The Dead

‘Did you see anyone else?’ Ed asked. ‘Did you have any trouble?’

‘No. The only trouble was being stuck with Matt and Archie and having to listen to their bollocks. So what happened to you then?’

Jack said it as if Ed had had some minor upset. How could he have known what it had really been like? For him the last half-hour had been nothing more than a boring walk through the rain.

‘Did anyone get hurt?’

Ed stared out of the window, unable to catch Jack’s eye. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly.

‘Badly?’

Ed couldn’t hold it in any longer. All the bottled-up fear and frustration and rage came pouring out.

‘Look around you, Jack, look who’s here,’ he shouted. ‘Can’t you see?’

‘You lost people?’

Ed nodded.

‘How many?’

‘I don’t know, I haven’t checked. I can’t face it, Jack.’

‘How many?’ Jack jumped up and started to make his way down the length of the coach.

Ed followed him. ‘What difference does it make?’

‘Who’s missing?’

‘They’re not missing, Jack, they’re dead.’ Ed grabbed Jack’s shoulder and pulled him back. ‘There was nothing we could do, OK? If Greg hadn’t come along, we’d all be dead.’

‘So it was all down to Greg?’ said Jack.

‘Yes.’

‘Not you? You didn’t do anything?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You didn’t whack any of them?’

Jack stared at Ed. Ed tried to say something but it just came out as mumbled nonsense.

‘I’ve seen you, Ed, in a fight,’ said Jack. ‘Or rather should I say I’ve not seen you in a fight.’

‘Please, Jack.’

‘You can’t hit them, can you? You won’t get your hands dirty. You’re bloody useless.’

Before Ed could protest Jack had turned away and was walking on down the aisle.

Ed felt like crying, but knew he had to hold it together. The thing was, Jack was right: he still couldn’t bring himself to hit any of them. He’d hoped Jack hadn’t noticed. But Jack didn’t miss a thing.

‘Malik?’ Jack called out. ‘I don’t see Malik?’

Ed caught up with him.

‘No,’ he said, the word catching in his throat. ‘He didn’t make it. This is all that’s left of us.’

‘Jesus.’

Jack was trying to take it in. Who else was dead? He spotted Bam. At least Bam was all right. He was sitting with Piers who had blood seeping from a head wound. Bam was trying to bandage him with a piece of ripped shirt.

‘Where’s Joh

Bam just shook his head.

‘All three of them?’ Jack couldn’t believe it.

‘Yes.’

‘But they were hard guys. They were good fighters.’

‘You weren’t there, Jack,’ said Bam, staring Jack down. ‘You don’t know what it was like. They ambushed us. There was nothing we could do. It was a bloody massacre. You had no right to talk to Ed like that. Ed looked after the little kids, and the girl. I saw him. He got us all on the bus. So you apologize to him. Right now.’

Jack dropped his head, put a hand out and squeezed Ed’s arm.

‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said quietly. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I was out of order. It’s just … It’s not real. It’s totally freaked me out. I said goodbye to you all less than an hour ago. Who’s left?’

He carried on checking the seats. Ed walked behind him.

Justin the nerd was sitting by himself, his head in his hands. Both his friends were missing. Jack couldn’t see any of the Field House boys.

‘They can’t all be dead.’

‘They are.’

Matt was sitting with the remaining four boys from the church group who hadn’t set off with him to London.

‘You should have come with me,’ he said as Ed went past. ‘The Lamb would have protected you.’

‘Shut up, Matt!’ Ed yelled at him. ‘Your poxy made-up religion wouldn’t have made any difference.’

‘But it did make a difference, didn’t it?’ said Matt with a smug smile. ‘We weren’t touched.’

‘That was just luck.’

‘Was it?’

‘Leave it, Ed.’ Jack kept walking. ‘There’s no point in arguing with him. I’ve tried it.’

Frédérique was all right, as were Kwanele and Chris Marker, who as usual had his head buried in a book, oblivious to the world. Arthur and Wiki were sitting together. They looked very pale and shocked, but at least they were unhurt.

Further back were a little boy and a girl with long curly black hair, who Jack didn’t recognize. Greg must have picked them up earlier. They looked at Jack and Ed as if they were intruders, strangers who had got into their safe place, but then the girl smiled at them. A big open friendly smile showing tiny white teeth.

‘Hello,’ she said, ‘my name’s Zohra. I’m nine. This is my brother, Froggie. He’s seven. I’m looking after him until Mum gets back. We’re going to London. Everything’s going to be all right there, Greg said so.’

Froggie smiled too now. The smile was so hopeful and trusting it broke Jack’s heart. He was aptly named. He had big, slightly bulging eyes and a wide mouth. Jack wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he had webbed feet.

‘Yeah,’ he said kindly. ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’

‘I’ve never been to London,’ said Froggie. ‘I want to go on the London Eye.’

Jack was about to say something to try to reassure the little boy when he was stopped by a shout from the back of the bus that hit him like a slap.

‘Hey. You. Ketchup face! What’s your name?’

18

There were three girls half hidden behind a wall of cardboard boxes, as far back as they could get on the bus. There were loads more boxes stacked up around them and crates of bottled water wrapped in plastic film.

Jack walked towards them. ‘Are you talking to me?’ he asked as he got nearer.

‘Don’t see no one else with crap all over their face.’

The girl sniggered and a hot flush of anger passed through Jack, as if his blood had suddenly turned to acid. He glared at the girls. At first it was as if the three of them were one single creature, the way a gang of girls can be, stronger than their individual parts. They looked to be about his age, dressed in clothes that must once have been fashionable, but were now dirty and tattered. They were a riot of bright colours, big hair, too much make-up, broken accessories and ripped tights, like a new girl band with an extreme image.

Apocalypse Divas …

There was an overpowering smell of cheap perfume coming off them. Presumably they’d drowned themselves in the stuff to hide the fact that none of them had had a shower in ages.

Jack was suddenly aware of his own body odour in the cramped confines of the bus, made worse by the damp fumes rising from his soggy clothes.

It was the pretty blonde one in the aisle seat chewing gum who’d shouted at him. She looked at him defiantly. Daring him to say something.

Jack just stood there, too angry to speak.

‘You been in a fight then?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, I’ve been in lots,’ Jack snapped. ‘But that’s got nothing to do with this.’ He put a hand to his birthmark.

The girl carried on staring at him. Like a fussy shopper wondering whether to buy something.

‘So, what is that all over your face, then?’

‘It’s a birthmark.’

‘A birthmark? You mean you was born like that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘No.’

‘Why don’t you do something about it then? You know, get it removed? Like a tattoo? Can’t you get it removed?’

Jack shrugged. His anger was fading away. At least this girl was direct and honest. Most people when they first met him were embarrassed and pretended not to notice anything different about him, and then they’d secretly stare at him when they thought he wasn’t looking.