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Pull yourself together, I tell myself again as the shock and disorientation slowly start to fade and some clarity returns. I need to forget this place and get back on track and keep moving toward Lizzie’s sister’s house-and, I decide as I start to hobble away, my ankle still weak, I need to do it on my own. I have to keep away from everybody else because when we’re together we become an easy target for the Unchanged to pick out from the sky. Cowardly bastards. Face-to-face they know they don’t stand a chance. Long-distance battles are the only ones they can win.
I start to run, slowly at first until the pain in my ankle becomes slightly more bearable. I head back toward the entrance to the hospital I first came through, desperate to put some distance between me and everyone else. I reach the bottom of the grassy slope below the college playing fields, and this time I take a right, moving toward the ruins of a housing project, hoping that the closely packed row houses on either side of the road will provide me with some temporary cover. I tuck in tight against the buildings on my right, hiding in their shadows. As I move past a succession of grim, crumbling facades, I start to think I should maybe stay here for a while. The enemy has already hit this place; what would they gain from striking here again? And now that I’ve made the decision to only travel alone, would it be better to wait until dark? But then I think about Ellis and the kids at the school, and I know I have to keep moving.
Shit, there’s someone in the road up ahead. I crouch down behind a low stone wall in the front yard of one of the houses and watch. Don’t think he’s seen me, but he’s coming this way. He must be Unchanged, I can tell by the way he moves, from his slow, cautious movements and lack of confidence. So why the hell am I cowering like this? Stay calm and consider the options, I tell myself. He’s alone, and if he is one of them, I’ll just kill him. I must still be shook up from the bombing, because my heart’s pounding and I’m suddenly sweating like a pig. I need to face this fucker head-on, whoever and whatever he is. I try to focus on the euphoria I know I’ll feel when I end his miserable life.
I grab my axe, then stand up and run at him. When he sees me he immediately reaches for his belt, and I curse my stupidity, certain that he’s about to draw a gun and fire-but he doesn’t. He backs away, ru
He turns a blind corner. I follow, then stop dead in my tracks. There are three more of them racing down the road ahead toward me, one on a motorbike in full leathers. It’s four against one, and I’m fucked. But I can’t let it end like this. Do I go out fighting or…? The bike rider lifts what looks like a riot baton and accelerates, and my decision’s made. Like a fucking coward I turn and run, not even bothering to attack, the screaming sound of the bike’s engine ringing in my ears.
I run through the open door of the nearest house and slam itshut behind me. That should slow the bastards down. Rather than risk heading upstairs in this ruin I instead stay down, ru
More of them are coming, their Unchanged faces hidden by motorcycle helmets, face masks, visors, and scarves. I try to stand up, but one of them slams me back down, pi
“Just do it,” I yell at them. “Fucking do it! Kill me now and get it over with.”
Yet another one appears, looming over me. I can see this one’s face. He looks me up and down, then pulls the plastic stopper off the tip of a hypodermic needle with his teeth and spits it out. I try to arch my back and get away, but I can’t do anything to stop the fucker from thumping the needle hard into my chest.
iii
WITHIN WEEKS THE MECHANISM for the ongoing distribution of food and medical aid to the population of the refugee camp had begun to falter and fail. In retrospect it had seemed a large-scale but reasonably straightforward undertaking, but, as what had originally been envisaged as a short-term operation dragged into its fourth month and with no end in sight, the situation continued to rapidly deteriorate.
The initial ground rules and hastily cobbled-together official procedures had been simple. Under military control, all resources were to be coordinated via the City Arena-a vast, cavernous, ten-thousand-seat concert venue. Its huge, soccer-field-sized concrete floor had been cleared, and all rations, supplies, emergency aid, and “collected” foodstuffs were held there under armed guard. Trucks full of provisions were shipped out to ten nominated distribution centers within the huge camp on a daily basis-a movie complex, the town hall, two sports centers, and various other similar-sized public buildings. From these centers food was distributed to the city’s population, who carried ration books with their identification papers.
By the begi
By midway through the second month, supplies had fallen to such a low level that the daily restocking of the ten distribution centers was reduced to every other day. By the begi