Dog Blood

“What?!”

“They’ve got you down as being dead. Tell me, did you ever have one of those neck tests or a mouth swab?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because that’s where most of this information comes from. They used it as kind of a census and tried to test pretty much everyone when everything first kicked off. It’s a “who’s what,” rather than a “who’s who,” if you get my meaning.”

“Sort of. Anyway, I’m not dead.”

“According to this you are.”

He clicks a button and scans another screen.

“Hunter’s Cross. Ring any bells?”

“Doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“It’s a gas chamber. They’ve got you down as being killed there.”

“I ended up inside one of those places, but I got out when it was attacked.”

“There you go, that explains it. They probably marked you off as being dead when they sent you down. Close shave, eh?”

“Too close.”

“That’s it, then,” he says, starting to close up the laptop. “You can go back to sleep now.”

“Wait a second,” I say quickly, putting my hand on the lid of the machine and stopping him from closing it. “Can I…?”

He seems to immediately know what I want. He’s probably done this for plenty of other people before me.

“Be quick,” he whispers. “If Julia catches me letting you do this she’ll have my balls.”

My hands are suddenly shaking with nerves. I look down at my details on the screen, but there’s nothing on there that I didn’t already know (apart from the fact that, apparently, I’m dead).

“How do I…?”

“Looking for family?”

“Yes, my daughter.”

“Start there,” he says, pointing at the bottom of the screen. I click on a button marked other people listed at this address. There’s a pause of several seconds; then a blank screen is returned. My heart sinks.

“How old was she?”

“Five.”

“Either she hasn’t been listed or she’s listed elsewhere. Try searching on her name.”

I enter Ellis’s details and press search. Still nothing.

“Was she with anyone?”

“Her mother and brothers.”

“Search for them, then.”

I try Elizabeth McCoyne-no match. In desperation I try my son Edward. He’s listed at an address I don’t recognize, as is his brother. They’re both marked as being dead, and, just for a second, I feel a sharp pang of pain. It quickly fades when Craven starts making noises.

“Come on,” he whispers, “that’s enough. Julia will have a fucking fit.”

“Wait a second,” I say quickly, desperate not to let go of the computer yet.

“Now!”

“Just one more…”

I turn my back to him and cover the keyboard as I type. I search for Elizabeth Parker, remembering that Lizzie only took on my name informally for the sake of the kids. She always used her given name on official forms. I stare at a blank screen and frantically flashing cursor. Craven looks over his shoulder. The faster I need a result, the slower this system seems to get.

“Come on,” he says, sounding agitated.

It finally returns a screen full of results-eight Elizabeth Parkers are listed. I scroll down to the right date of birth and click on Lizzie’s entry. She’s listed at a hotel, and I quickly memorize the address. The Prince Hotel on Arley Road -I think I know it. Pressing my luck, I click the other people listed at this address button once more and just manage to scan down the first part of a huge list of names before Craven wrestles the laptop away from me and slams the lid down. I think I saw one of my cousins’ names, Mark Tillotsen, but no sign of Ellis.

I get up and turn around. Julia is standing behind me.

“Whoever it was,” she warns, “forget them.”

31

I’M SCAVENGING DOWNSTAIRS FOR food, hunting through deserted kitchens and bars that have already been ransacked countless times before, hoping to find an overlooked stash of supplies to supplement the crappy rations I’ve had since I got here. At the back of a counter, tucked away behind a lifeless cash register, I find three small packets of peanuts. I swallow the contents of the first in a single mouthful, then do the same with the second. I shove the third into my trouser pocket for later. There’s precious little time to think about food these days, but when I do get to eat I realize just how much I’ve missed it. Maybe one day I’ll get to eat a proper meal again, if I survive the next couple of days, that is.

There’s a half-open door behind the bar I hadn’t noticed before. I lean inside.

“Who the hell’s that?”

I back out of the low-lit storeroom quickly, startled by the voice from the darkness. The door lets some light in, and I can see someone in the corner, sitting wedged between two piles of empty boxes.

“Sorry, I…”

The man looks up and shakes his head. I recognize him from last night. His name’s Parsons.

“Doesn’t matter, my friend.”

I’ve only been awake for a couple of hours, but already the drawn-out tedium of waiting to fight is getting to me. The idea of a conversation-any distraction-is appealing.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Keeping out of the way.”

“Why? You pissed Julia off or something?”

“Show me someone who hasn’t.”

I know what he means. Being around Julia reminds me of working for Tina Murray, my sour old bitch of a supervisor back at the PFP. Wonder what happened to her…?

Parsons gestures for me to come closer. I do as he says, then slide down the wall and sit next to him. It’s stiflingly hot in the social club this morning now that the sun’s up, but the dark storeroom is refreshingly cool.

“So are you ready for this?” I ask. “Ready to go out there and start fighting?”

“’Course I am,” he answers, almost too quickly. “Can’t wait to start killing again. Can’t wait to see them panic when we get given the word.”

There’s an awkward silence.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

The silence continues as he thinks about what I just said.

“I’m not. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know what’s got to be done and I know this is probably the only way to make it happen. It’s just that…”

“You don’t want to die?”

“Exactly.”

“Me neither,” I admit. “Who does?”

“No one in their right mind. They’re all talking about this battle like it’s a holy war or something, and it’s doing my head in. I don’t want to be stuck in the middle of the city when they level the place like they did London.”

“But it’s got to be done. You can’t deny that.”

“I know… I’m just nervous, you know?” he admits, keeping his voice low. “I can’t stand all this hanging around. You know what it’s like when you know you’ve got to fight, you just want to get on and do it.”

He’s right. It’s a relief to find someone else who’s willing to speak candidly about how they’re feeling. Most everyone else is too busy spouting propaganda and bullshit bravado to dare admit that they’re apprehensive about what’s coming. They talk like I imagine Brutes think-focused on the kill at all costs.

“You been here long?” I ask.

“Got here about half a day before you.”

“And were you at that convent place with Sahota?”

He nods his head.

“We’ve all been through that. Quite the eye-opener, eh?”

Parsons stares into space, thinking hard. I sense there’s more he wants to say, but he’s not sure whether he can speak. Perhaps hethinks I’m testing his dedication to the cause? I study his tired face. He looks about ten years older than me, and I wonder what it is we have in common that made us both suitable fodder for Sahota’s organization.

“So did you believe any of it?”

“What?”

“All that stuff the Unchanged were spouting at Sahota’s place? Breaking the cycle and all that crap?”

I don’t answer immediately. Can I trust this man? Now I’m wondering if he’s the one testing my allegiance.

“Some of it,” I answer, being deliberately vague. “What about you?”

“I agree with most of it up to a point. What Sahota said scared me more, though. I get the feeling they’re just using us as-” He stops suddenly.