The Dead

‘All right, Dad, you know best.’

Greg turned and winked at him. ‘Course I do,’ he said. ‘Besides, we need to work out what everyone else wants to do. Much as I love ’em all to pieces I ain’t having them all back to ours. I don’t want to be responsible for nobody but you.’

Greg took a step up the aisle, looking at the rows of faces.

‘I don’t know where you lot want to go,’ he shouted. ‘But this ain’t a regular bus. I ain’t dropping you off all over.’

‘I want to go to the London Eye,’ said Froggie, and Greg laughed.

‘I want to go to the Tower of London,’ said Arthur. ‘I went there with the school, it was really cool, like a proper castle, I reckon you could be safe there, and there are, like, weapons and everything, and you’d be in a commanding location on the river, that’s why William the Conqueror built it there, it’s in a commanding position, you could fish for fish, I’m quite a good fisherman, my dad said so, we went this one time to Ireland and I caught a sea bass, it was quite big but the biggest one was –’

‘Yeah, yeah, put a sock in it, will you, Jibber-jabber?’ said Greg. ‘You’ve not shut up since you got on this bus.’

‘Yeah, Jibber-jabber,’ said Froggie, ‘you talk more than my mum.’

‘My dad said I could talk for England,’ said Arthur, ‘if there was only an Olympic event, like the talking marathon, you know, like talking instead of walking –’

‘Jibber-jabber. Enough!’

‘Sorry.’

Ed had come to the front to see what was going on when Liam had collapsed into the aisle and he was now sitting with the Brains Trust.

‘I’ve always said we should stick together,’ he said. ‘There’s safety in numbers. Maybe we should all go to Islington? I don’t really know the area but maybe there’s somewhere that –’

‘You don’t really know the area?’ Greg interrupted.

‘No.’

‘You don’t really know anything, do you, buster?’

‘What?’ Ed was taken back. He gave a little unconvincing laugh. ‘I know a bit.’

‘No, you don’t,’ Greg sneered. ‘None of you do. I don’t want you with me. You’re a liability.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘That’s not fair.’ Greg copied Ed. ‘Look at you with your floppy hair. Your silver spoon ain’t go

Greg shouted down the length of the coach at the other kids.

‘You wa

‘Me who left school at sixteen with no qualifications,’ he went on. ‘Because I know about real life. I know how to work with my hands. I know how to kill and gut an animal. Yeah? Could you do that? Any of you? If you had to? Which you might have to. Could any of you skin a cat?’ He stopped and gave a meaningful look to Frédérique, followed by a mocking laugh. ‘There’s no supermarkets now to serve you your nosh all nicely packaged up in cling film with the blood drained out of it. No more Marks and Spencer’s ready meals. You wa

‘We’re not completely useless,’ said Archie Bishop.

‘Yeah? You know how to pluck a chicken? Break a rabbit’s neck?’

‘I do, actually,’ said Bam. ‘I’ve been out shooting loads of times. My rabbit stew’s the best in Kent. I might not have won any awards for my sausages, like you, but I make a mean stew. My barbecued rabbit kebabs aren’t too sloppy, either.’

‘You having a laugh, Lord Snooty?’

‘Not me,’ said Bam. ‘I’m a bloody good shot if I say so myself. I grew up in the country, you see, always out yomping round the fields. Plus, last summer I went on an SAS survival course in the holidays. I can build a shelter, set animal traps, net fish … I could live off the land if I had to.’

‘I’d like to see you try.’

‘No, seriously, I could.’

Greg strode to the front and pulled the door open.

‘Go on, then,’ he shouted, nodding towards the exit. ‘I believe you was on your way to the countryside when I picked you up. Why don’t you walk all the way back there and start netting fish, Boris?’

‘Change of plan since then,’ said Bam. ‘Looks like it’s the city life for me in the foreseeable. Not sure if there are any rabbits in London, but I know there’s foxes. I’m sure I could bag one of them. Can you eat a fox? I suppose in the end you can eat anything if you’re hungry enough.’

‘You getting out or staying?’ Greg asked.

‘Staying, thanks,’ said Bam cheerfully. ‘All for one and one for all and all that. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid, Greg.’

‘Yeah, well as I said, just you remember who’s in charge and don’t get cheeky or I’ll give you a slap. This is my coach. My rules.’

Nobody said anything.

‘All right.’ Greg coughed. ‘Get some sleep. We’ll push on in the morning. I’ll take you all as far as Islington. After that you’re on your own.’

26

It was dark on the coach, very dark and very quiet. Except for when the silence was interrupted by distant shouts, or the sound of something smashing. And then there were the other noises, harder to identify, that could have been made by animals or by humans.

Hell, thought Ed, some of the sounds were so weird they could have been made by aliens. That wouldn’t have surprised him one bit. Nothing could surprise him any more. If strange green lights appeared in the sky and the next thing bug-eyed freaks with ray guns strolled down the street he wouldn’t think twice about it. For all he knew the sickness had come from outer space. It was the first wave of an attack by an alien assault force. Soften everyone up, remove the military threat and enslave the remaining young population.

It made about as much sense as Matt’s ideas about the Holy Lamb.

Ed was walking slowly down the aisle checking everyone was all right. It was the least he could do. He still felt guilty that he had escaped from the attack at The Fez and that good friends had been left behind.

Jack was sitting midway down the coach.

‘It’s rubbish,’ he said when Ed drew level with him.

‘What is?’

‘What Greg was saying. About survival. Just total bullshit.’

‘How d’you mean? In what way?’

‘Well, it’s random, isn’t it? Really? Who lives and who dies.’

‘Is it?’ Ed checked to make sure there was no way that Greg could listen in on their conversation and sat down next to Jack.

‘Of course it is,’ said Jack. ‘It’s luck, that’s all. Makes no difference one way or the other what skills you’ve got, what training you’ve had, what school you went to. It’s like in the First World War, when the soldiers were ordered to go over the top and march towards the German trenches – what difference did their training make? Would a professional soldier with ten years’ experience be any less likely to be shot than someone whose first day it was at the front? No. It was pure chance whether you got killed or not. When a bomb goes off, it doesn’t choose who it blows up. Do you think any of the survivors thought, yeah, look at me, I’m great, I’ve survived because I was better than the man standing next to me? I don’t know, some of them probably thought God had played a part in it, but from what I’ve read in history most of the soldiers felt terrible; they felt they didn’t deserve to live while so many of their friends had died.’