The Dead

‘No.’

‘Well … I don’t suppose you ever will see any of that now. But they were very fu

‘Right.’

‘So what are you looking for, then?’

‘We need a ba

‘We will be the army of the Lamb,’ said Matt. ‘Modern crusaders marching under a ba

‘Yeah.’ Bam wasn’t really listening. He was distracted by the scab on Matt’s forehead. It was going a bit yellow and gungy round the edges and looked really horrible.

‘Did you properly clean that?’ he said, nodding towards it.

‘No. It’s the mark of the Lamb. The Lamb will heal me.’

‘It looks infected. You need to be careful.’

Matt shook his head. ‘I don’t need to worry about anything. I am being carried by the Lamb. His arms are around me.’

Matt walked on in search of a suitable ba

‘Listen, mate,’ he said quietly. ‘If you’re really serious about heading off to St Paul’s, just be a bit careful, yeah? You go wandering around out there singing hymns and waving flags, you’ll attract every sicko in London.’

‘Ba

‘Same difference,’ said Bam.

‘We’ll be all right,’ said Archie.

‘You reckon?’ Bam asked, his face creased with a frown. ‘You really believe that the Lamb’s going to protect you and all that?’

Archie shrugged. ‘I might as well believe in the Lamb as anything else, Bam. None of the old gods really helped anyone much, did they? My dad was a vicar; he got sick along with all the rest. Nothing we put our trust in before stood up to much. It’s reassuring, you know, Matt being so, well, so sure of stuff. If I stick with him, I don’t have to worry about anything else.’

‘Fair enough.’ Bam smiled.

‘Think about it, Bam,’ Archie went on. ‘You’re going to have to do something sooner or later. We’re all going to have to try and work out how we’re going to survive.’ Archie looked around the museum. ‘This is all right, I suppose, but it’s not real life. You’ve got to have a plan, or you’ll go crazy.’

‘Good point.’

‘I mean, how long are you pla

‘I’m trying not to think more than about twenty seconds ahead, Archie. Never have. It’s got me this far all right.’

Jack had wandered away from the others, unsatisfied. He didn’t know what he was looking for but he hadn’t seen it yet. The knife he’d picked out wasn’t enough. He wanted something that when he held it in his hand he’d feel invincible. Feel its strength and power flowing into him.

He wished there were bullets for the various pistols on display; a handgun would have been perfect. He wondered whether he could persuade Jordan to let him see what was in the armoury. But thought probably not. He’d got off to a bad start with Jordan. Misjudged him. The guy was hard and cold, but at least he was reasonable. Nothing he did was because of any twisted emotions. In a way Jack respected him. But he didn’t want to push his luck.

He wandered past the displays, impressed and appalled at man’s ingenuity, the endless ways he’d found to kill other people. He stopped and reached into a broken cabinet to pick out a Russian Second World War helmet. It fitted perfectly and he kept it on.

‘Come on, Jack. We’re going.’ Ed’s voice. ‘You got what you need?’

‘Yeah, nearly,’ Jack replied. ‘I’m coming.’

Jack headed back towards the entrance, flicking his beam from side to side, angry at himself for not choosing something, and then a flash of bright sky blue caught his eye. It was a uniform. He went over for a closer look. It was in a cabinet of outfits from another era, a time before camouflage and khaki and dull olive-green. They looked so old-fashioned they might have been worn at the battle of Waterloo, but they were from just before the First World War, when soldiers still wore brightly coloured uniforms to stand out on the battlefield and impress the enemy. They were Officers’ uniforms, covered in braid and gold buttons and fancy details.

And there, neatly displayed, a sturdy-looking naval officer’s sword. It looked to be a good length and was probably well made. Jack smashed the glass with the handle of his knife. The noise sounded like an explosion going off in the silent gloom of the gallery.

‘What was that?’ Ed’s voice again. He was probably bricking it.

‘It’s all right. It’s only me. I found something.’

Jack lifted out the sword. It was clean and gleaming, the edge still sharp. The curators at the museum had obviously looked after everything very well. He smiled. The blade was perfectly balanced in his hand, a good weight. He sliced a long curve through the air.

Perfect.

‘Jack?’

He took the scabbard and belt from the dummy torso they were fixed to and fastened them round his waist. It was a good fit. The scabbard hung well.

‘You coming, Jack?’

‘Yeah. I’m ready.’

33

It was perhaps a five-year-old child’s idea of a feast, but it was a feast all the same. Crisps and biscuits and Coke. Perhaps a five-year-old would have turned up his nose at the cans of cold sausages and beans, but to the hungry kids in the museum it was the best food they’d ever tasted.

Jack, Ed and Bam had done a mad dash to the coach and grabbed as much food as they could carry before Ed spotted a group of sickos approaching along the road. They’d made it back without having to use any of their new weapons and were welcomed as returning heroes. The only bad moment had been when they’d spotted what they’d thought was a discarded pair of dirty trousers in the road. Ed had gone over to check them out and realized there were legs inside, with black shoes on the feet. And at the waist was a ragged tangle of guts and a stub of white spine.

It was all that was left of Piers.

They’d thought about rationing the food and trying to make it last a couple of days, but in the end they decided what the hell, they might as well scoff the lot and have a proper look for some decent food in the morning.

The Brains Trust and the girls had made an effort to tidy up the café and make it feel a little more welcoming. The tables had been wiped, the rubbish collected and they’d put candles about the place that helped to give the impression that the room was warmer than it was. Even Frédérique had perked up and joined in. It had helped her having something to do. Stopped her from sitting by herself and staring into space. She’d bustled about and chatted to the other girls and now she was sitting at a table with Jack, Ed, Bam and Brooke, and was even laughing as Brooke told a fu

‘I puked me guts up!’ she boasted. ‘It was like a fire extinguisher going off. Kersploosh! It went everywhere. All over the cake, all over Courtney, all over Courtney’s mum, all over her presents … Sorry if I’m putting you off your di

Frédérique couldn’t stop laughing. It was a slightly hysterical, out-of-control laugh that was just a little u

It hadn’t been lost on Ed that Brooke wasn’t sitting with her two girlfriends, who were at a table with the Brains Trust, enjoying playing mother for a bit with the younger kids.