already got a gun,” John said.

“I’ve only got two cartridges left for it.”

Thomas turned to the ageing biker. “Two cartridges?”

“Yep. Two cartridges.”

“We went out there among those things and you only had two shots?”

“Yep,” Billy replied.

“You only had two shots?!”

“Worked out fine,” Billy said. “We came back with both of them.”

“Look, would you two children stop bickering?” Sharon interjected.

Both Billy and Thomas cast looks at each other, but kept silent.

“Why are we doing all this?” John asked.

“Doing what?” Sharon asked.

“All this cataloguing. What about just driving out of here?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Colin said.

“Why not?” John said in a challenging tone.

Billy scowled and shook his head. “For starters, we’d have a hard time getting out of the alleyway. Thomas and I blocked the entrances north and south. We’d have to haul the refuse bins out of the way before we could get out and they’re pressed up tight as it is. No way you’d get them open without losing a man, and even then you wouldn’t get enough of a run up to smash through them.” He battered his fist into his open palm for emphasis.

“And whose fault is that?” John accused.

“We had to block it,” Billy explained. “Otherwise they’d have followed us down that alleyway and be pressed up against the fences right now.”

“Yeah, and again: whose fault is it that there’s a million of those dead fucks outside?” John spat.

“We had to go get food,” Colin said.

“Where would we go?” Liz asked from her spot on the floor.

Everyone looked over to her, surprised by her sudden entry into the conversation.

“Where is there?” Liz asked. “Where is there more secure than here?”

“Good point, Liz,” Sharon said. “We’d be launching ourselves into the unknown. Besides, I thought we covered all this yesterday. There’s no point going over dead ground.”

“So we’re in agreement,” Colin said. “We should look at setting up barricades.”

“I think we should get this lot up to the first floor and make camp there, as it were,” Sharon suggested.

“There are camp beds and sleeping bags—even tents if you want to set them up for a bit of privacy,” Colin proposed. “We can live quite comfortably up there with a bit of organisation.”

“Okay, it’s settled,” Sharon said. “Thomas, would you put the power back on so we can use the elevator?”

“We’ve used up a lot of fuel keeping it running yesterday. I’d guess we only have maybe twenty, twenty-two hours of power left.”

“We don’t know when that glass will break. I think it’s prudent to get this stuff upstairs. Get it secured and quickly,” Sharon replied.

***

Karen stood up to shake off the numbness in her legs.

“You okay?” Liz asked.

“Yeah, just need a stretch,” Karen said.

The last of the supplies had been brought up to the first floor office. Liz, Melissa, and Karen had spent the best part of two hours sorting through their bounty. The food they had first segregated into type. Bags of flour, pasta, canned meat, canned vegetables, canned fruit and so on were put into piles or stacks together. Once that had been done, they had started on the camping equipment. Here Liz had split up the supplies into eleven piles, each with an identical inventory.

“You both look like you could do with a break,” Liz said, looking at the two girls. Melissa was about three years younger than Karen, but the two girls were an age apart in maturity. “Why don’t you take the dog up on the roof for a bit of exercise?”

“Sure,” Karen said.

“Yes, please,” Melissa said. She stood and called, “Blow!”

The squat little dog bounded to her feet from where she had been dozing.

“Come on, girl,” Melissa encouraged.

The dog trotted along beside her as she opened the door to the stairwell.

“You girls be careful up there,” Liz said. “I don’t want you going too near the edge.”

“Coming through!” Billy called out as the two girls entered the hallway.

Mo and Billy were carrying a cupboard down the stairs; Billy, the taller of the two men, in the lead, and Mo at the back.

At the top of the first floor landing there was now a selection of office furniture. A photocopier, some filing cabinets, cupboards, and a selection of desks.

Billy was sweating rivers and looking red-cheeked as he shuffled past.

“Okay, down,” he instructed and they set the latest addition to their defences on its end.

A voice called out from the ground floor, echoing up the stairwell.

“Billy, you up there?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Have you seen the girls?”

“Yeah, they’re right here.”

Sharon trotted up to the landing halfway between the floors.

“No, the Polish girls, Magda and Alex,” she said, looking at Karen and Melissa.

“All right, you can squeeze by now,” Billy said to the two girls. He turned to Sharon and shook his head. “Nah, haven’t seen them.” He looked round at Mo, but Mo just shook his head, too.

“I’ve not seen them all morning,” Sharon said.

“Have you tried the plant room where Thomas hides?” Billy asked.

“Yes, I’ve just been there. I was going to try the roof. I know they’ve been going up there to smoke.”

“We’re just going up there. We could look for them,” Melissa offered.

“Would you? The toilet is almost out of paper, but the dispenser thing needs a key to open it. Can you ask one of them to come down and refill it?”

“Okay,” Melissa agreed.

The two girls took off bounding up the stairs. Sensing a change in pace, the dog bolted up the steps.

“Blow!” Melissa shouted, but the dog didn’t look back.

Her stubby legs were slightly too short to take two stairs at once. Instead she pelted up in a half-skipping gait, taking two stairs, then one, then two stairs, then one as she went.

Melissa and Karen giggled and gave chase.

When they reached the top, the dog was already at the short parapet around the roof’s edge. Her front paws on the lip, she barked at the hazy sky.

“Blow, come back from there,” Melissa scolded. She stepped up behind the dog and pulled her back down. She pointed off at a metal Christmas tree-like array of antennas. “Now go do your business.”

Karen spotted something by the edge. She walked over and picked up the bottle of champagne. She held it up to the light and swirled it from the neck. Disappointingly, it was empty. She let it slip from her hand and fall to the gravel. It hit the roof with a crunch, but didn't break. Just behind where it laid, Karen spotted a bashed packet of cigarettes. She picked it up and gave it a shake. Something rattled inside. Flipping the lid open, she saw a lighter and half a dozen cigarettes.

“Nice,” she said.

“What you got there?” Melissa asked.

Karen slipped a cigarette between her lips and lit it. She took a long, satisfying draw.

“You’re not allowed to,” Melissa protested.

Karen blew out a lungful of smoke.

“I’m telling,” Melissa said.

“Who you going to tell?” Karen said, sitting down on the edge of the roof. “Your mother? My mother?”

Melissa looked deflated. “You’re not supposed to smoke. It’s bad for you.”

“Lots of things are bad for you. Don’t suppose it matters much now, though,” Karen said. She picked up the champagne bottle by the neck. She pointed out a shambling woman on the street below. “Bet I can hit that one down there with the red jacket.”

“Don’t,” Melissa said.

Karen leaned back, holding the bottle like a stick grenade.

“Don’t. It’s not nice,” Melissa said.

“Oh, come on,” Karen cajoled.

Melissa turned her back, not willing to watch.

Karen ignored her. She whipped her arm round and tossed the bottle off the side of the building.

The throw was nowhere near powerful enough. The bottle sailed through the air a moment before arcing down to fall short of its target.

Melissa heard the glass shatter and turned round to see where it had landed. She leaned on the low wall around the roof and peered over. The bottle had found a clear patch of road and exploded on impact. A clutch of zombies heard the noise and were now converging on the spot, searching for the cause of the sound.

“Meant to miss,” Karen lied.

“What are they doing?” Melissa asked, watching the throng below.

Karen sat down on the parapet, one leg on the roof, the other dangling over the edge. She said, “Don’t know. Looking for someone to eat, I guess.”

“Don’t do that,” Melissa chastised.

“Do what?” Karen asked. She exhaled, blowing smoke in Melissa’s direction, but the wind whipped it away before it got near her.

“Sit on the edge like that. It’s dangerous.”

“Pussy,” Karen said, puffing at the cigarette.

“Do you think they’re hungry?” Melissa asked.

“Don’t know. Maybe they’re just, like, pissed off and wanting to start something.”

“Are they really dead?”

“How should I know?” Karen replied. “I’m not a scientist or a doctor. I flunked biology.”

“If they are dead, why are they still walking around? I saw my grandmother in the coffin when she was dead. She didn’t look like…” Melissa paused for a few seconds. Then she said flatly, “My brother’s one of them.”

Karen sucked in another lungful of smoke.

“Do you think they could cure it?” Melissa asked.

Karen shook her head. “How the fuck would I know?”

Melissa stared over the edge to the throng below. “No one’s talking about it. They’re just ignoring it. He might be an annoying brat, but I don’t want my brother to be like that.”

Karen grabbed Melissa by the shoulder and shook her.

Melissa screamed.

“Don’t fall over!” Karen laughed.

“That wasn’t funny!” Melissa cried, stepping back from the edge.

Karen shrugged it off. “I was just messing with you.”

“I’m telling on you!” Melissa said as she stormed off.

“Aw, don’t do that, Melissa. I was just kidding about.”

Melissa didn’t change her stride. She marched over the crunching stones to the access door.

Karen’s heart sank. “I’m sorry, Melissa. Please. I won’t do it again.”

She knew she’d upset the girl and she just hadn’t thought about how she would react.

She turned round and looked over the edge to where the bottle had smashed.

“Melissa!” she shouted.

“I’m not talking to you!” Melissa barked back.

“No, Melissa,” Karen said, her voice trembling. “You have to see this!”

Chapter 15

Firing Line

“You’re sure you’ve looked everywhere?” Sharon asked.

“The whole building and the cars in the parking lot,” Mo said. “They’re nowhere to be found.”

“Could they be hiding?” Colin asked.

“Why would they be hiding?” John said.

“It was her,” Karen said softly.

“I don’t know, but it’s a big building,” Colin said. “I’m sure someone who knew the place could avoid being found. I mean, they could hide in the air ducts or something.”

“That’s plain ignorant,” Thomas said. “Ducts aren’t like in the movies, all well-lit and easy to crawl through. You’d cut yourself up on rivets and rough seams. The ducts in this place would maybe fit a little girl like her.” He pointed at Melissa. “Two grown women? No way.”

“It was her down there,” Karen said.

“You can’t be sure of that; you hardly even met her,” Sharon said. “Who was the last to see them?”

“Remember, we saw Magda and Alex leave with Thomas with that stolen bottle of champagne,” John said.

“Stolen? We took a bottle between the three of us. I think that was fair shares,” Thomas said.

“You were the last one to see them, Thomas. Did they say anything to you?” Liz asked.

“Um, no, but you know what they were like. They hardly spoke a word of English just jabbering between themselves.”

“There! Look!” Karen said, pointing at the crowd of zombies below.

“I don’t see anything,” Billy said.

Colin shifted uneasily.“ This morning I looked out of the window before I came down for breakfast. There was a bunch of them with darker faces, like dried blood. Now that I think of it, I think I saw one with some of Magda’s shirt in its mouth.”

“That's her!” Liz screamed.

For a few moments everyone went silent. There, crawling among the throng of walking dead, was a flash of the yellow- and red-striped shirt. Magda was pulling herself along on mangled legs. Chunks of her top were missing, raw flesh gnawed away to display sickeningly yellow bone.

“Oh, God,” Sharon uttered, breaking the silence.

“Poor girl,” Colin said.

“Where’s Alex?” Thomas asked.

“They were inseparable,” Mo pointed out.

Billy backed away from the edge.

“She must be down there, too,” John reasoned.

“What do you reckon?” Thomas asked. “Did they decide to... well…end it?”

“She didn’t do a very good job then,” Karen said.

“Karen!” Liz snapped. “That’s awful.”

“But true,” Karen replied. “She’s crawling around down there. Doesn’t seem like she’s much better off.”

“Christ, if there is a cure for this, I don’t think it’ll do her much good,” Thomas said.

“I feel sick,” Sharon confessed, moving away from the roof’s edge.

“Thomas, you were the last to speak to them,” John said. “Did they seem... you know…okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know,” Thomas replied, a note of hesitation in his voice.

“What were the three of you doing up here?” John asked.

“We drank. We polished off a bottle of champagne, smoked a few ciggies, had a laugh. You know,” Thomas said defensively.

“No, we don’t know, Thomas,” Colin said.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Thomas said. “I don’t speak Polish; I can’t say what they were thinking.”

“Would you have done anything to upset them?” Colin asked, pointing at the scratch down Thomas’ face.

Thomas touched the mark without thinking. “This? I told you I slipped on the gravel on the way back to the access door. I didn’t even notice it at the time.”

“So were they still up here when you left?” Liz asked.

“Yeah,” Thomas said.

“Why did you leave?” Colin asked.

“I don’t know. The drink had run dry and so had the conversation—what little there was. Are you accusing me of something here?”

“Should we be?” John asked.

“What did you say?” Thomas said, no longer on the defensive.

“Okay, okay,” Sharon interjected. “Everyone just calm down. This isn’t a police investigation. What happened to the two cleaners is tragic, but I think we can all agree it was most likely suicide or an accident.”

“Without leaving a note?” Liz asked.

“Most suicides don’t. We did an outreach course at school,” Colin said. “And when I’ve been up here before, they’ve been sitting with their legs over the edge.”

“Thank you,” Thomas declared, feeling vindicated.

“Until I see evidence to the contrary, I think we should hold off accusing each other of murder,” Sharon said. “We're not in the best of situations here and needless accusations are just going to make things unbearable. Now, we have plenty of work to do to make sure we’re safe in here. I suggest we focus our efforts on that.” She looked around the group for the needed consensus. “Good. Now let’s get back to work.”

***

“Where does this string go?” Karen asked, holding up the length of nylon cord.

The first floor was beginning to look like a summer camp. Most of the desks had been cleared away and used to form the barricades in the stairwells or stacked in one corner. Centrally, there was now a circle of tents being erected.

“That’s a guy rope. You anchor the tent to the ground using that and some tent pegs. Stops it being blown away when you’re not in it, but I don’t think we’ll need it in here,” Colin answered, looking up at the ceiling.

“Good.” Karen scrunched it into a ball and tossed it over her shoulder. She winced, having extended her arm too far.

“What is it?” Colin asked.

“Nothing,” Karen snapped, turning away to distance the wound from Colin.

“You’re hurt. What happened?” he asked.

“I said it was nothing. Just a scratch,” Karen said.

“You weren’t bitten, were you?” Colin asked in a concerned tone.

“No! I said it’s nothing.” Karen stood up.

“What’s the matter?” Sharon asked, walking over from her desk.

“It’s nothing,” Karen protested. “I’ve got a sore shoulder.”

“What happened?” Sharon asked.

“I didn’t get bitten,” Karen said loudly.

The others on the first floor had stopped setting up camp and were now interested in what was going on. Karen saw the eyes lock onto her and she instinctively backed up.

“I fell off the bike,” she said, then quickly corrected herself, “We fell off the bike, Shan and me.”

“It’s okay, Karen. No need to get defensive,” Colin said, trying to soothe things over. “I was just trying to help.”

“Has she been bitten?” John asked.

“Calm down, John,” Sharon ordered.

“What if she has been bitten?” John said, looking for support from the others. “We can’t just let her roam around here free, end up like the boy upstairs!”

“John, you’re not helping,” Sharon chastised.

Karen saw her chance and made a break for it. She dashed to the stairwell door.

“Karen, you’re being silly!” Colin called after her. “We’re just trying to look out for you.”

She didn’t stop. She barrelled through the doors and disappeared.

“Way to go, John,” Colin said.

John blurted, “What if she is infected? Huh? What then?”

“She doesn’t look sick, now does she?” Colin said. “She’s been here since yesterday. She would have turned by now.”

“You don’t know how this thing works,” John countered. “You’ve not seen it up close—none of us have.”

“I have!” Liz butted in.

“Oh, yeah. Um… sorry,” John said, his head looking down at his feet.

“What if she tries to get out? What if she opens the front doors?” Liz asked. “Have you thought of that?”

“Shit,” Colin hissed.

He thundered off after her.

***

Karen ran up the stairs towards the open roof access. She got to the top landing and stopped. Fearing Thomas might be up there, she turned and entered the abandoned fourth floor office.

The fourth floor was identical to all the others. There were desks in neat rows but no computers on them. The chairs were all stacked in one corner of the room.

She saw something move in the meeting room at the far end of the office.

She called out, “Hello?” but there was no reply.

Drawn by her curiosity, Karen walked towards the movement. The meeting room had a large glass front, but there were blinds tilted half shut, obscuring her view.

Gingerly she walked up to the office, still unable to work out who or what it was in the room.

As she reached the door she caught a whiff something foul, a bitter aroma that stung the back of her throat.

She opened the door and the stench assaulted her. She winced and gagged at the putrid aroma, stuffing down the urge to be sick.

She could hear it now: the clattering of something against the carpet tiles, and the muffled moans.

The urge to retch had brought tears to her eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her sleeve.

She walked in.

“God!” she gasped.

Bound in silver duct tape was the figure of a young boy. Or what had once been a young boy. It stared at her with unblinking, milk-white eyes. Behind the makeshift gag it snarled and tried to gnash its teeth. The thing had evidently been trying to escape for some time.

Karen was shocked to see one of them so close up to see the transformation which was taking place. The boy’s hair was matted and caked to its skull, his eyes sunken, yet still piercing. Its skin held a slimy blue tinge to it and it was excreting some vile fluid from its nether regions, now smeared and worked into the carpet around it. The skin around its bindings was raw and chaffed from the exertion to break free of its bonds, the dead skin frayed and loose at the binding’s edges.

She couldn’t take the grotesque scene any longer and turned to leave.

Colin stood directly behind her. Karen squealed in shock and the tethered zombie fought at its bonds even more ferociously.

“That’s Liz’s son,” Colin said without being asked. “They tried to get him to the hospital, but didn’t make it. I don’t even know if they could have done anything for him anyway. Shall we?”

He ushered the still shocked Karen out of the meeting room and closed the door behind them.

“What’s he doing there?” Karen asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Colin said. “He’s Liz’s son, so we can’t do anything without her agreeing to it and no one’s approached her.”

“You can’t leave him like that.”

“I know. The point will come when we’ll have to do something about him, but at the moment we’re too busy trying to get our act together.” Colin sat down on the edge of one of the desks like he so often did when having an informal chat with one of his students. Mustering a sympathetic tone, he went on, “You can see now why John was so worried that you’d been bitten, can’t you?”

Karen nodded.

“I’d like someone to take a look at it,” Colin said. “If you’re not comfortable with me, we could ask Liz or Sharon if you like.”

“It’s just my shoulder—it’s not my tit or anything,” Karen said indignantly.

Colin laughed. “Well, if you’re fine with me.”

Karen nodded and gingerly pulled her sweatshirt off. The T-shirt underneath had a huge hole torn from the shoulder. Little holes peppered the edges and there were splodges of rust-coloured blood on the pale, pastel-blue material.

“Your top fared better than your T-shirt,” Colin said.

“Pulled this out of the lost and found bin in the school office,” Karen explained.

Beneath the frayed material Colin could see a large white dressing.

“You mind if I rip the T-shirt or would you prefer to take it off?” he asked, pointing at the dressing.

Karen looked past Colin at the doors to the office. She rasped her top teeth over her bottom lip, then nodded.

Karen reached up and began pulling off the ripped T-shirt. She was struggling to raise her arms high enough to get the garment off, the injury hampering her mobility.

“Here, let me help,” Colin offered, moving closer.

“I can do it,” Karen snapped.

“All right,” Colin said, sitting back.

As she squirmed to get free, Colin suddenly realized he was looking straight at her naked midriff and bra-clad breasts. He quickly turned and looked towards the stairwell doors, terrified she would catch him looking at her. He felt embarrassed, coy even. Karen was only fourteen, but she was burgeoning into a woman. Not that he saw anything sexual in her, Colin told himself, looking off into the middle distance. Regardless of how physically precocious she may be, Colin had educated enough teenagers to know how vapid they could be intellectually. Still, this was exactly the kind of situation teachers were drilled to avoid for fear of accusation.

“Colin.”

“Um, yes?” Colin said, slowly turning round.

Karen had finished pulling the T-shirt off and sat there in her off-white bra and grubby jeans.

Colin swallowed to clear his throat. He pointed at the dressing and said, “I’m going to pull this off, okay?”

Karen nodded.

Colin gripped the edges of the dressing and gently pulled against the adhesive and dried blood.

“You fell off your bike?” he asked. “Did you cycle to school?”

Karen winced against the discomfort of the wound being tugged at. She said, “No, it was Nate’s dirt bike.”

“Nate?” Colin asked absentmindedly.

The skin was pink and slightly inflamed-looking underneath the dressing. It had been secured with tape and was coming off relatively easily.

“He left school last year. He was Shan’s boyfriend,” Karen explained.

“So he gave you the bike,” Colin said.

He tugged at the dressing and a scab lifted free.

Karen jerked away and gave a little snort of discomfort.

“Sorry,” Colin apologized. “Nate gave you a bike.”

“Well, no. He wasn’t in when we went round. He’d taken his gran to the hospital.”

“Where is he now? Dead?” Colin asked, freeing the last of the tape.

“Don’t know. Shan and I waited round at his place, but he never showed. He could be one of them for all I know.”

Now that the dressing was off, Colin could see three small holes grouped around her shoulder. One of them, aggravated from removing the dressing, was weeping plasma and blood.

“Miss Alvarez… Was she one of them when you got to the school?” Colin asked, touching the skin at the edge of the wound.

Karen flinched. “What?”

“I mean, had she already turned when you found her or did she say anything to you before she turned?”

“What do you mean?”

Colin was embarrassed to ask. He wanted to know if she’d mentioned him at all.

But what does it matter now? he thought.

“Is it itchy?” he asked, changing the subject.

“The shoulder? Like a bastard,” Karen replied.

“Good. It looks like it’s healing up pretty well. I’d say you got off pretty lightly if you came off a dirt bike and only grazed your shoulder,” Colin said. He stepped back. “I think we should put a fresh dressing on it and some antiseptic cream. There’s some in the first aid pack on the first floor.”

Karen nodded, picking up the ragged T-shirt.

“There’s also some fresh shirts in with the camping gear,” Colin said. “You wait here and I’ll bring them up.”

He went to leave, but then stopped. He stood still for a moment. His eyes were watery and his mouth moved as if he were silently speaking.

Eventually he asked hesitantly, “Did she suffer? Miss Alvarez, that is?”

“It was quick,” Karen replied.

Colin swung the door open to the stairwell and the sound of voices wafted over him. Looking down he could see a procession of people below.

He called down, “What’s going on?”

“Is Karen with you?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah, she’s up here. She’s fine.”

“Good,” Sharon replied.

The mob of people continued their ascent of the stairs.

As they drew closer, Colin could see they were armed.

“What are the guns for?” he asked. “Karen’s not infected. It’s just a graze from coming off her motorbike.”

“Don’t panic, Colin,” Sharon said as she drew level with him on the stairs. “This isn’t a witch hunt.”

“Liz was going to show us how to use the guns,” Billy said. “You coming?”

“I’m just going downstairs to get the first aid kit for Karen. I want to clean up that graze and get a fresh dressing on it.”

Billy peered into the office at Karen.

The young girl saw the intrusion, squealed and pulled the T-shirt across her chest.

“Sorry,” Billy said, waving at her.

“Billy, give the girl some privacy,” Sharon chastised.

“How did she say she got hurt?” Billy asked.

“Falling off a dirt bike,” Colin replied.

“Did she say where?”

“No.”

Billy pressed, “Off road? On a street? Where?”

“No, she didn’t say. Why?”

“Cause that don’t look like road rash,” Billy said.

“Road rash?”

“The kind of scrape you get coming off a bike,” Billy said.

“Are you sure?” Colin asked.

“No, I’m not sure. I only got a glimpse, but if she came off a bike at any speed I’d have expected to see a much larger area of damage and no neat holes.”

“What if it was gravel? Wouldn’t that leave holes?”

“Sure, but they would run from the momentum. You’d see a tail where they’d scraped the skin.” Billy ran a finger up his arm to mimic the course of the theoretical stone.

“Okay, thanks,” Colin said, puzzled.

He cast a glance back at Karen, but she had moved out of the line of sight from the door.

“I’ll fix her up and join you guys on the roof,” Colin said.

He headed down the stairs.

Billy turned to see John’s fat legs disappear up the access steps to the roof. He followed the fat, sweaty office worker up the short climb. John was huffing and trying to catch his breath. Billy looked down at his own beer belly. It was far bigger and rounder than he would have liked, but he was at least ten years older than John and twice as fit. Putting on a bit of speed, Billy overtook the labouring desk jockey and beat him to the roof’s edge.

Liz was already sitting on the edge, examining the gun in daylight.

“Thought you were going to show us how to use these?” Thomas asked snidely.

Liz shielded her eyes from the polarized light filtering through the smoke-laden sky.

“I will as soon as I get a chance to refresh my memory,” she said.

The group stood in a semicircle around her as she unloaded a magazine, placing the bullets standing up in a row on the lip of the roof.

“Anything we can do to help?” Billy asked.

“Not right now,” Liz replied, fastidiously examining the underside of the rifle.

“Doesn’t look as bad out today,” Billy said absently.

“Are you kidding? There’s a million of them down there,” Thomas replied.

“I meant the weather—the smoke in the sky,” Billy snapped back.

“Shit!” Liz barked.

“What is it?” Colin asked.

Liz sat with her thumb in her mouth.

“Broke my nail loading the magazine,” she mumbled past the digit.

“You okay?” Billy asked.

“Told you she knew fuck-all about guns,” Thomas complained. “Give it here; I’ll work it out.”

Liz glared at Thomas as she chewed off and spat out the broken nail.

She picked up the magazine and slapped it into the back of the rifle. Pointing the gun up in the air, she whipped back a sliding bolt before sighting the weapon.

There was a sharp crack and one of the zombies in the street below collapsed. Subtly, Liz moved the barrel of the rifle and fired again. A second zombie was floored.

She lowered the muzzle and stood up from her firing position.

“It’s all coming back now,” she announced.

Chapter 16

Agenda

“Thank you all for coming to the five p.m. meeting,” Sharon announced.

It was now five twenty-five, but she made no comment about having to round everyone up.

With the group sitting in the meeting room, the two empty chairs beside Thomas were a gaping sore.

Sharon closed her eyes for a moment and gathered her focus. “Well, as I am sure it is apparent, we have unpacked and catalogued the supplies brought in yesterday. We have made an encampment here on the first floor with a food store and preparations.”

“I’d rather take a camp bed and move into the plant room,” Thomas said.

“Shall we save that for ‘any other business’, Thomas?” Sharon said.

“The second and third floors are empty; we could all almost have a floor each,” John added.

“There’s still nine of us, John,” Billy said.

There was a loud rumble from John’s belly and he placed a hand over his protruding gut as if to stifle it.

He said, “Well, we could have a lot more space each, is my point.”

“Splitting up isn’t a good idea,” Colin said.

“Why not?” Thomas asked.

“What if something happens, like an emergency—like they break in or there’s a fire?” Colin paused for a moment to let people ponder that possibility. “If we’re all scattered throughout the building we’ll be on our own and vulnerable. We’ve more chance in an emergency if we work together.”

“I agree with Colin. There’s safety in numbers,” Mo said.

“Don’t talk soft,” Thomas huffed. “Half you lot would be a liability in a crisis. And anyway, I don’t want to spend another night listening to John’s grunting and farting.”

“John’s snoring is nowhere near as disturbing as the moaning coming from outside,” Liz said.

“Could we move up to the top floor?” Mo asked. “It might be a bit quieter higher up.”

“I don’t think that would be prudent,” Billy said. “If there’s a fire, at least we can dreep down to the car park.”

“Dreep?” Sharon asked.

“You know… when you hold on to the top of a wall to lower yourself down so you don’t have as far to fall,” Billy explained.

Colin said, “Getting back on track, Billy has a point. We limit our ability to escape in an emergency if we move further up the building.”

“I think that sounds logical,” Mo agreed.

“Don’t we get a vote on it?” Thomas asked. “I mean, when did you get appointed queen of the living?”

“”No need for that, Thomas,” John protested.

“No, he has a point,” Sharon said. “I’m not the queen of the living, as you put it. Shall we take a vote?”

There was a murmur of agreement from around the table.

Sharon said, “All those in favour of moving to the top floor…?”

“Whoa,” Thomas interjected. “I never said I’d move to the top floor. I want to stay in the plant room.”

“We can’t all fit in there,” John said.

“That’s the fucking point, you idiot.”

“Okay, okay,” Sharon cut in. “All those in favour of the status quo...?”

“What’s a status quo?” Karen asked.

“Everyone who wants to keep things the way they are, raise your hand,” Sharon said discordantly.

Mo, Billy, and Colin raised their hands.

“All right, those against—whether that be moving to the top floor or splitting up…?”

Thomas, John, and Karen put their hands in the air.

Sharon looked over at Liz and Melissa. She said, “Those abstaining…?”

Liz half-heartedly raised a hand.

“So it’s tied on three apiece,” Thomas said.

“Not quite,” Sharon said. “As Chairperson, I have yet to cast my vote and I say we stay where we are.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Thomas protested. “What’s it to you if I go sleep in the plant room?”

“You’re the one who wanted to vote on it, Thomas,” Billy said.

“We stay together; it’s the safest thing to do,” Sharon said. “We can lock the doors to the ground floor as a precaution, so if that glass panel does give, we won’t be overrun.”

“You won’t be overrun—you’ve got those barricades right on the landings,” Thomas protested.

“Just listen to yourself,” Billy said. “A lot of good that’s going to do you if you’re down in the plant room, eh?”

“I don’t see you giving a fuck if I do get trapped down there,” Thomas muttered.

“Do you want me to lock the doors?” Mo asked.

“Yes, please, Mo,” Sharon said.

“I’ve only got the one key for them and we still need in and out of the plant room for the power,” Mo pointed out.

“So we’ll need to find you each time we want to switch the power on and off?” Sharon asked.

“Nobody uses the north stairwells. Why don’t I lock the north doors and leave the key in the south one?”

“That seems like a reasonable plan,” Sharon said, casting her gaze around the room and checking the level of agreement. She looked down at her notes. “Now, the next item on the agenda is toilet provision.” She didn’t really have to remind herself of what was next, but it meant that she could break eye contact with anyone still dissenting over the sleeping arrangements. “The chemical toilet that was with the camping equipment is now set up in the disabled toilets by virtue of space. I’ve never used one. Is there anything special you need to do?”

“No, it’s just like a normal toilet,” Colin answered. “You sit down and do your business. If it’s a bit whiffy, you pour a glug of the blue stuff down. Did you find the toilet fluid?”

“Two litre tub with a diamond logo on it?” Liz replied.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Just pour a little of that in if you need it. There’s a trap door thing at the front. Pull that out first’ makes it easier to clean and keeps the smell in a bit.”

“Those things need emptied and with nine of us, I’m guessing that will be once a day, at least,” Billy said.

“We’ll need to draw up a rota,” Sharon added.

“Can I suggest that the men still use the urinals?” Colin said. “It will reduce the need to empty out the port-a-potty. If it starts to stink the place up, it will only take a capful of the blue to sort it out.”

“Good. It will also reduce the wait in the morning,” Sharon said. “Colin, would you draw up a rota and show everyone how to empty it?”

“Yeah, I’ll take the first turn and show you all tomorrow morning.”

“It’s what passes for entertainment these days, folks,” Billy chirped.

“We move on to food,” Sharon said. “We’ve all been snacking on the leftovers from last night’s cook-off. Thank you for that, Liz. But we’re going to have to start opening cans and feeding ourselves and there are a number of issues surrounding that.”

“Well, the food’s not going to last forever,” Billy commented. “We need to think about how we’re going to ration it and what we do just before it runs out.”

“So that’s a simple equation, isn't it?” Colin said. “Calories needed times mouths to feed.”

“Three thousand calories per day, times nine,” Thomas added.

“Times ten,” Billy corrected.

“You telling me Alex didn’t jump off the roof last night?” Thomas asked.

“No, you’re forgetting about Blow,” Billy said.

“Your dog?! We’re not missing out on meals to feed your mutt!”

“So what do you propose to do?”

“That’s your problem.” Thomas sat back and folded his arms.

“I don’t think the dog will be an issue,” Sharon said to Thomas to placate him. “It can eat the scraps we leave behind.”

“There’s not going to be any scraps,” Thomas said.

“A dog that size won’t eat much,” Colin noted.

“You’d be surprised. And anyway, it’s not going to be chowing down on the pineapple rings is it? It’s going to want to be fed meat,” Thomas pointed out.

“I’ll feed it from my ration, all right?” Billy volunteered. “I could stand to lose a few pounds, at any rate.” He smiled and gently slapped his stomach.

John threw his hand up to his face and gave a loud, gaseous burp.

He said apologetically, “Excuse me. I think I’ve got a bit of an upset stomach after those leftovers.”

“That’s ‘cause you ate so fucking much of it,” Thomas snipped.

“It was going to go to waste,” Billy interjected. “You had your fill; what the hell do you care, anyway?”

“Gentlemen,” Sharon said, her voice clipped. “Okay, so tomorrow we need to take stock of what we have, what we can make from it, and just how many days’ worth of food there is.”

“There was a week’s worth of camping meals in the trailer for twenty of us,” Colin said. “Just to get ourselves organized faster, can I suggest we dish out some of those for tomorrow while we get the menu and rotas drawn up?”

“Make sure whoever’s on latrines isn't cooking my supper that day,” Thomas joked.

“John, you have the inventory of the food supplies,” Sharon said. “Can you work out the calorific total we have from our stocks and then calculate how long that will last us?”

“That’s a hell of a lot of work,” John complained. There were beads of sweat forming on his waxy forehead. He wiped his brow and swallowed hard. “I’ll need to go over every item again, note down its details, and them multiply it up. And then there’s the fact that we’re not going to eat through things at an even rate. If we open a tin of tomatoes, we’ll need to eat it before it goes off.”

“I’m sure you’ll do your best,” Sharon said.

“That’s going to take all day,” John complained.

Thomas jibed, “Not like you’ve got anywhere to go.”

“I appreciate it’s a lot of work. Maybe the girls could help you,” Sharon said, glancing over at Karen and Melissa.

“So what do we do with the expiration date?” Billy asked.

“I’m sure if the foods past its sell-by date, it will still be edible. It just might not taste as nice.” Liz replied.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant once John’s worked out the totals and come up with a date when the food runs out, what then? Do we just sit here and starve to death?”

“Well, of course not,” Sharon answered, a little too quickly.

“What then?” Billy asked.

“Do we start eating each other like those things outside?” Thomas added.

“We’ll need to work out a plan, of course,” Sharon said.

Colin cleared his throat and leaned in. He said, “Look, I’m not a good judge of these things. I don’t know if the food will last two months or two years, but if we work out an expiration date—as Billy put it—we’ve got a finite amount of time to come up with a plan. But we’re in no rush to do anything just yet.”

“So we just sit on our butts?” Thomas asked.

“For now.” Colin shrugged. “Things could change.”

“Like what?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, those things outside… they might wander off or freeze come winter.”

“Doesn’t seem likely,” Thomas said. “Besides, winter’s a long way away. I don’t fancy being cooped up in here until then.”

Colin’s cheeks flushed. He gritted, “Well, I don’t know. Something, all right?! There’s no point worrying about it until John gets back to us with the expiration date.”

“It’s okay, Colin,” Sharon said in a soothing voice. “We don’t have to plan for that eventuality just yet. I think that’s a subject for another meeting.”

Colin nodded and sat back, a little less angry.

“Now we have the issue of the guns,” Sharon said, reading from her list. She raised her gaze from the paper and smiled at Liz. “First of all, I’d like to thank Liz for this afternoon’s—”

“I want a gun,” Thomas said.

Sharon scowled at the abrasive interruption.

“There aren’t enough to go round, Thomas. We’ve covered this,” Billy said.

“Billy has suggested we keep two loaded guns at each of the stairwells and one in the camp,” Sharon said.

“Yeah, Billy would say that. He’s got the shotgun,” Thomas complained.

“With two shots,” Billy reminded him.

“Is it safe leaving the guns lying around?” Liz asked.

“In what way?” Sharon replied.

“Well, there are two little girls around.”

Melissa exclaimed, “Ma!”

“I’m not a little girl!” Karen said over Melissa’s protest.

“Under normal circumstances I would agree with you, Liz,” Sharon said. “But these aren’t normal circumstances, are they?”

Liz dipped her head, giving tacit agreement.

“And what if they did break in? You’d want your li—” Sharon stopped herself and smiled at Melissa. “You’d want your daughter to be able to defend herself, now wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose,” Liz said sheepishly.

“Are we all in favour of Billy’s idea?” Sharon asked.

“No,” Thomas said loudly.

“I think we all know your opinion, Thomas,” Sharon said, cutting him off. “What about everyone else?”

There was a wave of nods around the table.

“Carried then,” Sharon said like a judge, tapping her pen against the table.

She studied the faces in the meeting room. Everyone else looked contented and relaxed. Other than Thomas.

It was a good place to end the meeting.

Sharon smiled. “If there isn’t any other business, we’ll meet back here tomorrow at nine a.m.”

Chapter 17

Unwelcome Guest

Melissa sat a few feet away from her brother. The dog had refused to come into the room with her, so she left it outside to root around the empty office space. She kept the meeting room door open and could hear Blow scurrying around, entertaining herself with some imaginary chase.

Grant snarled at her from behind the duct tape gag. He didn’t look much like Grant any longer. Although his appearance had degenerated in the last few days, it wasn’t the matted hair or the blotchy pale skin or even the ghostly white eyes that struck Melissa the most. It was the way he moved. Constantly fighting against his bindings more animalistic than human. This creature before her was a long way from the brother who annoyed her with his every action.

She had tried talking to him, watching to see if there was any spark of recognition in his blank eyes, but finally she gave up and just sat watching.

It was growing dark outside. Soon the light would go altogether and it frightened her to think of being with him in the dark.

Melissa stood up.

“Bye Grant,” she forced herself to say.

She exited the meeting room and closed the door. She could still hear Grant inside struggling to break loose, and she wondered how he felt being left alone in the dark.

“Blow!” Melissa called.

There was the patter of paws on the carpet and the little dog came bounding to heel.

The stairwell was gloomy with the encroaching night. The noise of a door closing from somewhere lower down echoed off the forlorn walls. Melissa placed a hand on the cold metal rail and cautiously made her way down through the gathering murk.

As she reached the third floor she could see a light darting around the abandoned office. She pushed the door open and walked in, curious as to who was there.

Blow sped past her.

“Blow, come back!” Melissa half-whispered.

The dog ignored her.

She walked into the darkening office space to hear a door slam shut.

“Blow?” she asked cautiously.

“Can you take your dog out of here, please?” she heard a voice say.

Melissa looked round to see Mo standing with his back to the closed door of a meeting room, a torch in hand.

Blow was turning circles by his feet.

“I’ve just washed and I don’t want to get dirty again,” Mo said.

“Blow. Here, girl,” Melissa called and made a chirping sound with her lips.

The dog, sensing it would get no attention from Mo, ran back to Melissa.

“Thank you,” Mo said. “Now it’s getting dark. I think you should head back down to the camp.”

“Okay,” Melissa agreed.

She scooped up the dog and left.

***

“Avant garde piece of artwork you’ve done there, Sharon,” Liz commented.

Sharon had taken a large sheet of flip-chart paper and drawn a grid across it. The grid had numbers and luminous multi-coloured boxes in columns stretching from one end of the paper to the other.

“I give up,” Thomas said, arms folded like an art critic. “What is it?”

Sharon stood back to give the viewers a better look at her creation.

“It’s a death clock,” she said.

“A what?” Liz asked.

The jovial atmosphere evaporated

“Well, more of a death calendar,” Sharon corrected herself. “The expiration date Billy was talking about.”

“And what’s it do?” Colin asked.

“I took the information John had from the stock take. Worked out the calories per day and the amount we have stockpiled,” Sharon explained, pleased with her work.

“I thought that was on your agenda for tomorrow,” Thomas said sarcastically.

“It was, but there’s precious little to do to pass the time. It was just a matter of crunching John’s stock take through the laptop.”

Liz pointed to a red blocked-out square on the chart. “I can’t make that out in this light; is this when we’ll die then?”

“No,” Sharon said. “This is when we run out of food. This point here, about three weeks later, is when we’ll die of starvation. That’s if we have water.” She flipped the chart over to reveal a second, very similar but less expansive chart. She pointed out a red block of colour on the new chart. “If we can’t replenish our water, this is when we’ll die of thirst.”

“Cheery,” Billy said, joining the conversation.

“I can’t say we can put a positive spin on this, but we need to plan,” Sharon said. She tapped a thick black felt-tip pen on both charts, drawing attention to the green squares. “This is the point of action.”

“Point of action?” Liz said.

“Yes. This is the time where we still have some supplies, be it water or food, and we are still in a position to do something. When we reach this point we need to take action or we will die.”

“Again: cheery,” Billy commented.

“No, it’s a good piece of work, Sharon,” Colin said, “Now we have a date to work to. Now we know when we need to have plan B ready for.”

“We can start plotting out contingency plans tomorrow,” Sharon said.

“Isn’t that a little premature?” Liz asked. “I mean, it looks like we have plenty of time just now.”

“True, but we need something to work to. If we just sit about all day we’ll lose momentum,” Sharon explained.

“Like doing your homework when you get it handed to you rather than the night before,” Colin said.

“You could put it like that,” Sharon agreed.

“So is this it?” Liz asked. She was staring out of the window at the apartment block opposite them.

Sharon followed her empty gaze, but saw nothing that would attract her attention.

“Is this what?” she said, confused by the question.

“Is this the end of the world?” Liz said, looking off into nothing.

“What—like end-of-days, Armageddon-type deal?” Billy asked.

“Whatever you want to call it,” Liz replied.

“I don’t think it’s the wrath of God, if that’s what you mean,” Colin said.

“Nah, can’t be the rapture. I don’t see any piles of clothes—and let’s face it: I’m still here,” Thomas joked.

“They bombed the hospital,” Liz said, still in her trance-like state.

“Trying to stop the spread, I guess,” Colin surmised.

Thomas waved a thumb at the window. “Did a fat load of good, that. Look at them all out there.”

“Look, if they bombed the hospital, that’s a fairly major action. That would have to have been authorised by someone pretty high up and that implies there’s a plan a big plan,” Sharon said.

“How’s that help us?” Billy asked.

“Well, it means the government is trying to fight this thing,” Sharon reasoned.

“Why haven’t we seen anyone since Monday?” Colin asked. “Not even a police car.”

“I don’t know. There aren’t any major army bases, or navy or air force nearby and this isn’t a big city. If everywhere is like this, then I imagine it could take a while for them to get round to us. They’d secure key locations first, like power stations and food depots or oil refineries.”

“I suppose,” Colin agreed.

“Bombing the hospital didn’t work. What makes you think they fared any better elsewhere?” Thomas asked.

“Maybe it did work. Maybe things would be a lot worse now if they hadn’t,” Billy commented.

“We can’t think like that,” Sharon said. “We have to stay focused and positive or we’ll never get through this.”

“Ha! With busy work like your flip chart there?” Thomas mocked.

Sharon straightened up and shook her head. “No, with planning and positive action. What’s the alternative? Sitting around and waiting to die?”

The office doors opened and Melissa walked in, dog in arms.

“Where have you been?” Liz demanded.

“On the roof walking Blow,” Melissa lied.

“Okay,” Liz acknowledged.

“Well, let’s leave all this until morning,” Sharon said.

“It’s getting dark and right now we should be thinking about bed,” Liz said, looking over at her daughter.

“Aw, Ma, why do I have to?” Melissa protested.

“Your mother’s right,” Sharon said. “It’s been a long day and we all have the comfort of the camp beds and sleeping bags now, so we can get a good night’s sleep.”

“It is getting late and we’ve all had a busy day. Now go and brush your teeth,” Liz ordered.

Melissa whined, “Ma!”

“You need to keep your teeth clean and your gums healthy,” Liz said.

Melissa stuck a frown on her face.

“Don’t get stroppy with me. You have to brush your teeth, madam,” Liz said more sternly.

“I haven’t had to do it since we got here,” Melissa complained.

“We didn’t have toothpaste and brushes before now, so get to it.”

Colin rustled among his possessions. “I think your mother is right. My breath is getting a bit stinky too.” He pulled out his own toothbrush, still in its cellophane and card wrapper. He stood up. “Come on, we’ll both go together. You bring the toothpaste, I’ll bring my teeth.”

Reluctantly, Melissa put the dog down and was about to follow Colin when there came a commotion from one of the tents. There was some rustling and thumping.

The flap flew open and John tumbled out.

“Out the way!” John gurgled.

The obese man stumbled in the dim light, falling forward, carried by his own weight.

Colin held an arm out and held Melissa back.

John rushed past, his cheeks swelling.

As he entered the stairwell he collapsed to his knees and a rush of vomit spewed from his mouth.

Melissa screamed.

John sat hunched over, continuing to vomit, the splashing noise echoing round the stairwell.

“Go back to your mother. Melissa; there’s a good girl,” Colin urged.

Colin stood with his hands on his knees, bent over slightly, the acrid smell of bile clutching at the back of his throat.

“You all right, John?” he asked.

John retched again, letting a string of saliva stretch from his gaping mouth down to the floor.

“You want a towel or a drink of water?” Colin asked.

John nodded his head as he gasped to catch his breath back.

“What’s happening?” Sharon called from the campsite.

“John’s been sick,” Colin called back.

“Anything we can do?”

Blow trotted up to the pool of sick and started lapping at it.

“Clean-up in aisle six!” Thomas joked.

“Oh God, that’s disgusting, Thomas,” Sharon said.

“Melissa, would you take Blow back into the office and keep her away from this?” Billy called through the open office doors.

“Isn’t someone going to get him a towel or something?” Liz asked.

“Uh… oh, yeah,” Colin responded. He scampered off to the toilets.

“Are you okay, John?” Sharon asked.

“I don’t feel too good,” he moaned.

“It’s no wonder, considering the amount of leftovers you scoffed,” Thomas said.

“Fuck off!” John cursed.

“Bet you’re glad you skipped the Cajun wrap now,” Billy said, nudging Thomas.

John rolled over into a sitting position with his back against the wall. His crumpled sweat-stained shirt now sported a cascading damp patch of vomit from his chest to his bulging gut.

“You don’t look so good?” Sharon said, looking at his pale, waxen face.

He burped and the smell of vomit wafted into the air.

“I feel sick too, Ma,” Melissa said, holding the small dog back.

“It’s the smell, honey. It makes you feel sick,” Liz said.

She put an arm around her daughter and led her back to the camp.

Colin returned with an armful of paper towels.

“You’d better get cleaned up, John,” Sharon advised.

John nodded slowly while wiping the puke from his chin.

“Would one of you boys go help him?” Sharon asked.

“Why? It’s his own fault for being such a greedy pig,” Thomas said.

“Um, yeah, sure,” Colin replied.

Colin lent in to give John some support, then seeing the wet vomit glistening on his shirt, thought better of it.

Painfully, John hauled himself to his feet. Colin opened the door to the gents’ toilet and ushered him inside.

John walked slowly with faltering steps. He waddled, shifting his body weight left and then right, breathing heavily, his chest heaving.

“Looks like one of them,” Thomas whispered.

“Thomas!” Sharon chastised and turned to go back into the office.

“Who’s going to clean that up?” Thomas demanded, pointing at the puddle of sick on the floor.

“You’re the janitor,” Sharon answered without looking back. “You clean it up.”

“Whoa—no fucking way!”

When Sharon didn’t respond, he went marching into the office after her.

“For one, I’m not a janitor. I’m a maintenance engineer and for two, you’re not the boss of me. That’s woman's work,” Thomas spat.

Sharon froze in her tracks and whipped round.

She snapped, “I am your boss and I am not prepared to put up with your sexist attitude.”

“I don’t see me getting paid overtime for this shit, so no; no, you’re not my boss—you’re just a stuck-up bitch who does fuck-all but strut around drawing charts and giving everybody orders. You clean it up. You do some work for a change.”

“Do not take that tone with me,” Sharon warned.

“You don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you?” Thomas replied.

“Let’s all just calm down,” Liz implored.

“None of you seem to have realized what’s changed here,” Thomas said, addressing the whole room. “It’s no longer about who’s got the connections, who’s got the right education at the right schools, who plays squash with the managing director—it’s about who has the nuts to get stuff done and half of you lot have done fuck-all to help. So no, I will not be treated like a skivvy. You go clean it up.”

Sharon stood impassive, her arms folded across her chest.

“Get on with it!” Thomas shouted, frustrated at being ignored.

Sharon shook her head. “I don’t think you—”

Thomas grabbed Sharon by the hair at the side of her head and pulled her back out towards the stairwell.

The room erupted into a cacophony of screams and shouts.

There was a scuffle, hands grabbing and pulling.

Colin came back into the office to see Thomas being firmly held by Billy, and Liz comforting Sharon.

“You had enough?” Billy asked loudly. He had his lips mere millimetres from Thomas’ ear. He asked again, louder, “I said, have you had enough?!”

“Fuck you,” Thomas said, rolling his shoulders trying to prise Billy off.

“What happened?” Colin asked, stunned by the turn of events since he’d been in the toilet.

“Thomas here got a little rough with a lady,” Billy explained.

Colin looked over at Sharon. Her hair was tussled and there were tears streaming down her face.

“Have you calmed down, Thomas?” Billy asked.

Thomas snorted and nodded his head.

“I’m going to let you go now, but don’t you think of trying any nonsense.”

Thomas shook off the arms holding him back. He stretched himself up to his full height, turned, and stormed off out of the office.

“Are you okay, Sharon?” Liz asked.

Sharon ran her fingers through her hair and felt a damp welt near her temple. Thomas had succeeded in wrenching a tuft of hair from her head.

“I'm fine,” Sharon said, composing herself. “We’ll need to keep a close eye on Thomas from now on.”

“He tried to touch me,” a voice said from the back of the room.

The group turned round to see Karen sitting by her tent.

“What?” Sharon asked.

“Last night, when everyone had a drink,” Karen said.

“Where? What happened?” Colin asked, stepping forward.

“On the landing on the fourth. He pushed me against the wall and groped me.” Karen folded her hands over her chest.

Liz let out a little gasp and looked at her own daughter.

“I tried to fight him off, but he didn’t stop until I scratched his face,” Karen explained.

“That’s where he got the mark from,” Colin surmised.

“That sick shit,” Billy cursed, whipping round. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Liz shouted, “Wait!”

Billy stopped.

Liz went on, “I know he’s a problem. Christ, what if it had been Melissa he attacked? I don’t know if she’d have the strength or clarity of mind like Karen to fight him off. But we have to think this through. What happens when you get him, Billy? Do you actually kill him?”

“I’m going to beat the crap out of him at the very least,” Billy said.

“Then what?” Liz asked. “He won’t take a beating and just forget about it. He’ll want to get his own back. And on who? Just you, Billy? Or Karen or me or all of us?"

“What are you saying?” Colin asked.

“I don’t know what I’m saying. I don't know what we should do. I just know we need to stop for a moment and think about it." Liz said.

“The guns,” Sharon said.

Colin shrugged. “What about the... Oh, shit.”

He whipped round and dashed into the stairwell.

Propped up against the barricade were the two rifles. With the clatter of metal on metal, Colin picked them up and returned to the office.

“He didn’t take one,” Colin said, relieved.

“What about the two at the other stairwell?” Liz asked.

“I’ll get them,” Billy volunteered, hurrying off.

“We can’t let Thomas get his hands on a weapon,” Sharon said.

“I agree,” Liz replied.

“I think we should keep them together in here,” Colin suggested. “That way they’re close at hand and we can all keep an eye on them.”

“Christ knows what he might do if he kicked off with a gun in his hand,” Sharon observed. “That’s the last thing we need.”

The doors swung open and everyone turned round expectantly.

Mo was standing there holding a flashlight with a look of confusion on his face.

“What’s going on? Who’s been sick?” he asked, looking back at the crowd.

“Long story.” Colin said. “Thomas attacked Sharon and he tried to touch up Karen last night.”

“Where the hell have you been, anyway?” Sharon demanded.

“My rounds,” Mo answered.

“Useless security guard you turned out to be,” Sharon said. “You’re never around when we need you.”

“Eh? What about the sick?” Mo asked.

“John. He’s in the toilet being sick,” Colin explained.

“He’s got food poisoning from eating all of the leftovers,” Liz elaborated.

“Food poisoning doesn’t start so quickly,” Mo said.

Billy came back into the office carrying the two rifles.

“So what is it?” Colin asked, walking over to meet Billy.

“What is what?” Billy asked, placing the guns down on a crate.

“John being sick. Is it food poisoning?”

“I don’t know what’s causing him to be sick, but I'm worried,” Mo interjected. “What if it’s something we can all catch? What if it’s something serious?”

The room was silent other than the constant moaning coming from outside.

“What if he’s got their infection?” Mo said, looking towards the window.

“One thing at a time,” Colin said. “What about Thomas?”

“He tried to rape a little girl,” Billy said.

“I’m not a little girl,” Karen protested.

“That’s hardly the point now, is it?” Billy chastised.

“What can we do about that, reasonably?” Colin asked. “Do we put him on trial? If we find him guilty, what then? Imprison him? Castrate him?”

“What?!” Sharon gasped, appalled.

“Too right,” Billy said. “I’d cut his nuts off for him.”

“We could banish him,” Liz said.

“How?” Colin asked. “Open the front door and say, off you go, hope you don’t mind pushing your way past those two thousand cannibals?!”

“We’ll lock him up,” Liz suggested.

Colin shook his head. “Lock him in a meeting room and slip his meals in under the door?”

No one replied.

“We could lock him out,” Sharon suggested.

“What do you mean?” Liz asked.

“Lock the stairwell doors. He’s keen to stay in the plant room; why not let him?”

“Not going to work,” Billy said. “He’ll just take the doors off the hinges. I know he’s an idiot, but even he could manage that.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Colin said softly.

“What if he attacks one of us again?” Liz asked. “He might not stop at a bit of hair pulling or a quick fondle.”

“Colin’s right,” Sharon admitted. “There’s not much we can do.”

“There’s plenty we can do,” Billy said. “I can go down there and kill him.”

“No you can’t, Billy,” Mo said.

“Who’s going to stop me?”

“No one,” Mo replied. “But if you kill him, who do you become? If you kill him, how do you think we will react to you, knowing you’re capable of doing such a thing?”

Billy’s eyes narrowed as he obviously concentrated on what Mo had said.

He looked around at the faces of the people in the room. Sharon with her hair still out of place looked more angry than hurt. The other three, Liz, Karen and Melissa, looked terrified.

He looked into the eyes of the youngest girl, Melissa. He saw a fear and confusion in that child’s face that he realized was the result of his rage and had little to do with Thomas’ outburst.

He looked back at Mo and then at the others.

“I swear I won’t let that perv do anything to hurt you,” Billy promised.

“What are you going to do?” Colin asked.

Billy shook his head, his lips clamped tight. He took a snort of air in through his flared nostrils as he mulled over the problem.

“Nothing for now, but if he crosses that line again I will hand-feed him to those things out there.” Billy pledged.

“Colin, would you go and have a talk with him? Try to calm him down a bit?” Sharon asked.

“Me?” Colin said in surprise.

“You’re good with people,” Sharon explained.

“I’ll go,” Mo volunteered. “I wasn’t here for the scuffle, so maybe he’ll see me as neutral in all this.”

Sharon nodded and Mo left the office.

Colin sat down on one of the heavy-duty plastic crates that now housed their supplies.

“Should we really be sending him on his own?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Sharon admitted. “If any of the rest of us go, we’ll probably end up antagonising him.”

“I suppose,” Colin replied.

From outside a car horn beeped.

Colin stood up and ran to the back window overlooking the car park. “Is Thomas taking a car and leaving?”

The car park was pitch black now that the sun had set and Colin pressed his face against the glass trying to spot movement below.

“Surely not,” Billy said, joining him. “Where would he go?”

“More to the point: will he open the gates and let them inside?” Colin said.

“He won’t get the refuse bins out the way on his own, will he?” Liz asked.

“I don’t see him,” Billy said, examining the darkened car park.

The car horn tooted again.

“Over here!” Melissa called.

They all turned to see Melissa looking out of the windows that faced the street.

“What is it—what’s going on?" Liz asked, running up to Melissa.

In the street below, a car was ploughing its way through the crowds of undead. Its headlights were tinted pink from the blood smeared across them, but it was making slow progress through the throng.

“It’s a car!” Karen said.

The others rushed over to look.

“Way to go with the obvious there,” Billy jibed.

“Shan?” Karen said with hope in her voice.

The car backed up into some of the space made by its wake.

Quickly the window wound down and a head poked out.

“Is that Stephen’s car?” Sharon said.

A torch flicked on and illuminated the driver’s face.

“It is Stephen!” Sharon proclaimed excitedly.

“That dick,” Liz said venomously.

“He’s shouting something! Open the window,” Sharon ordered.

Colin stood on a desk and slipped the latches on the pane.

“Who’s Stephen?” Billy asked.

“He works here,” Sharon said.

“He dragged me and my children from his car and punched me in the face,” Liz explained.

“Sounds like a delightful fellow,” Billy commented.

“Be quiet!” Sharon snapped. “I can’t hear what he's saying!”

Sharon stood closer to the window and shouted out, “We can’t hear you!”

“Open the door!” Stephen called up.

“We can’t!” Colin shouted back. “There’s too many of them! They’ll get in!”

“Please, you’ve got to—it’s carnage out here! I don’t know where else I can go!”

“We have to let him in,” Sharon said.

“We can’t,” Colin said. “Those things out there will tear him to shreds and overrun us.”

“The back gates,” Billy suggested.

“There are only a handful back there,” Colin reasoned. “If he can get round to the back alley we can let him in that way.”

“What about the bins? You said they were blocking the way in,” Liz said.

“Maybe we can move them or maybe he can climb over them,” Billy offered.

Sharon climbed onto the desk beside Colin and hung out of the window.

“We’ll get you in, Stephen!” she called out, but Stephen hadn’t heard her.

The empty space had quickly been filled again and Stephen had to wind the window up. He was now driving the car backwards and forwards, mowing down swathes of the converging undead.

After a few moments of clearing space, the car stopped and the window rolled down again.

“Open the door!” Stephen screamed, pointing at the lobby.

Sharon called back, “We’re going to get the back gates—”

Colin grabbed her by the shoulder.

“Colin!” Sharon protested.

“Look at his arm,” Colin said.

“What?”

Colin shouted out of the window, “What happened to your arm, Stephen?”

“Nothing! It’s just a scratch! Now open the door!”

Colin jumped down from the table to stand next to Billy.

“We’re going to let you in the back!” Sharon shouted.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Colin said to Billy.

Billy nodded. “There’s no chance we can let him in here.”

“What are you two talking about? Get down to the parking lot and get the gate ready,” Sharon instructed.

Billy shook his head.

“Get on with it!” Sharon barked.

“He’s been infected,” Colin said.

Sharon shook her head. “We don’t know that."

“I don’t think we can take the chance,” Billy said.

“We can’t leave him out there,” Sharon protested.

“What choice do we have? Do we risk getting ourselves infected too?” Colin said.

Sharon looked nervously at the two men. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Neither Billy nor Colin said anything, but the message was clear.

“You’ll leave him out there to die?” Sharon said.

“He’s already dead,” Billy said. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Sharon shook her head. “No.”

She turned her attention back to the street.

“Stephen, have you been bitten?!”

“It’s nothing!” Stephen shouted. “Now let me in! There’s nowhere else left! They’ve overrun everywhere!”

“Have you been bitten, Stephen?!It’s important!”

“What does it matter?!You’ve got to let me in!”

Sharon looked down at Colin and Billy. Both men stood with arms folded, looking stern.

She looked back out of the window.

“We can’t,” she said.

“What?!” Stephen cried in disbelief.

“We can’t let you back in, Stephen!”

“You’ve got to!” Stephen yelled.

He was forced to wind the window back up as the undead again grew nearer.

Sharon turned away from the street and eased herself down from the desk. She was crying softly. Colin tried to put a comforting arm around her, but she shrugged it off.

“It’s the only way,” Billy assured her.

The car outside revved its engine and started to pull away.

“What’s he doing?” Karen asked.

Billy, Sharon, and Colin turned back to the window to observe.

Stephen had backed up a few metres, leaving a gap of undead where the car had been. Rather than turning and driving off down the street, he accelerated into the space and straight at the building.

“Oh my God!” Colin cried, “He’s going to ram the lobby!”

The car accelerated at full power, throwing corpses high into the air like spray from a puddle.

There was the sound of glass shattering and metal screeching from the ground floor.

“Quickly!” Billy called as he sprinted for the stairwell.

***

Mo knocked on the plant room door.

“Fuck off,” came Thomas’ gruff voice.

“Thomas, it’s me, Mo.”

“Fuck off,” Thomas repeated.

“Listen, I know things got heated up there, but we’re in this together,” Mo said through the closed door.

“Fuck off, Mo!” Thomas shouted back, more angrily.

“This has been difficult on all of us, yeah? We’re trying to make the best of a bad situation. Tempers are going to flare. Everyone realises that.”

There was no reply from the plant room. Mo listened to the door, hoping to hear some kind of friendly response.

“The others… well, they realise they’ve been a bit harsh,” Mo said. “Would you come back up and—”

Mo stopped. He had heard something.

“Thomas, was that you?” he asked at the door.

When there was no reply, he continued, “Thomas, did you just make a—”

Mo stopped as the sound came again.

“Did you hear that?” Mo asked. “Did you hear the car horn?”

Intrigued by the sound, Mo listened more intently.

“It’s coming from the street,” he said in realization.

He jogged through to the lobby, keeping himself flat against the doorjamb to prevent the zombies pressed against the glass from seeing him.

Through the grime-smeared windows he could see a beam of light. He peeked round the corner a little more to see the mob of undead silhouetted against it. The crowd moved and jostled, not for a better place at the window, but moving towards the light.

There was something going on in the street. He could now hear muffled calls above the moaning of the dead. Cautiously, he edged forward, making sure with every step that he wasn’t attracting the attention of the creatures on the other side of the glass. Tight up against the wall, he arrived unseen at the glass-panelled facade of the lobby.

Nervously, he eased over to look out the window.

“Mo?” came a voice.

Mo jumped back, his heart racing.

“Thomas, you scared me,” Mo admitted.

Thomas stood by the door to the loading bay near the reception desk.

He asked, “What's going on?”

“I think there’s someone out there. Those things are moving away.”

“We getting rescued?” Thomas asked.

Mo lent out and tried to peer through the glass.

“I can’t see a thing,” he said. “The windows are covered in filth.”

“It looks clearer further up,” Thomas commented.

Mo grabbed one of the chairs for the visitors and pulled it over to the window.

“Over there. It looks clearest up there,” Thomas said, pointing at the window pane.

Mo dragged the chair over, no longer worried about being spotted by the zombies. The creatures had been drawn to the lights like moths.

He stood up on the chair and looked out.

“There’s a car,” he said.

“Let’s have a look,” Thomas said, grabbing a chair for himself.

“It’s coming towards us!” Mo shouted.

The light danced across the darkened foyer, making the shadows of the corrupt creatures stretch and twist into even more grotesque shapes. Above the moans came the thrum of an engine and steady thump of bodies being punched out of the way by a ton of accelerating metal. The shadows drew narrower, the light more intense, and the whine of the engine became a screeching.

The window shattered and the car came crashing through. Thomas instinctively jumped out of the way. As he did, all he could see was the after image seared onto his retina of Mo being swept from the chair.

The engine noise faded to a contented purr. A soft evening breeze found its way into the now open foyer, bringing with it the smell of burnt rubber and putrid flesh.

Thomas pushed himself up. It was dark. All that he could see was the floating green silhouette of Mo falling.

He shouted, “Mo!”

A ripple of excited moans washed over the zombies in the street.

The car door opened and Thomas heard feet crunching on the broken glass.

“Mo?” Thomas said, pulling himself up.

As he did, he felt a foot placed firmly on his shoulders. It pushed down hard, slamming him back to the ground.

The beam of a torch danced its way across the tiled floor of the lobby. There was the odd diamond-like sparkle as the light caught a shard of glass.

Thomas grabbed for the man’s feet, but his hand was quickly kicked away. Balling his staved fingers into a fist, he scrambled back up. As he got to his feet, the dark figure was opening the door to the stairwell. Lunging forward, Thomas got to the doors just a fraction of a second after they closed. There was the clunk of a lock sliding into place.

“Open up!” Thomas shouted, battering his fists against the doors.

Through the slim safety glass he could see the torchlight skipping up the stairs.

Thomas cried, “Bastard!”

From behind, he heard the crunching of glass. He whipped round. From the reflected light of the car’s one working headlamp, he could see a wall of corpses pushing through the shattered windows.

“Mo?” Thomas said more cautiously.

The moaning changed pace to a rasping groan.

“Bollocks,” he whispered.

Thomas vaulted over the reception desk, making for the corridor to the plant room and the lobby. As he landed he skidded on broken glass. His leg went away from under him and something in his knee popped out of place. Hitting the solid tile floor, he let out a wail of pain.

A hand grabbed at his ankle.

Thomas lashed out, striking hard at the attacker.

“Thom—” the voice was cut short as Thomas’ heel struck something solid.

“Shit!” Thomas cursed, realising what he’d just done.

“Mo. Come on, buddy.”

The zombies were almost on top of him and Mo wasn’t moving.

Pulling himself up, he felt his leg quiver with pain.

A mass of undead were streaming into the lobby, their arms outstretched, their mouths gaping open.

Thomas called, “Mo?!”

There was nothing but the hum of the car’s engine and the zombies’ sorrowful lament.

Taking sharp breaths, his hands braced against the walls, he hopped down the corridor towards the fire exit sign above the loading bay door.

The guttural moans following him down the corridor pushed him forward.

Then there was a scream. A high-pitched, hysterical scream.

Thomas didn’t stop. He didn’t look back. He knew he couldn’t.

He jumped down the stairs to the door and threw his whole body weight at it. The door flew open and he tumbled out into the car park.

The noise of the screaming echoed up the corridor, cutting through the constant drone of moans, the screeching rising and falling like waves against rock.

Thomas scrambled for the door and slammed it shut.

***

Colin was only a few steps behind Billy when he came to a sudden halt. Grabbing hold of the handrail, he was barely able to stop himself from running into him.

A torch flickered across their faces.

“Who the fuck are you?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“Where’s Mo and Thomas?” Billy demanded sternly.

“Fucked if I know,” the man answered.

“Stephen!” Sharon cried from up the landing.

“Sharon,” Stephen replied in a flat tone.

A muffled scream emanated from down the stairwell.

“Mo,” Billy said, pushing past the new arrival.

“I wouldn’t go down there,” Stephen warned.

Billy thundered down to the ground floor doors. They had been locked.

“Wouldn’t open them,” Stephen said, shining his torch at Billy.

Billy flipped the key in the lock and swung the door open. He hadn’t even stepped through it when a zombie made a lunge for him.

Billy blurted, “Christ!”

He threw himself backwards just as the first zombie reached the doorway.

“Help me shut it!” Billy called.

Colin charged down the stairs and grabbing hold of the handle with Billy, they heaved at it. The door crashed into the jamb and Billy turned the key. The door shuddered as the creatures on the other side started pounding at it.

“Mo! Thomas!” Billy shouted.

The moaning and hammering gathered pace from the other side of the door.

Again Billy shouted, “Mo! Thomas! Are you there?!”

“I told you not to open that door,” Stephen said smugly.

“And we told you you weren’t getting in,” Billy said, marching up the stairs.

“What, wrong shoes?” Stephen said sarcastically. “It’s not a night club.”

Billy marched up the stairs, a look of anger on his face.

“Oh, so you are a bouncer,” Stephen quipped.

“Too fucking right,” Billy said as he sent an uppercut smashing into Stephen’s jaw.

The force knocked Stephen from his feet and he landed unconscious, slithering down the stairs to stop at Billy’s feet.

“Why did you do that?!” Sharon demanded.

“Why?! Why?! Because he’s just killed two of our people and torn a hole in the side of our refuge, that’s why!”

“Not to forget he’s infected,” Colin added.

“He might not be—he said it was nothing,” Sharon replied.

Colin picked up the torch from where it had clattered to a halt. He bent down over the unconscious Stephen and unwrapped the bandage covering the lower part of his arm.

He held the arm up by the hand and pointed the torch at the wound.

“There. What do you think?”

Billy and Sharon looked at the oval chunk of mangled flesh. It wasn’t a deep wound, but its edges were dark and uneven. The skin around it was pale and the blood vessels underneath pronounced and thick.

Holding the arm on either side of the injury, Billy lent in and sniffed at the laceration. At the smell he scrunched his face up and pulled back.

“Smells rank,” Billy said, his face contorted by the malevolent odour.

“What are you going to do with him?” Sharon asked.

“Chuck him back out on the street,” Billy suggested.

“No, you can't do that!”

“Why the hell not? Mo and Thomas are dead because of him,” Billy said.

“No, I don’t think we could live with ourselves if we did that,” Colin said.

“I could,” Billy assured him.

“We might have to,” came a voice from the landing.

Liz stood just outside the office doors, her daughter Melissa pressed tight to her side.

“If Billy’s right, he’s responsible for the deaths of two people and he’s bringing this infection in among us,” Liz said.

“Oh, come on!” Sharon scolded. “Your dead kid is up on the fourth, tied to a radiator, and you talk about bringing the infection in here?”

“He doesn’t deserve to live,” Liz argued.

“You’re just mad at him because he didn’t get you to a hospital,” Sharon spat.

“And you’re just protecting him because he was your boy-toy in the office!” Liz shot back.

“Ladies, ladies, calm down,” Billy said, loud enough to interrupt them.

“Whatever we’re going to do, can I suggest we drag him up to the fourth floor and tie him up just in case he turns on us, one way or another?” Colin said.

Neither Sharon nor Liz objected.

Billy and Colin took an arm each and started dragging Stephen’s unconscious body up the stairs.

“Would one of you be so kind as to get the doors for us?” Billy asked in a falsely sweet tone.

“I will,” Sharon volunteered and she trotted ahead of them.

***

When they walked back through the doors to the office campsite, Liz said, “I got Melissa and Karen to go to sleep, so please keep your voices down.”

They all nodded.

“Where are Mo and Thomas?” Liz asked.

“They were downstairs when Stephen crashed through the lobby,” Billy answered.

“What happened to them?”

“They’re dead,” Colin said. “We heard screaming and we couldn’t get to them.”

There was the sound of a tent unzipping and they all turned to look. Karen stepped out, wearing an oversized t-shirt as a nightdress.

“I thought you were asleep.” Liz said.

“I’m not a two year-old, Liz. I just went into the tent to get away from your fussing,” Karen replied. “So what’s the score with this guy Steve?”

“He’s one of my employees,” Sharon answered.

“He punched me and threw my kids out of his car before abandoning us,” Liz added.

“Okay, okay. There’s bad blood; we get it,” Colin said. “But what are we going to do with him?”

“Is he bitten for sure?” Liz asked.

“I’d say so. The wound is chewed up and it stinks,” Billy replied.

“So how long before he turns into one of them?” Karen asked.

“Who knows,” Colin said. “With your security guard...”

“Gary,” Sharon offered.

“Yeah, with Gary, he turned in about six, seven hours.”

“Grant took a little longer,” Liz volunteered.

“All well and good, but when did Stephen get bitten?” Billy asked.

No one could answer.

“Well, since we can’t tell, I think we should keep an eye on him,” Colin said.

“Yeah, good idea. He might even be able to give us some useful information when he comes round,” Billy suggested.

“Like what?” Liz snapped.

“Like where’s safe,” Billy said.

“He already said nowhere is safe,” Sharon said. “That's why he came back,”

“Sure, he might not know where a safe place is, but he hasn’t been everywhere and he can sure as hell tell us where not to go,” Billy added.

“Makes sense,” Colin agreed. “We’ll all take turns watching over him. Karen, would you take first watch?”

“Oh, why me?” Karen protested.

“Because you’ve not just dragged him up three flights of steps, that’s why,” Colin said.

“Oh, come on,” Karen sulked.

“You’ve been asked to do fuck-all around here. Now go up there and sit with him!” Sharon snapped.

“I have not done fuck-all. I put up a tent and sorted out food,” Karen whined.

“If you want to be treated like a grown-up, then stop acting like a little girl,” Sharon said. “We’ve all had to do jobs around here. It’s about time you started pulling your own weight.”

“Not you or your buddy,” Karen said, pointing ferociously at Sharon. “You just stood around ticking boxes on a sheet of paper and bossing everyone around.”

“John,” Sharon uttered softly.

“John’s been...” Colin stopped.

“Where the fuck is John?” Billy said.

They all looked around and then at each other.

“Is he still in the toilet?” Colin asked.

“Shit. Mo did say he looked infected,” Billy said.

“No, Mo didn’t say he looked infected; he just worried he might be,” Colin corrected.

“We’d better go find him,” Sharon added.

“Grab a gun,” Billy said, rushing over to the crate with the rifles.

“Thanks,” Colin said, placing a firm grip on the handle as he took the weapon from Billy’s grip.

Billy shouldered his weapon and turned to the girls.

“One of you up for holding the lantern?” he asked.

“I’ll do it,” Liz said.

The trio made their way up to the gents’ toilets where John had last been seen.

Billy took his hand off his rifle stock and held up three fingers to Colin, then pointed at the door. Colin nodded. Billy started his countdown.

Colin found himself bouncing in time with the count, building up courage and momentum.

Billy flipped down his last finger and Colin flung the door open.

With the butt of the rifle firmly against his shoulder, Billy was into the toilets in an instant. Colin hurried in behind him, with his weapon also at the ready.

Billy stopped and lowered his rifle. Colin sidestepped him to see why.

One of the stall doors was open and John was laying half in and half out.

“Fat fucker’s fallen asleep,” Billy said, laughing. He stepped up to John, the rifle by his side, and kicked the sole of John’s foot. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

John’s leg reverberated with the impact, but other than that he didn’t move.

“Come on, John. You’re not that sick on a bellyful of leftovers,” Billy said.

“Billy?” Colin said, placing his gun down on a sink with a clatter.

He took the lantern off Liz and walked over to the man on the floor. There was watery sick down his front and around his mouth. The unflushed bowl was streaked with yellow bile.

Colin went to kneel down beside John, but the cubicle was too cramped.

“Billy, pull him out a bit, would you?”

Billy bent down. Grabbing an ankle, he hastily slid him out.

“Thanks,” Colin said as he bent in closer.

John’s eyes were lightly closed as if he were dozing. Colin placed two fingers behind his jaw, trying to feel for the cardiac pulse. The clammy skin was still warm to the touch. He shifted position, but failed to find a heartbeat. He lent over him, placing his ear over his mouth so close they almost touched. The smell of warm sick filled his nostrils as he listened for a breath.

There was nothing.

Colin stood up and gazed down at the body.

“He’s dead,” he said.

“How’d he die?” Billy asked. “From eating too many chicken nuggets?”

“Is he dead dead?” Liz asked from the doorway.

“What do you mean?” Colin asked.

“I mean, will he get back up and attack us?” Liz said nervously.

“I... I don’t know,” Colin said.

Billy raised his gun. “Stand back.”

“What for?” Colin asked.

“I’m going to blow his brains out,” Billy replied.

“What? Why?” Colin spluttered.

“Stop him coming back,” Billy explained.

“No, no—wait. We can tape him up or something.”

“Be quicker just to shoot him,” Billy said.

“Think of the mess,” Liz said.

“What?” Billy asked, lowering the gun.

“You blow his head apart and it’s going to be sprayed all across this washroom. If he is infected, we’ll be covered in it.”

“She’s got a good point, Billy. Be easier to tie him up and drag him out than wash his brains off the walls.”

“Suppose,” Billy agreed.

“Liz, go get some duct tape.”

Liz nodded and scurried from the toilet.

“Shit, it stinks in here,” Billy said, stepping past John’s body.

Looking into the vomit- and paper towel-filled bowl, he spat out a glob of saliva and pressed the flush button. With a swoosh, the toilet started to fill with water. The paper towels and vomit swirled around the bend, then a towel became clogged and the water started rising. A few lighter chunks managed to stay on top of the deluge to bob around in the clean water.

“Stand back,” Billy advised.

Blocked by the towels, the water rose higher and higher, getting dangerously close to the rim of the bowl.

“Shit. You’d better try and unclog that before it overflows,” Colin said.

“I’m not sticking my hand down there,” Billy replied.

There was a glug of air and the water level dropped instantly. A second bubble and the towels began to slip round the bend.

“See? You just needed a little faith,” Billy said.

When the waters receded, there was still a few wayward chunks of vomit lazily circling the bowl. Billy pushed the button to initiate a second flush, but the cistern only gave out a light gasp.

“Fuck it,” he said.

“What is it now?” Colin asked.

“Water’s off,” Billy replied.

Colin shook his head. “It’s just one thing on top of another.”

***

Stephen came to. His jaw ached and his head thundered. He tried to move, but couldn’t. Looking down, he saw he was duct taped to an office chair. There was a teenaged girl he didn’t recognize sitting across from him. She wore only an oversized T-shirt and was reading a celebrity magazine by the light of a camping lantern.

Stephen croaked, “Hey, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” Karen said.

Without another word, she stood up and walked out of the empty office.

“Hey, come back,” Stephen cried through cracked lips.

The door creaked shut and he heard the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Stephen tried to call out, but his throat felt swollen and dry.

“Bitch.”

He pulled at his bonds. His hands and fingers were curled round the arm of the chair, restrained by the adhesive tape. His feet were bound together behind the chair’s central strut. Testing all of his limbs, there was the tiniest amount of play between his flesh and the arms of the chair. He could slide his arms sideways a few millimetres left and right.

He started wiggling his arms vigorously, trying to find a weak spot or some purchase he could exploit. The whole chair creaked and groaned at his efforts. The chair started to rock and protest even more loudly.

“Come on,” Stephen urged, hearing a crack.

The most noise was coming from the right arm of the chair. He shifted his body weight into the right arm and pushed and pulled harder and harder.

“Come on,” he said, spurring himself on.

There was a crunching noise and the chair’s arm broke loose.

“Yes!” Stephen hissed, holding his arm out in front of him.

Dangling from his forearm was a splint-like armrest. A pair of bolts dangled at the bottom corners where they had been broken free.

Stephen brought his freed arm up to his mouth and started feeling with his teeth for an edge to the duct tape. His teeth found the end. He rasped his top incisors down over the lip of the tape, trying to work enough of it free to give himself purchase. With luck he could find the edge and pull back enough tape and start to untangle himself from its sticky grasp.

The door to the office opened and Liz strolled in.

“Fuck,” Stephen cursed.

Liz stared at Stephen for a moment as if she were trying to decide what to do.

She held the door open and shouted back down the stairs, “Stephen’s trying to free himself!”

There was an unintelligible reply and Liz let the door swing shut.

Calmly she walked over to Stephen and sat down on the edge of a desk opposite him.

“Who bit you?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Some random,” Stephen answered.

“Did you find your wife?”

“Fiancée. And yes.”

“She’s dead now, isn’t she?”

“Yes. I got back to the house just fine. We hunkered down for a couple of days, but they swarmed the place. Every hour there were more and more of them hammering at the windows and doors. We left it too late. There were too many of them when we tried to fight our way to the car. She got bitten and that night she died.”

Liz nodded after listening to Stephen’s story.

“I’m going to die, too, aren’t I?” he whispered.

“That’s how it seems to work,” Liz said.

“Oh, God,” Stephen said, letting his chin fall to his chest.

“Is there a cure?” Liz asked.

“How the fuck should I know?!” Stephen barked.

“I just thought you might have heard something on the radio.”

“I left her there,” Stephen said, crying now.

“You left us, too,” Liz said.

“I dragged her out of the car and left her by the side of the road,” Stephen wept. “I watched her come back. I should have buried her or something. I shouldn’t have let her come back.”

The doors to the office swung open and Billy, Colin, and Sharon entered.

“Don’t let me come back,” Stephen pleaded.

“You’ll be lucky to get the chance,” Liz said.

She retrieved the roll of duct tape from the desk and stood up.

“I’ll take care of John. You decide what to do with him,” she said, walking past the others.

Sharon walked over to the table and took up the position Liz had just left. Billy grabbed a chair by the headrest and wheeled it over while Colin stood with his arms folded.

“So what are we going to do about you?” Billy said, sitting down hard.

Stephen stayed silent. He shivered, not from fear, but from the infection eating him up.

“Because of you, two of our friends are dead,” Colin said.

Stephen looked up at him, sweat dripping from his forehead.

“I say we toss him out the window,” Billy said. “Give the fuckers down there something to occupy themselves.”

“Come on, Billy—let’s not get carried away,” Sharon appealed.

“Mo and Thomas are dead all because of this dick,” Billy pointed out.

“Mo’s a loss, but don’t kid yourself. Stephen’s done our dirty work for us where Thomas is concerned,” Sharon replied.

“So what do you propose we do? Leave him tied up here until he dies?” Colin asked.

“Kill me,” Stephen said.

“What?” Sharon said in surprise.

Stephen swallowed hard. His saliva was thick and sticky in his burning throat.

He said, “I can feel it. It’s eating me up from the inside.”

“So you admit you’re infected,” Colin said.

“Of course I’m infected. One of those fuckers bit me,” Stephen replied.

“Okay, we’ll kill you,” Billy said. “But first tell us what it’s like out there. Where have you been? Have you seen any supplies we can use?”

Stephen started to laugh, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit. His cheeks turned crimson and phlegm dribbled from his lips.

“He’s choking to death,” Sharon said. “Aren’t you going to help him?”

“A pat on the back is going to help,” Billy said.

Slowly, Stephen composed himself again.

“What’s it like out there?” Colin asked. “Can you tell us anything that will help?”

“It’s all fucked up. They’re everywhere and there’s no way out,” Stephen answered.

“No way out?” Colin asked.

“The roads are clogged with abandoned cars and the west bridge was down. The only way out is on foot, but with those fuckers following you, you’ve got no chance.”

“Okay…Anywhere we can get supplies?”

“How the hell should I know? I wasn’t looking,” Stephen replied.

He started coughing and choking again.

“Get him a glass of water or something,” Sharon said, but no one moved.

“He’s of no use,” Billy said.

“Why are we even asking? How would we get out to go looking for supplies, anyway?” Colin asked.

Stephen stopped coughing and his head fell limp.

“Stephen?” Sharon said.

She lent in to check him when a hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. Looking down, she saw Colin holding her back.

“Don’t get too close,” he warned.

“Is he all right? I mean has he died? Should we check him?” Sharon asked, stepping back.

“Let’s just give it a moment,” Billy advised.

They sat and watched, listening to their breathing, focusing on the still body. Time stretched out and slowed, counted only by their skittish heartbeats.

“There!” Colin pointed at a muscle in Stephen’s arm.

They all looked and the muscle twitched.

The slumped head twisted quickly, then drew up straight. Stephen’s mouth was open, stringy drool hanging from his chin. He looked at the three people around him.

“Stephen?” Sharon asked.

At the sound of her voice, Stephen’s head turned to look directly at her.

“Stephen?” she asked again.

Stephen’s lips peeled back and a low moan issued from somewhere deep inside his throat. As he tried to stretch out for his prey, the binds held him in place. He looked down at the lashings of duct tape, but they were beyond his comprehension. Ignoring them, he looked back up at Sharon and stretched out his free hand, rasping out his discordant moan.

There was a flash of motion and a wet thump. The sound stopped.

Billy stood, holding his rifle by the muzzle shroud .

Stephen’s head slumped forward and fell to his chest. The head hung in an unnatural way, bobbing about randomly like a ship on a swelling sea.

Billy became aware of Sharon and Colin staring at him.

“What? It was less messy than shooting him,” he said, justifying himself.

He swung the gun around and examined the butt.

“Yuck. I’ll need to take some bleach to that,” he said, seeing a chunk of scalp embedded in the back plate.

Colin bent down, hands on knees, and examined Stephen’s head.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, using the lantern to highlight an inch-deep gash above Stephen’s left temple. “Is he dead?”

“If you want to be sure, I can go get my machete. Take his head off,” Billy offered.

“Christ, Billy—that was uncalled-for.” Sharon turned and stormed out of the office.

“What’s up with her?” Billy asked, watching her leave.

“Fuck knows,” Colin replied. “Maybe she just wants out of disposing of the body.”

Billy slung his rifle on his shoulder and spun the chair around. He placed both of his hands firmly on the backrest and started pushing it to the door like a wheelchair.

Reaching the end of the office, he stopped. “Give us a hand and we’ll toss this fucker off the roof.”

***

Sharon came into the office and immediately noticed that all but one of the lanterns was off. No one else was about and she suddenly realised how much noise the door was making creaking on its hinges.

Softly, she walked across to her own tent. It was late and the last couple of hours had been exhausting. She knew she should slip into her sleeping bag and get some rest, but her mind was still whirring around. Everything and nothing assaulted her thoughts. Would they be safe now that the foyer was breached? What had killed John? How long would the food last? Would she survive all this or go the same way as Stephen, Mo, or Thomas?

She bent down and unzipped her tent. She may not feel like sleeping, but there was little else to be done.

Something struck her. A sound. Not a familiar one—not the soft breathing in the adjacent tents or the moans of the dead outside. Something else.

She stood up straight and listened. Someone was shouting. She looked up at the ceiling tiles. Colin and Billy would be on the roof by now with Stephen’s dead body, but there was no way she’d be able to hear them from down here.

Casting around the office, she tried to home in on the sound. Getting closer to the back windows, the noise became louder. It was a man’s voice calling out. She got to the window and opened it and the sound jumped in volume.

“Thomas?” Sharon called out into the darkness.

“Sharon!” came the reply.

“Where are you?”

“Sitting against the loading bay doors.”

“Are you okay? We thought you’d been killed. Is Mo with you?”

“I’m okay, mainly,” Thomas said. “I’ve pulled a ligament in my leg or something like that, but apart from that I’m fine.”

Sharon could hear some light coughing and the sound of a tent being unzipped.

“And Mo?” Sharon asked.

“No. He didn’t make it,” Thomas answered. “The driver of the car—he got past me up the stairs—is he there?”

“It was Stephen. We got him,” Sharon said.

“It’s his fault Mo’s dead. He crashed straight into him,” Thomas said, omitting his part in Mo’s demise.

“Don’t worry about that. He’s dead. He was infected.”

“What’s going on?” Liz asked, walking up and standing next to Sharon.

“Thomas is okay. He’s in the car park,” Sharon explained.

“Oh,” Liz said apathetically.

“Is there anything down there you can use to climb up?” Sharon asked.

“I don’t know. It’s pitch dark and I can’t move away from the door,” Thomas said.

“Why not?” Sharon asked.

“It’s the fire exit. I’m up against it. If I move away, they’ll come pouring through the door,” Thomas explained. “Are there any door wedges up there?”

“I don’t know,” Sharon said. “I’ll go look.”

Sharon turned and picking up a lantern, she started looking for something to wedge the door shut.

“Why not just leave him there?” Liz asked.

Sharon was sweeping the lantern from left to right, scouring the office for something to use as a wedge.

“Why not just leave him down there?” Liz asked again.

“We can’t do that,” Sharon said, brushing off the comment. “Ah, this might work!”

She picked up a hole punch from a desk and examined it.

She held it out to Liz and asked, “Do you think this will do the job?”

Liz grabbed the punch and threw it across the room. It landed with a crash somewhere in the darkness.

“You’re not listening to me.” Liz said.

“I am. You want to leave Thomas out there,” Sharon replied.

“He attacked you and he sexually assaulted Karen,” Liz said. “And you want to bring him back into the fold?”

The office door swung open and Billy and Colin entered.

Colin immediately sensed the pressure in the room.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Thomas is outside in the parking lot,” Liz said.

“He survived?”

“Stick your head out of the window and speak to him if you like,” Liz added.

“Liz here says we should leave him outside,” Sharon said.

“I’d be happy with that,” Billy replied.

“We can’t just leave him down there,” Sharon protested.

“Why not?”

“It’s not right,” Sharon said, lost for anything else.

“Ma, what’s happening?” Melissa asked, rubbing her eyes as she climbed out of her tent.

“It’s nothing, dear. Just go back to sleep,” Liz urged.

“No chance of that with the noise you’re making,” came Karen’s voice from inside her tent.

Colin blurted out a stream of questions: “Is he hurt? Is he infected? Is Mo there?”

“He said Stephen ran Mo over, but he didn’t say if he was bitten,” Sharon answered.

“It might be safer just to leave him out there in case he is bit,” Billy suggested.

“The poor guy’s sitting up against the fire door to keep them out,” Sharon said.

“Why are you so keen all of a sudden to save him?” Billy asked.

“I don’t know,” Sharon said, sitting down on a desk. “He’s a member of my staff... the last member of my staff. I’m used to making big decisions. Decisions that cost millions, decisions that change the company’s fortunes that cost people their livelihoods. But not ones that cost people’s lives.” She stood up and looked out over the car park. “Sure, he’s a dick; self-centered, moronic—immoral, even. But when did we become judge, jury, and executioner?”

“He tried to touch me up!” Karen called out from behind the thin skin of her tent. “For all I care he can rot out there.”

“She’s got a point,” Liz said. “Are we safer with him out the way?”

“There are more of them out there than there are of us in here,” Sharon said. “I don’t think we have the luxury of turning on ourselves.”

“Christ, a minute ago we thought he was dead and none of you were upset by that thought,” Billy pointed out.

“Okay, so you don’t want to leave Thomas out there,” Colin said. “I see your point, but what if he’s infected?”

“And what if he stops holding the door shut?” Billy asked.

“Those things will get into the car park,” Liz answered.

“And if we have to get out of here, a parking lot full of those things will make it impossible to get to the cars,” Billy added.

“What if he decides to do that anyway?” Sharon asked. “What if he takes a car and makes a run for it?”

“He’ll never clear the alleyway on his own,” Colin pointed out.

“What if he tries? He’ll take the gate down, knock the refuse bins out of the way. Doesn’t matter if he succeeds or not, the end result is the same. We get a parking lot full of those things and no way to escape.”

“You’ve got a point,” Colin admitted. “We’re safer letting him back in.”

“Still, there’s no rush,” Billy added.

***

Thomas sat with his back to the door. He had felt out as far is he dared without letting up on the pressure. He knew there was a triangle of wood around here somewhere; he had often used it to wedge the door open when he’d gone for a fly cigarette.

He patted himself down, looking for his lighter and cigarettes.

“Bugger,” he said, remembering they were sitting in the plant room.

“Here,” said a masculine voice from above.

Thomas looked up, and from the faint light of the lanterns in the office he saw an undulating black shape tumbling towards him. The object hit him with no force at all. It merely collapsed around him, draping him in fabric.

He pulled the material from his head and felt its thick, soft folds. It was a sleeping bag.

“Ha-ha, very funny!” Thomas shouted.

“No joke, Tommy-boy,” Billy said. “You’re safe for now and it’s too dark to go fannying about. It doesn’t feel like rain, so I’m sure you’ll be fine to camp out under the stars for once.”

“Okay, joke’s over! Come on and help me!”

“No joke,” Colin said. “See you in the morning.”

Thomas roared, “You fucking cunts! I’ll fucking kill you!”

He heard the office window lock shut.

Friday

Chapter 18

Demise

Puffing like a steam train, Thomas flopped onto the floor of the office.

“You made a meal out of that one,” Billy chastised.

“Let’s see how you fare after a night on concrete, wedging a door shut,” Thomas replied.

“There was no way you could have managed that in the dark, anyway,” Colin added.

“Yeah, well, you could have tried,” Thomas said, getting to his feet.

“What’s this, anyway?” Colin asked, picking up the heavy bag that Thomas had clambered up with.

“Car stereo,” Thomas answered.

“Not going to make much stealing car radios in this economy,” Billy laughed.

“It’s for the radio. I didn’t get any signal in the parking lot, so I dismantled the radio, whipped out the battery, scored some wiring from the electrics. Reckon I can fix up an antenna and we could listen for radio broadcasts.”

“You got the tools to do the job now the plant room’s off limits?” Billy asked.

“All in the bag. Thieved the tool kit from the people carrier,” Thomas said.

“Not a bad idea,” Colin said.

“Yeah, well, I had all night to think about it. I’m choking for a cigarette,” Thomas said, looking over at Liz.

Liz looked blankly at Thomas.

“Don’t think I don’t know your game,” Thomas said.

“What?” Liz said.

“You took your cut of the smokes, but I haven’t seen you take a single one. You’re playing it smart; you’re saving them to barter with.”

“Why don’t you smoke your own?” Liz replied.

“Cause they’re down in the plant room.”

“What about the cigarettes Magda and Alex took?” Sharon asked. “They’ve got to still be around here.”

“They’re down in the plant room, too,” Thomas admitted.

“So you stole the cleaner’s cigarettes and now you want mine, too?” Liz asked.

“Look, Liz, I’m not in the mood for it. Now you either spot me a smoke or you watch me get even more cranky from nicotine withdrawal. What will it be?”

“Here,” Billy offered, holding out an open packet.

Thomas pulled a solitary cigarette and tucked it behind his ear.

“Thanks,” he said before turning and heading for the supply crates. “I’m starving. What’s for breakfast?”

“We’ve all had some crackers with cheese,” Sharon answered.

“I saw some beans and sausages the other day,” Thomas said, opening one of the crates and peering in.

“We’re rationing supplies,” Colin said.

“I know, but it strikes me we’re a man down, so there’s more to go around.”

“We’re two men down, as you euphemistically put it,” Sharon corrected.

Thomas stopped and looked around.

“John?” he asked.

Sharon nodded.

“What happened? Was it Stephen?” he asked.

“No,” Sharon said. “He went to the bathroom sick and by the time we’d finished with Stephen…well, he was dead.”

“How? What did he die of?”

“We don’t know,” Colin said. “We thought he might have been infected, but he never got back up.”

“Food poisoning, then?” Thomas asked. “Cause if it was, we’ve all eaten the same food.”

“Food poisoning doesn’t act that fast,” Sharon said. “It takes a day to two weeks for the symptoms to arise.”

“How do you know that? You some kind of nurse or something?”

“I took a waitressing job while I was at university. I did a food hygiene course as part of my training.”

“Then what killed him?” Thomas asked.

“"Damned if we know,” Billy said. “Could have been anything. He wasn’t the fittest of people. Heart attack, aneurysm, stroke—take your pick.”

“Okay, so how do we stand since last night?” Thomas asked.

“The stairwell doors on the ground floor are holding fine, but we’ve put the barricades into action just in case,” Colin said.

“The power’s out, so no lights or electricity,” Sharon said.

“That’s a good thing,” Thomas added.

“Why?” Sharon asked.

“If the power were on, the lift would still work,” Billy said. “Those fuckers would have pressed against a button and the next thing we know would be when the doors pinged open."

“That’s not an issue,” Thomas said. “I could have locked the elevator out.”

“If you’d been up here,” Liz pointed out.

“If you’d have bothered to help me back in,” Thomas said, limping off in the direction of the crates.

“Where are you going?” Billy asked.

“To get some beans and some painkillers.”

Sharon placed a hand on Billy’s arm.

“Leave it,” she said softly.

Billy looked at Colin for some support, but he could tell from his friend’s expression that he’d already sided with Sharon and gone for the path of least resistance.

***

Screams echoed around the office, high-pitched and shrill. Billy came bounding across the camp to see Karen and Melissa tussling with each other. The little dog was yapping excitedly at Melissa’s ankles.

“Hold on there!” Billy ordered.

Only the dog appeared to pay Billy any attention. The two girls ignored him, forcing him to step in between them to break up the fight.

“What’s going on?” Liz demanded, joining the fracas.

Melissa cried, “Karen hit me!”

“Did you hit her?!” Liz barked.

“No,” Karen protested. “It was just a tap on the arm.”

Liz hurriedly rolled up Melissa’s sleeve. On her soft skin was the faintest of red marks. In a few moments it would be indistinguishable. But it was obviously a punch mark.

“Why did you hit her?” Liz asked. Her years of being a parent had taught her that neither side was ever completely innocent.

“Cause she’s a dif,” Karen replied.

“A what?” Liz asked.

“Am not!” Melissa protested.

“A dif,” Karen huffed. “A mentally deficient.”

“Why would you call her that?” Liz demanded.

“Ask her where the gamer is,” Karen said.

Melissa’s sobs abated somewhat, but she didn’t answer.

“Where’s the game, Melissa?” Liz asked.

“It’s upstairs,” she answered.

Sensing the half-truth, Liz pressed, “Where upstairs?”

“With Grant,” Melissa said.

“See?” Karen said triumphantly.

“You be quiet!” Liz snapped at the teen. She turned to Melissa. “Why is it with Grant?”

“I thought he might be bored up there on his own. I thought it might calm him down,” Melissa said.

Liz shook her head. “Christ.”

“I told you she was a dif,” Karen said.

“Get out of my sight!” Liz barked at her.

Karen let her jaw fall slack in a look of disdain.

“Go!” Liz shouted, pointing to the doors.

“Come on, lady,” Billy said to Karen.

With a huff, Karen turned and was ushered off by the gruff biker.

Liz looked into Melissa’s teary eyes. She dropped to her knees and pulled her in close. Melissa had grown. Kneeling in front of her, she was now a good four inches taller than her. Melissa bent her head down and wrapped her arms around her mother. She may be growing up, but she hadn't grown away from needing her mother to comfort her.

Liz tried to think what she should say to her daughter, but there was nothing.

“The two of you used to fight like cats and dogs,” she finally said. “Now you’re trying to look after him.”

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Melissa said.

“I know, and you meant well by it,” Liz said, brushing the hair way from her daughter’s face.

“Then why did Karen get so mad?” Melissa asked.

“She’s scared, just like the rest of us. She’s scared and angry at being here.”

“Will Grant get better?” Melissa asked.

“No,” Liz said. “I don’t think he will.”

“Will we end up like him?”

Liz held her daughter’s hands in her own and shook her head.

"No, baby, we won’t. I promise.”

***

“So what was that about?” Billy asked.

“The stupid little dif gave the games hand-held to her dead brother,” Karen huffed.

“Aren’t you a bit old for playing games?”

“I’m bored.”

“So you thought you’d start a fight with a little girl, eh?”

“Nah,” Karen sneered.

“We need to find something to do. Something productive," Billy said. He pointed up the stairwell towards the roof. “Up there.”

Reluctantly, Karen trudged up behind him.

Emerging onto the roof, they saw Thomas sitting on the edge with an assortment of wires and electrical equipment.

“Hey, Thomas,” Billy said.

Karen and Billy walked out onto the roof. Thomas was hunched up with the stereo and car battery.

“What the fuck is it?” Thomas asked.

“Me and Karen here were wondering if we could help,” Billy said.

“What?! Not that pedo!” Karen spat.

“Not now. Fuck off,” Thomas said.

“It’s okay. I’ll be with you the whole time,” Billy reassured her. He crossed his arms and looked down at the cantankerous mechanical engineer. “Do you know what you’re doing there?”

“Yes, I fucking do. So fuck off and leave me to it.”

“Do you think we’ll pick anything up?” Karen asked.

“If there’s anything to pick up.”

Karen looked over the edge of the building. The street below was swarming with zombies. Only in odd patches could she see the road.

“You’ve been up here an age,” Billy said.

“Yeah, I worked on those first,” Thomas said, pointing at a group of modified water bottles.

Billy turned round to see two odd-looking constructions. Wandering over, he took a closer look. Evidently Thomas had taken it upon himself to address the water shortage. There were two of the empty five gallon plastic bottles sitting upright. Duct taped to the neck was half of a second bottle.

“What’s that for?” Karen asked.

“If it rains, the water will be caught at the top here and funnelled into the bottle below,” Billy explained.

“What’s that then?” Karen asked dismissively.

Sitting beside the two rain catchers were the discarded bottom halves of the decapitated bottles. To the casual eye they looked like refuse, the leftover parts from the complete project. One of the halved bottles sat on a black plastic trash bag as if itsonly purpose was to stop the bag blowing away in the wind, but the other halved bottle had a white plastic bag taped around it to form a gaiter .

“I don’t know,” Billy admitted. “Thomas?”

“It’s the start of a reclamation system,” Thomas said.

“Recli-what?” Karen asked.

“You piss in the clear tub. Leave it in the sun and clean water evaporates off it. You cover the other tub with the back bag and it condenses back into water,” Thomas explained.

Karen exclaimed, “What?! Drinking piss?!”

“Yeah, drinking fucking piss, Karen,” Thomas replied.

“I have to admit, it’s a good idea,” Billy said.

“I wasn’t looking for your approval, Billy,” Thomas said. “I was looking for a way to not die of thirst. Those bottles of water downstairs ain’t gonna last.”

“I’m not pissing in that,” Karen said, looking at the narrow neck at the end of the gaiter.

“You’re not supposed to. You piss in a bucket or something first, then you pour it in,” Thomas said, shaking his head.

“Does it work?” Billy asked.

“I haven’t finished yet!” Thomas snapped. “It needs some hosing to connect the two tubs up.”

“Well, then that’s something Karen and I can do, isn’t it, Karen?” Billy said.

“I suppose,” Karen forced out past her apathy.

Billy made to leave the roof, but Karen was slow to follow. She stopped just before the access door.

“There was nothing on the satellite TV yesterday. Do you really think you’ll pick something up on that?” she asked, pointing at the bundle of stripped electrical components.

“Maybe,” Thomas said, not looking up from the wire he was splicing in an attempt to ignore them.

“If the satellite was down, wouldn’t the radio be, too?" Karen asked.

“We won’t know until we try,” Thomas said. “Now fuck off and leave me to it.”

“Your attitude stinks,” Billy said.

Thomas looked up from his work. “Yeah, well, this whole fucking show stinks.”

“Come on, Karen. Let’s see if we can find some tubing,” Billy said, ushering the schoolgirl off the roof.

They entered the gloom of the building and walked down the short set of stairs to the top landing.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” Karen complained.

“Then why did you pick a fight with a twelve year-old?” Billy asked.

Karen shrugged her shoulders.

“Do you think you can stay out of trouble?” Billy asked.

“I suppose.”

“Good. I’ll be making lunch in a couple of hours. How about you go looking for a hose or some plastic tubing, then come help me with the cooking?”

“I don’t do cooking,” Karen lied to get away from Billy.

Billy gave the adolescent a big smile. “Fine. Then you’re on washing up and since we don’t have water to spare, that’s going to be harder than you’d think. Now take a look around the place; see if you can’t find that hose for Thomas.”

“Where will I find that?” Karen whined.

Billy bent down to meet Karen at eye level. “I don’t know. That’s why I said go and look.”

With that, he made a wave with his hand to shoo Karen about her task.

Karen looked at Billy with a mocking side-on squint.

“Fine,” she said in a singsong tone and walked off in the direction of the toilets.

***

“Smells good,” Colin commented. “What is it?”

“It’s Pasta alla Billy,” Billy announced.

“So what’s in Pasta alla Billy?" Colin asked, wafting steam up his nostrils with his hand.

“Dried pasta.” Billy picked up the plastic bag. “Penne-style. With canned tomato, some Italian herb mix, dried peas, and onion.”

“No meat?” Colin asked, rubbing at his sore neck.

“No, I decided to cook a vegetarian meal. We’re all out of fresh venison and I didn’t think the cans of Spam or the chicken roll would suit on account of them being white meats.”

“Is Spam a red meat?” Sharon asked.

“Is Spam actually meat?” Billy countered.

“Well, it sells well in Hawaii,” Colin said.

“You don’t say?” Billy said, ladling a spoonful into a camping bowl.

“I hear Hawaii is nice this time of year,” Colin said.

“Is it?” Sharon asked, stepping up beside him.

“I have no idea. I’m winging it now,” Colin said, smiling.

“Your neck still bothering you?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah, still stiff from the whiplash, I guess.”

“Did you find any painkillers?”

“Nope, just been putting up with it.”

“I’ve got a couple of aspirin in my drawer, I’m sure.”

“That would be great, but if you could find some Ibuprofen I think they’ll be more effective.”

“Liz, Melissa, bring your bowls over. Lunch is up,” Billy called out over the office. “Would one of you tell Thomas his lunch is ready?”

“Fill me a bowl and I’ll take one up for him,” Colin said.

“What—and fuel his antisocialism?” Billy said.

“Might as well. The more he stays out of the way, the better,” Sharon said, pulling open her drawer.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Billy said, waving the spoon as he did.

“He has a point,” Colin said. “He could be up to anything. The more we can keep tabs on him, the better.”

“That’s funny—I was sure there were some aspirins in here,” Sharon said, rummaging through her drawer.

“Don’t fret about it, Sharon,” Colin said.

“Wait. John always had painkillers in his drawer. I’ll just check.”

“It’s no biggie. They probably won’t do much anyway,” Colin lightly protested.

“At least they’ll take the edge off,” Sharon said as she opened up John’s drawer. “Well, would you look at that?”

“What is it?” Colin asked, walking over.

“Did you say you packed painkillers for your camping trip?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah.”

“What brand were they?”

Colin looked into the open drawer.

“Shit. That’s them,” he said, scooping up a handful of foil and plastic blister packs. “They’re empty?”

“That’s a lot of aspirin for one person to take,” Sharon said.

“You don’t think he committed suicide, too?” Colin’s voice wavered, unconvinced by his own answer.

Sharon shook her head. “He had access to the supplies. There’s no reason he couldn’t have taken the pills, but…”

Melissa came up to Billy with her bowl from the camping supplies.

“Your mother not hungry?" Billy asked.

“She’s not here,” Melissa said.

“What? Where is she?” Colin asked urgently.

Melissa shrugged.

“And where’s Karen?” Sharon said, looking about the office.

“She was supposed to find some tubing, then give me a hand with the cooking, but I suppose she’s just in too much of a sulk to help out,” Billy said. “You don’t think something’s wrong, do you?"

“I don’t like this,” Colin said. “I’d better go tell Thomas his lunch is ready and try to find Liz and Karen, too.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sharon offered.

“Yeah, sure,” Colin said as he opened the door to the landing.

He stepped through and stopped. There was a rasping noise coming from the gents’ toilets. Long and rhythmic, like asthmatic lungs struggling for breath. Colin turned round and walked back into the office.

“Billy!” Colin shouted past Sharon.

“Yeah, what?!”

“Get the guns,” Colin said.

Billy dropped the spoon and abandoned his simmering pot. He grabbed his shotgun and raced to the door.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Has anyone checked on John’s corpse?” Colin asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Billy said.

“I heard something coming from the toilet.”

“I thought Liz taped him up just in case?”

“Me, too.”

“Okay, same as last night,” Billy said, nodding at the door.

“Didn’t you bring me a gun?” Colin asked with a despondent tone.

“I didn’t think to, buddy,” Billy admitted.

“Okay,” Colin said, looking back at the office space where the assault rifles were kept.

“It shouldn’t matter. It’s just one of them. And besides, we’ve done this before,” Billy said.

“I suppose.”

Colin took up his position just like last night. This time, though, Billy didn’t bother with a countdown. He just nodded when he was ready.

Colin threw the door open. Billy rushed in and Liz screamed.

“Jesus!” Liz screeched, kneeling on the floor.

She had a pair of rubber gloves on and scrubbing brush in hand. The harsh smell of bleach stung the air.

Billy lowered his gun.

“Ah, shit, Liz, you scared us to death,” he said.

“Scared you?! How do you think I feel with you two bursting in, pointing that thing at me?!” Liz replied. “And another thing: when are you going to move the body?”

John lay almost where they’d left him last night, only now there was a sleeping bag on top of him. Liz had obviously done this to ease her mind about working next to a dead body.

“We can roll him into the sleeping bag; use it as a body bag,” Billy pointed out to Colin.

“Yeah, good call,” Colin replied.

“We’ll do it after lunch—which, by the way, is getting cold.”

“I’m done here anyway, until you can shift the body,” Liz said, standing up and peeling the rubber gloves off.

“Have you seen Karen?” Colin asked.

“Not since that fight with Melissa this morning,” Liz said.

Billy gave a flick of his head. “Well, if you see her before we do...”

“Lunch is getting cold. I’ll be sure to say,” Liz said, getting back to her feet.

Billy and Colin backed out of the toilet.

“Let’s make this quick,” Billy said to Colin. “We need to check the office space on all the floors. You work your way down from the roof. I’ll work my way up from here.”

“Why do I get to run up all the stairs?” Colin asked.

“Cause if it were up to me, I’d more likely throw Tommy-boy off the roof than serve him lunch.”

Colin nodded and started up the stairs.

***

As he hit the third floor landing he could hear the door close on Billy entering the office below.

He put his foot on the first stair of the next block of steps and froze. He turned back around and saw the ladies’ toilet door on this level was slightly ajar. He walked up to it and listened. Nothing. He knocked and said a loud “Hello?” but there was still nothing.

He pushed at the door but it was stiff. He pushed harder, and against the resistance it started to swing open. Now that the door was open a few inches, he could see some blue fabric was caught between the bottom of the door and the tiles. He reached down and tried to dislodge it, but the more he tugged at it, the more he became aware it wasn’t simply a scrap of cloth.

Colin’s heart jumped up a gear as he pushed his shoulder into the door and shoved hard. Again and again he smacked into the door and each time it crept back a few inches. He was sweating a cold sweat by the time he had the door open enough to duck inside.

There was a faint glow in the toilet from an emergency light and a sickly shaft of grey light that had rebounded off the stairwell walls.

On the floor just behind the door was a pair of jeans. Colin followed the line of the dark shape up, and in stark contrast were a pair of naked legs, pallid but well-defined, even in the murk. As his eyes focused he could see the matt of dark curly hair over her pubic mound.

Karen lay sprawled over the toilet floor, her jeans half off, her top forced up to expose her breasts. Colin stumbled backwards and looked up at the stair leading to the roof and Thomas.

He turned and ran, stumbling down the stairs, his legs weak, his stomach thick with revulsion. He came crashing through the second floor office doors.

He roared, “Billy!”

The big man was on the far side of the office, just coming out of an empty meeting room. He heard Colin and looked over.

“Quick!” Colin shouted.

Billy broke into a sprint in just a couple of strides. The floor thundered to his footfalls.

“What is it?” he asked, seeing tears dripping from Colin’s face.

“It’s Karen,” Colin said, his lips quivering.

“Where?”

“Toilets,” Colin said, nodding in the direction of the next landing up.

Billy ran up the stairs. His big heavy boots missed a step and he slipped, but it didn’t slow him. He scrambled up on all fours until he hit the landing.

He looked into the toilet.

As Colin arrived beside him, Billy was shaking his head, his face red, his lips clamped tight.

“Billy?” Colin said, not sure of what else to say.

Billy looked up to the top floor.

“Thomas!” he screamed, his voice breaking up with the anger boiling within him.

With a muscular arm Billy pushed Colin out of the way.

Caught off balance from the shove, it took Colin a moment to start his pursuit. Billy was well ahead of him and burning with rage.

“Thomas!” Billy bellowed again.

Colin burst out of the roof access a good few metres behind Billy.

Thomas had stood up from where he was working on the radio.

“What the fuck is it now?” he demanded.

“I warned you!” Billy roared and threw a right hook at Thomas.

Taken completely by surprise, the punch connected with the side of his face. His right leg buckled and he collapsed to his knees.

Billy grabbed Thomas’ hair with one hand and a wad of his overalls with the other.

Thomas howled like a wild animal and struggled against Billy’s grasp. Like he was using Thomas as a battering ram, Billy pushed off with his back leg. Thomas went skidding across the roof towards the edge. Realising what was happening, Thomas dug his heels in and tried to punch at his opponent.

The blows did nothing to slow Billy. The rage had made him invulnerable. Mustering his strength with a berserker-like yell, Billy hoisted Thomas into the air and over the edge of the roof.

Colin rushed to the edge with Thomas’ scream diminishing as he fell.

By the time he looked over the side of the building, Thomas had almost hit the ground. His arms and legs flailed as if he were trying to grab some invisible rope. Then he sank into the sea of rotting flesh. To Colin’s disbelief, Thomas didn’t disappear from sight. His impact had flattened a number of zombies. Like an attempt at crowd surfing gone wrong, he now lay staring up through the channel of bodies around him. It was then Colin realised the screaming hadn’t stopped. The closely-packed zombies had broken his fall.

The dim-witted cadavers were slow to react, utterly bewildered by the sudden appearance of living flesh. Thomas lay there, his body broken, but the life not yet extinguished.

“Oh, Christ!” Colin heard himself say.

Then the hoard of undead fell upon Thomas. His screams grew muffled as more and more zombies pressed in to snatch their meal of fresh meat.

The cries grew weaker and weaker until only the burbling moans of the undead could be heard.

“Shit, Billy,” Colin muttered, aghast.

Billy stood at the roof’s edge, his chest heaving with the now impotent rage.

The pair of them stood looking down at the ripple passing through the undead. With astonishing speed they started converging on the impact point, jostling and pushing, trying to get closer, drawn by the smell of blood in the air or the wet noises of the greedy feast or some sixth sense beyond mortal ken.

The whole street, maybe thousands of walking dead, turned and pushed en masse where Thomas lay dying.

Chapter 19

Suspect

Billy stood looking out of the window, watching the zombies below quiet down after their feed. Some of the creatures sported fresh blood on their faces and it looked to Billy that they were moving more slowly, full and contented with their meal. The occasional latecomer would barge their way into the throng to stand with their heads held high, as if sniffing the air or listening for a sound.

Behind him, Billy could hear sobbing. Although Liz had composed herself quite quickly, and Sharon had been ambivalent, Melissa was still inconsolable.

She sat on an office chair, her feet on the seat and her knees pressed up against her chest. Liz perched on the end of a desk, a maternal hand rubbing her back.

Billy watched as a latecomer jostled its way through the feckless zombies up to one of the diners fresh with blood. He stretched his arms out and grabbed hold of his comrade, pulling him in. The blood-covered creature passively allowed itself to be mauled by the newcomer, uninterested in its actions. The newcomer lunged in for a bite, but paused. It sensed something was wrong. Keeping the blooded head in its grasp, it lent in. It ran its mouth over the dead flesh, sponging up some of the fresh remains.

The two creatures stood together in their queer embrace in an action that reminded Billy of chimps grooming each other.

“What do we do with Karen’s body?” Colin asked.

There was silence.

“I mean, we can’t just throw her off the side of the building,” Colin added.

“Where is she?” Sharon asked.

“The women’s toilet on third,” Colin answered.

“We don’t just have Karen’s body. We have John’s too,” Liz said, “and we can’t leave them lying about. They’ll become a health hazard.”

“And what about that thing you’ve got tied up on the fourth floor?!” Sharon snapped. “Isn’t it a hazard?!”

Colin sensed the mood shift and stepped in to try to defuse things. “Let’s just address one problem at a time. What do we do about Karen and John’s bodies? Just tossing them over the side of the building seems a little disrespectful.”

“Why didn’t Thomas throw Karen off the roof?” Billy asked.

“What?” Colin said, more surprised by Billy’s voice than his actual question.

Billy turned round to look at the gathered survivors.

“Why didn’t he throw Karen’s body off the building after he killed her?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” Colin said. “Maybe we disturbed him. Or maybe he didn’t realise he’d killed her?”

“We could maybe have asked Thomas if you hadn’t tossed him off the roof,” Sharon said.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. I let my anger get the better of me and now Thomas is dead. There’s nothing I can do to change that, but the more I think about it, the less it makes sense. And that doesn’t sit well with me, because if it wasn’t him I’ve murdered an innocent man.”

“What are you saying?” Liz asked. “That one of you raped Karen?”

“What?” Colin said defensively. “I didn’t touch her.”

“You did find her,” Sharon added.

“What's that got to do with it?”

“You hear about that sort of thing all the time,” Liz said.

“What sort of thing?” Colin said, bemused.

“Teachers that take advantage of schoolgirls,” Liz explained.

“What?! You’re accusing me of being some kind of pervert?”

“Whoa!” Billy barked. “Karen was left half-naked. Whoever killed her wanted us to suspect Thomas. He was the obvious culprit.” He pointed a finger at the others. “One of you has played me. You all knew I was close to killing him for touching Karen. I was set up to kill Thomas.”

“Thomas was a dick. No one’s going to miss him,” Colin said. “But who would want him out of the way so badly they’d be willing to kill a little girl?”

“The only person here with any real gripe against Thomas is Sharon,” Liz said.

“Just a minute here,” Sharon protested. “The man was obnoxious and violent, but I didn’t have cause to kill him. What about you, Liz? Maybe you were scared he’d attack your little girl like he did Karen?”

“This is getting ridiculous,” Colin said. “Why on earth would anyone kill Karen to set up Thomas?”

“Maybe you didn’t want Karen telling everyone you raped her,” Sharon said. “Billy killing Thomas was just your way of getting off the hook.”

“Whoa, I didn’t rape Karen. What about Billy?” Colin asked, waving an animated hand at the biker. “He’s the one who killed Thomas. Why couldn't it be him?”

“Magda and Alex,” Sharon said out of the blue.

All eyes were on her now.

“We assumed they committed suicide. What if they didn’t? What if one of you killed them?”

Before anyone else could speak, Sharon went on, “And John. All the empty aspirin packets in his drawer. He didn’t take all those—he was fed them in the leftovers.”

“One of us is a psychopathic murderer?” Liz said.

“Managers,” Colin said.

“What about managers?” Sharon asked.

“I read that managers in big companies are more often than not psychopaths.”

“That’s nonsense,” Sharon said dismissively.

“Apparently the job fits their personality: manipulative and with a disregard for others,” Colin said.

“Do you think John was murdered?” Liz added.

“The fat fuck could have just up and died, I suppose, but we can’t rule it out.” Billy said.

“What about all the aspirin in his drawer? Could he not just have taken it to kill himself?” Colin suggested.

“Why do aspirin?” Sharon asked.

“We all saw Alex crawling around outside. John wasn’t stupid enough to jump,” Liz said.

“Why’d they jump off into the horde, anyway?” Billy asked. “Why didn’t they jump off on the car park side of the building?”

“Maybe they didn’t think about that,” Sharon offered.

“What about Mo?” Colin said.

“Mo? Mo’s dead,” Sharon replied.

“Is he? We’ve only assumed that. I mean, Thomas didn’t say how he died. He might have just assumed it.”

“He was always disappearing,” Liz added.

“So Mo’s stalking us? Killing us off one by one? That’s ludicrous,” Sharon said.

“Look, this is getting us nowhere,” Colin said. “Let’s face it: without police forensics we’re making a lot of suppositions here.”

“The only person here we know who has killed is Billy,” Liz said.

“I was fucking set up!” Billy spat, red-faced and pointing a finger at Liz.

“So you say,” Sharon added.

Colin cut in, “Look, this is getting us nowhere!”

“So you’re saying we just ignore the fact that people are getting killed and go about as if nothing’s happened?" Sharon said.

They all stood silently looking each other over.

“Okay, okay,” Colin said. “First things first. What do we do with the bodies?”

***

The two green sleeping bags lay side by side. One looked half empty.

“Do we say a few words?” Liz asked.

“Does anyone know if John or Karen had a faith?” Billy said.

“Other than a friend’s daughter’s christening, I don’t remember John ever talking about church,” Sharon said.

“What about Karen?” Billy asked.

Colin shook his head, looking at the smaller of the two sleeping bags.

“I don’t remember. She certainly doesn’t have any overtly religious beliefs,” he said, chewing on his bottom lip. He shook his head. “Such a waste. She was only fourteen.”

“Well, if no one else wants to, I’ll say a few words,” Billy volunteered.

He coughed to clear his throat and bowed his head. The others followed suit.

“Oh Lord, I ask you to take these three souls into your care. I don’t remember much from Sunday school and such, but as I recall we are to take comfort from the promise of our resurrection and eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ. I would like to thank you, Lord, for not bestowing this upon our friends. Amen.”

A round of Amens lifted from the impromptu flock, except from Liz.

Her bottom jaw wavered and tears ran from her eyes. She turned and looked towards the office where her dead son was contained.

“Oh shit,” Billy said. “I’m sorry, Liz. I didn’t… I mean…that was insensitive. I’m sorry.”

Sharon gestured to Billy that he should stop rambling and walked over to put an arm around Liz. Melissa was already hugging her mother tight around the waist.

Colin lent in towards Billy and spoke quietly.

“You said three souls,” he said.

“I was including Thomas, too,” Billy said.

He turned and exited the office.

Colin watched the doors close behind him.

“Should we let him go off on his own?” he asked.

“Why?” Sharon asked, with her arm round Liz’s shoulder.

“What if he’s the murderer?” Colin said.

“Who’s he going to murder, Colin?”

“Shit. What if he’s going to get one of the machine guns?”

“Billy’s not the murderer,” Liz said, composing herself.

“How do you know that?” Colin asked.

“He’s got that shotgun,” Liz said.

“Yeah, but he’s only got two cartridges left for it,” Colin said. “He couldn’t kill us all with two shots.”

“He wouldn’t have to,” Liz said. “He could just shoot you, then me or Sharon. Even out of ammunition he could easily overpower a little girl and one grown woman.”

Colin shook his head. “I’m not convinced. In fact, the only person I can say for sure isn’t the murderer is me.”

“Way to go, Colin. Of course the murderer would deny the fact,” Sharon said.

“What are we going to do?” Liz asked. “One of you is a murderer. How do the rest of us survive? What if John was poisoned? Do we cook our meals separately now? What do we do when we need to sleep?”

“Suppose we’ll need to do everything together and have a watch at night; two people sleep, two people keep guard,” Sharon replied.

“As if things weren't bad enough,” Colin said.

Saturday

Chapter 20

Massacre

Colin felt a hand on his chest and he woke with a start.

Liz was looming over him, lantern in hand.

“Calm down,” she said. “It’s yours and Billy’s turn to take watch.”

“Oh,” Colin said, trying to slow his heart down.

He unzipped the sleeping bag and sat up. It was cold, colder than it had been since his arrival here. He pulled his shorts and shirt back on. The thought struck him that if they were still here in winter he might just freeze to death. He slipped his shoes on and with a stretch he emerged from his tent.

Billy was already up. He stood leaning up against the windows on the street side of the building. There was a fire somewhere not too distant that lit the underside of the smoky clouds a dull orange.

“Ma?” a sweet voice said from behind him.

The little dog hopped out of the girl’s tent and took a look around.

“I’m just coming to bed, honey. You snuggle under,” Liz replied.

“Here, Blow,” Melisa called.

The dog did an about-face and disappeared back into the tent.

“What time is it?” Colin asked absently.

“Three in the morning, like you agreed,” Sharon said as she walked past him towards her own tent.

“Oh, right,” Colin said, ending the statement with a yawn.

He walked over to the water faucet to pour himself a drink. Pressing the button, nothing happened. He tapped the side of the plastic water bottle. It rang hollow, but a tiny trickle of water splashed out. It was less than a mouthful. Colin turned to his fellow survivors.

“Is there no water left?” he asked.

“There’s still a ton of them over by the supply crates,” Liz answered.

Colin drank down the measly dribble of water from the cup.

“I can’t be arsed switching a full one over in the dark,” he said.

“The water cooler on the second is still full,” Sharon offered.

“Okay,” Colin said.

He put his hand on the office door and paused.

I’ll be fine, he told himself, deciding not to go to the hassle of getting a drink.

He strolled over to where Billy was standing.

Billy was stolid and quiet, with only his heavy breathing to differentiate him from a statue.

Slowly the rustling of sleeping bags subsided as the girls drifted off to sleep.

Colin looked out of the window at the infested street below. The ambient light from the far away fire wasn’t enough to illuminate the darkness. The hard edges of the buildings across the way caught a little of the light, but the heaving mass of zombies in the street were an inky black sea.

“You get used to the noise quick,” Colin said softly.

“The moaning?” Billy asked.

“Yeah. It’s like the sound of traffic. When I moved here, the sound of the cars outside kept me awake the first couple of nights. By the end of the first week it didn’t bother me at all.”

He turned to look at Billy. Even leaning against the windowsill he was taller than Colin at full stretch.

“Liz says you’re not the murderer,” Colin said.

Billy didn’t reply. Colin stood and watched the big man’s chest rise and fall as he breathed, but he made no move to speak. He cradled the shotgun in his arms like he was trying to keep it warm.

“So are you?” Colin asked.

“The murderer?” Billy asked.

“Uh-huh.” Colin nodded.

“Doesn’t matter what I say. The murderer isn’t likely to admit it,” Billy replied.

“That’s what Sharon said,” Colin replied.

He turned and looked back out of the window.

“Can we track back people’s movements for each of the murders?” he asked.

“Doubt it,” Billy said.

“You’re being very dismissive.”

“It’s a fact. There’s no way we can account for everybody’s whereabouts over the last few days.”

“There’s got to be some clues or evidence. We’ve got to work this out. Otherwise we’ll tear ourselves apart accusing each other.”

Colin sat down in an office chair. The chair squeaked gently as it accepted his weight. His hand stretched out and found the desk and his fingers started to drum on the table.

“I wish we’d had the foresight to raid the library at school as well as the kitchen,” he lamented. He paused a moment, then added in a raised tone, “The school!”

“What about the school?” Billy asked.

“Karen's friend, Shan—she ran off when I bumped into them,” Colin explained. “She was a piece of work, that girl: truancy, shoplifting, drugs.”

“And?” Billy asked impatiently.

“What if she followed us back here? What if she snuck into the building and is looking for revenge for us abandoning her?”

“For one, why would she sexually assault Karen? Surely she’d just kill her. And what about John? She never knew him.”

“John might have just died of natural causes,” Colin said. “Too much stress on his heart, and boom.”

“Not buying it,” Billy replied, shaking his head.

“Excuse me,” a voice said out of nowhere.

Colin jumped and almost fell off his chair. Turning round, he saw Melissa in the adult T-shirt she had been using as a nightdress.

“What is it, Melissa?” Billy asked sweetly.

Billy’s little dog, who had been sleeping with Melissa, was trailing at the girl’s ankle.

“Can I have a glass of water?” she asked.

“Sure thing,” Colin said.

He stood up and walked over to the faucet.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered, remembering it was dry. “It’s empty.”

“The one upstairs is still good. Sharon said so,” Billy replied.

“Okay. You want one while I’m up?” Colin offered.

Billy nodded. “Sure.”

Colin picked up a torch and stepped through the door. Melissa started to follow him.

“It’s okay. Just you wait here. I’ll go get your water,” Colin said.

Melissa looked back at her tent nervously, then nodded.

Colin jogged up the dark stairwell, the oval of his torch dancing along ahead of him. He pushed the door open and popped the hilt of the torch in his mouth. With both hands free, he quickly poured three plastic cups full of water. He got to the door and had to do a little bit of a dance to hook his elbow through the door handle, then pull the door open and wedge a foot before it closed shut. In all the juggling acrobatics to avoid having to put the drinks down, a gulp of water splashed over the rim of the cup and dribbled down his wrists. With the torch still between his teeth, his curse came out as a snarling moan.

Gingerly he made his way down to the encampment.

From behind the door came the muffled yelp of the tiny dog, like someone had accidentally stood on its paw.

With his hands full, he put his back to the door and pushed it open, spinning round to stand facing in.

He stood there for a moment, unable to comprehend the scene.

Billy was clawing at a long metal object protruding from the side of his neck. From beside him, Liz stood up the shotgun in hand.

“Liz?” Colin said, the torch tumbling from his mouth.

Liz levelled the barrel at him and pulled the trigger.

The pellets struck Colin, throwing him hard up against the doors.

“What the hell was that?!” Sharon screamed, waking with a jolt.

Liz turned and marched over to the tent. Inside, Sharon was struggling to get out of her sleeping bag.

Standing a foot from the zipped-shut entrance, Liz aimed the gun and fired. The tent fabric ripped open. Through the ragged edges of the foot-wide hole, she could see Sharon sprawled over her camp bed.

“Ma!” Melissa said.

Liz turned to see her daughter pointing at the open doorway. Colin was slowly crawling out of the office. Liz dropped the empty shotgun on the floor and walked up to Billy. She placed a foot on his head and pulled the kitchen knife from his neck.

“Stay out of the way, honey,” Liz said sweetly as she past her daughter.

Colin hadn’t yet made it half out of the office. His fresh blood was smeared across the rough carpet tiles.

Blood was flowing quickly from the ragged wound on his torso. He kicked off with his feet and slid the rest of the way into the stairwell. The door clattered shut in front of him.

The pain licked through his body, tendrils of molten agony that erupted with every movement.

Colin heaved himself back on his elbows and kicked out with his feet. The pain bit deep. His chest and stomach burning from the massive wound, he tried to back up the stairs.

All hope of hiding or finding a weapon evaporated as the office door swung open.

Liz stood there, a camping lantern in one hand, the bloodied kitchen knife in the other.

“Are you going to kill him too, Ma?” Melissa asked just out of sight.

Billy’s dog was yapping excitedly somewhere out of sight.

Liz turned. “Just be a minute, honey.”

Colin seized his moment with Liz’s head turned and he sprang up. He hadn’t finished pushing himself upright when the pain slashed the strength from his muscles. He landed gasping at Liz’s feet.

“Calm down,” Liz said gently. “You’ll only make things worse.”

From his place crumpled on the floor, all Colin could see were Liz’s blood-stained court shoes.

“Why?” Colin said, burbling through the fluid in his throat.

“Simple mathematics, Colin,” Liz answered. “The less mouths to feed, the longer the supplies will last, and the quicker I got rid of you guys the more for me and Melissa.”

Colin’s eyebrows furrowed. He was either in pain or confused by the answer.

“I failed my son,” Liz said, crouching down beside Colin. “But I will do everything I can to keep my little girl alive.”

Sensing her close, Colin thrust out his hand to try to fend her off, but he only succeeded in smacking his knuckle against the camping lantern.

“This isn’t helping,” Liz chided. She glanced at Melissa standing in the doorway.

Colin lay there, his strength robbed from him by the gaping wound in his chest. He had no energy to fend Liz off.

“Quiet now,” Liz said in a soothing tone.

Colin knew he would be dead in a moment, either from the shotgun blast or Liz’s coup de grâce.

She placed the tip of the blade in front of Colin’s eye. A drip of blood was caught by the lantern, glossy and dark. It splashed onto Colin’s cheek.

He willed himself to resist, but his body refused to obey. It was then he realised he wasn’t even breathing.

Liz thrust the knife deep into Colin’s skull.

Chapter 21

House In Order

“It’s not fair to leave you like this,” Liz said to the twitching zombie. “I didn’t want to think that you were gone, but you are. The little boy I loved isn’t in there anymore, is he?”

Grant showed no signs of understanding. He merely fought against his bonds and tried to snarl behind the duct tape.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, Grant.”

Liz levelled the rifle at the squirming child and pulled the trigger.

The child dropped like a stone and lay still. For the first time in days the little boy wasn’t moving.

Liz took in a succession of deep breaths, trying to stifle the tears.

She put the gun down and rolled the dead boy into the waiting sleeping bag. He was lighter than she remembered.

She recalled how heavy Grant had felt when she had last carried him from the car fast asleep. He had become an impossible weight for her to carry.

She would have wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms and kiss him goodnight one last time, but who knew how virulent the infection would be. Instead she zipped the sleeping bag up and pulled the drawstrings of the hood tight to veil his face.

She would be more gentle with this body. The sleeping bag-shrouded bodies of John and Karen she had unceremoniously dragged down the stairs and dumped just inside the office doors of the first floor.

Liz knew it would be a pain dragging all the supplies up to the fourth floor, but it would be a far easier task than trying to clean up after last night’s carnage.

She picked up the adult-sized sleeping bag. It felt half full with the delicate frame of her son inside.

She opened the door and saw Melissa was standing there.

“I thought I told you to go downstairs and move the camping equipment up here,” Liz said, angry that Melissa might have been watching.

“Ma, come quick. You have to see this,” Melissa said excitedly. She went running over to the window. “Ma, ma! You’ve got to see this!”

“Just coming, dear,” Liz said, gently lowering the sleeping bag she had been hauling.

She stood up and became aware of the rumbling noise and the burst of distant firecrackers.

“They’re leaving,” Melissa said, pointing down at the street.

The dog that had become so attached to Melissa over the past few days darted to and fro, imbued with the excitement radiating from the girl.

Liz looked of the window, and sure enough, the hordes of undead were shambling off down the street.

“Oh my,” was all Liz could say.

“Where do you think they’re going?” Melissa asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Liz answered.

“Should we try and leave, too?”

“I don’t know?” Liz said honestly.

She had never considered anything other than holding up in the office block, but Melissa had raised a valid point. Should they try to escape?

“What’s that noise?” Melissa asked.

Liz listened. The rumbling and the pops and bangs were getting closer.

“I don’t know,” Liz said as she stretched up to open the window.

The noise became crisp, more recognizable as gunshots.

“Look!” Liz said excitedly, pointing out of the window.

In the sky, a black dot swooped and hovered like a bird of prey hunting for food. As she watched, it became apparent this was no bird. A trail of fire tore free from its underside.

“It’s a helicopter,” Liz said in amazement.

There was a blast of gunfire from down the far end of the street and the deep mechanical rumbling grew louder still.

Suddenly a line of zombies fell to their feet, then eerily the sound of machine gun fire made its way to their ears.

A sandy-coloured tank trundled over the corpses and turned onto the street.

“Oh my God!” Liz squealed.

Behind the tank came a staggered line of soldiers, helmets and body armour on, rifles at the ready.

The helicopter with its black painted hull and ugly angled body swooped down the street. Its cannons gave a deafening roar and it cut a swathe of destruction before it.

Liz clamped her hands over Melissa’s young ears to protect her from the thunderous racket. Blow yelped excitedly at the noise outside.

Looking down at the path mowed clear of undead, Liz caught a glimpse of her car. It was practically torn through at the middle by the bullets.

Gunfire now erupted from down the road. Liz looked back to see the tank and two smaller armoured vehicles had taken up position along with the men. Although the chopper had obliterated many hundreds of walking dead, there was still a sizeable mob. Unconcerned by the ordnance raining in from above, the zombies staggered onwards to their living prey.

The formed-up troops opened fire. The crowd of zombies started to break and surge. Like waves crashing on a beach, the lead would peter out into nothing only to be replaced by the cresting undead behind.

Methodically ,the soldiers worked their way forward. As the procession drew level with them, Liz could see that there were support units in the rear: medics on hand with prominent red crosses and flanking troops dispatching any missed threats. Then squads of soldiers would disappear into the buildings overlooking the street.

“Have they come to rescue us?” Melissa asked.

“I think so,” Liz replied. “I think so."

Liz looked around the empty office.

“Quick, Melissa, run downstairs and grab an empty sleeping bag. Push it out of the window and wave it like a flag. You got that?”

Melissa nodded and ran off, the dog obediently scampering along with her.

Liz bent down and picked up her dead son. She swung his cocooned corpse over her shoulder and followed her daughter down to the first floor. The butt of the rifle slapped uncomfortably against her hip as she made her way down the stairs.

By the time she got there, Melissa was just standing on a table, getting herself ready to wave for attention.

“Good girl,” Liz praised.

She laid Grant’s shrouded body next to the other two and put her fist to her lips.

The gunshots outside were getting louder as the troops approached.

“Right, right,” Liz said to the dead bodies.

She dragged John’s heavy corpse over to Sharon’s ripped and blood-soaked tent. Pulling the shredded entry flap to one side, she could see Sharon’s dead body folded at the knees, half lying back on the camp bed. There was a gaping hole in her chest the size of a football. The raw pulped organs were still a bright crimson. A pool of slowly congealing blood filled the waterproof plastic floor of the tent. Liz unzipped the sleeping bag and rolled John over to lay face first on the blood-soaked ground sheet.

It had been an easy task dusting the leftovers in aspirin. John had unknowingly consumed enough to make him feel sick; not enough to kill him, but enough to make it easy to suffocate him with paper towels while everyone else was shouting out the windows at Stephen.

She walked over to Colin’s corpse and dragged it into the office from where he had died on the landing. Putting her grubby court shoe on his jaw, she pulled the kitchen knife out of his eye socket with a slurp. Some yellow-tinged fluid dripped from the tip of the blood-encrusted blade.

Liz walked back over to John’s body. She knelt down over the top of him and pulled his head back by his greasy hair. She slipped the knife under his chin and slid it across his neck. When she had drawn it the full length, she let go of his head, letting it fall back into the pool of blood with a splash.

“They’ve seen me!” Melissa called.

“That’s good, honey,” Liz said sweetly. “Let me know when they’re coming into the building.”

She grabbed the foot of Karen’s sleeping bag and dragged her back to her tent. Karen’s body was lighter and much more easily manipulated than John’s, with his rolls of flab. Liz unzipped the tent flap and hauled Karen’s dead body into the tent to lay her on the camp bed. She unzipped the sleeping bag slightly to expose her face. The skin had started to turn a greenish blue, not unlike some of the zombies outside. There was a lighter mark that spread from the mouth onto the right cheek. Liz held her left hand over the girl’s mouth at the same angle as the strange mark. It was the same size and shape as Liz’s hand.

Liz’s heart missed a beat. She’d had no idea the bruising from where she’d suffocated Karen would show up postmortem. If the mark had come up sooner or someone had checked the body more closely Liz realized she could have been caught.

“They’re almost here, Ma!” Melissa called.

“Okay,” Liz said, leaving Karen’s tent.

Standing in the centre of the office, Liz looked around. The place was a shambles now. Sharon’s tent was ripped and peppered with shotgun pellets. There were the bodies of Colin, Billy, and John clearly visible, sprawled on the blood-drenched carpet tiles. Liz looked down at the kitchen knife she’d used to kill Billy and Colin. For a moment she thought of wiping the handle clean. It wouldn’t take a forensics team long to work out what happened here.

She walked up to her daughter. She was still waving the sleeping bag from the window.

The street below was strewn with dead bodies. Thousands of them piled up like so much refuse. The advancing line of soldiers was firing furiously at the undead that were still being drawn to them.

Beyond the liberating troops, Liz could see pillars of smoke dotted around the horizon.

They may be about to be rescued from this office fortress, but she doubted the world outside would return to normal anytime soon.

And she doubted there would be a thorough investigation into what happened here.

“You can stop waving now. Come sit here,” Liz said softly. She reached out to hold Melissa’s hand. “Now, remember last night when you told me you were scared the murderer would kill you, too?”

Melissa nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“And I told you my big secret that I was the one murdering all the people,” Liz said in a calm and reassuring tone. “You remember why I told you I was killing them?”

Melissa nodded.

Liz placed a motherly arm around her daughter.

“I told you I was doing it to keep you and me safe. So we had enough food to eat and enough water to drink. So we could stay alive and stay together,” Liz said. She calmly stroked her daughter’s hair. “And I asked you to go and ask for a drink of water so I could finish making sure we were safe.”

“Uh-huh,” Melissa replied.

“Well, we need to do the same thing from now on. I promise to keep you safe, honey, for as long as I’m alive. Now you need to help me by promising to keep our secret.”

Melissa nodded silently.

“If anyone asks, you tell them Colin tried to kill us, okay?”

Melissa’s bottom lip trembled.

“What is it, honey?” Liz asked.

“But...but that’s a lie,” Melissa burbled out.

“I know, honey, but it’s okay to tell lies if it’s to protect the people you love. And if the soldiers find out I killed all these people, they won’t understand that I did it to protect you and they’ll take me away from you.” Liz looked Melissa in the eyes. “And you don’t want them to take me away from you, do you? Who would look after you?”

Melissa was crying, tears tumbling down her cheeks.

Liz smiled and wiped them away.

“It’s okay, Melissa. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

The End

Table of Contents

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21