The Dead

Brooke had made a point of sitting right next to him, and she kept directing her conversation at him, and touching his arm and making eye contact. He found it quite flattering, but, to be honest, Brooke scared him. She was so loud and confident and unforgiving. She was one of those girls who used her friendship like a weapon, giving it and taking it away to reward or punish people.

He was just glad she was on his side for the time being. Maybe since Jordan Hordern had put him in charge she wanted to make sure she was at the top table.

Jack was making an effort with Frédérique. Trying to keep her spirits up and not let her slip back into her dark mood. But he reckoned he was fighting a losing battle. She seemed exhausted after her laughing fit, and the more Brooke talked about the past the quieter Frédérique became. Slowly the haunted look came back into her eyes and she retreated into herself.

‘Hey,’ he said when he noticed that she was crying again. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow there will be no more food and you will go and I don’t know what I will do.’

‘I’m not going to abandon anyone,’ said Jack, and he caught Ed looking at him. ‘OK? I’m not just going to leave you. Tomorrow morning, we’ll go out and we’ll find some food and, when I’m sure you’re all going to be fine, I’ll go home. But not before.’

‘OK.’ Frédérique nodded.

‘There’s nothing to be frightened of any more. Greg’s gone. We’ve got good weapons. The sickos don’t stand a chance, eh?’

Jack immediately wished he hadn’t bothered. As soon as he said the word ‘sickos’, Frédérique let out a huge sob and the floodgates opened. The crying set her off coughing again. Jack whacked her on her back.

‘Don’t talk about them,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, Fred. I didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘Greg is one of them now.’

‘Yeah, I guess, or else he’s dead. Good riddance, I say. He was an arsehole.’

‘But he said he would not get sick.’

‘Yeah, well, he could have said he could fly – we didn’t have to believe him, did we? He thought he could cheat nature. He couldn’t. Basically, if you’re over fourteen, forget it.’

Before Frédérique could say anything else Justin the nerd came over to their table, looking embarrassed and secretive. He tucked in behind Jack’s chair and leant over to speak quietly into his ear.

‘Can I talk to you?’ he said.

‘Yeah, of course, Just’. What’s up?’

‘Did you bring Greg’s cool box back from the bus?’

‘The cooler? Yeah. Why? You want something from it?’

‘No. Have you … Have you eaten anything out of it?’

‘Nope.’ Jack shook his head. ‘We thought we’d save it for breakfast. As a kind of treat. There’s proper food in there.’

‘Only … Don’t eat the smoked meat.’

‘Why not?’

Justin shuffled about nervously. ‘We’ve been talking …’ He glanced back at his table where the Brains Trust was watching him. ‘About something Liam said before he, you know, died … About the meat.’

‘Is there something wrong with it?’

Justin looked at the other kids sitting around the table, not sure how to say the next bit. Not sure if he should.

‘Can we talk in, you know, private?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

Justin and Jack went over to the food counter where nobody could hear them. The kids in the Brains Trust were still staring at them.

‘Why all the mystery, Just’?’

‘I don’t want to, you know, upset anyone,’ said Justin. ‘That French girl seems pretty freaked out by all this. I wasn’t sure …’

Jack laughed. ‘You’re not really a nerd, are you, Justin?’

Justin looked surprised. ‘What do you mean?’

‘A real nerd wouldn’t care about hurting anyone’s feelings.’

‘Oh, well …’ Justin blushed and Jack laughed again.

‘So, come on, then, Mr Sensitive, tell me – what’s wrong with the meat?’

‘We think it’s human meat.’

‘You what?’

‘We think Greg butchered a boy down on that farm in Kent he was always going on about. We think that’s what he was eating.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Jack looked appalled. ‘So he was already sick?’

‘In a way, maybe. Or maybe he was just trying to survive. He said the livestock on the farm got ill, so he … you know …’

Jack sighed and rubbed his eyes. Half of him wanted to laugh. The other half wanted to throw up.

‘Thanks for letting us know,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll chuck it out. Thank God we didn’t eat any of it. And you were right, mate. Let’s not tell anyone else about this. We’ll stick to our sausages and beans.’

‘Mind you,’ said Justin. ‘The crap they put in those ti

‘You are still a bit of a nerd, aren’t you, Justin?’

34

The 1940s house was a full-size replica of a mock-Tudor suburban house complete with green-painted front door, sloping tiled roof, Union Jack and empty milk bottles on the doorstep. It was set up in a corner of the exhibition space to show children what life had been like during wartime when the German bombs had rained down on London. There was a little kitchen, a dining room, a living room and a couple of bedrooms, all equipped and furnished as they would have been during the Second World War. There were already a few beds in here but Jordan Hordern’s boys had dragged in some extra mattresses and sleeping bags and had lent the kids a small paraffin heater so that it was cosy and warm. They’d lit tea lights in glass jars that gave a twinkling glow to the place and for a while all the problems of the outside world were forgotten. The kids felt safe and excited at the same time, as if they were having a giant sleepover.

There was even a Morrison shelter in one room, like a big steel cage. During the Blitz families would have slept in one of these; now it was the perfect place for Frédérique’s cat, Dior, to come out of her box and spend the night.

Lying nearby on his mattress on the floor, Ed could hear her scrabbling about. He couldn’t get to sleep. It wasn’t just the noise of the cat and the grunts and snores and gurgling bellies of the other kids. He couldn’t stop his mind from going over and over the events of the last two days.

He felt like he had failed. He could have done more. Sure, they were safe here for now, but how many friends had he lost along the way?

‘You not asleep?’

It was Jack’s voice. He was lying on a mattress on top of the Morrison shelter.

‘No,’ Ed whispered. ‘You either?’

‘No. Been looking at this poster on the wall. Wartime advice from the government. “Make Do and Mend. Save Fuel for Battle. Save Kitchen Scraps to Feed the Pigs. Don’t Waste Water. Dig for Victory. Holiday at Home. Eat Greens for Health. Keep Calm and Carry On.”’

‘Very good advice,’ said Ed. ‘Especially now.’

‘Is that where Keep Calm and Carry On comes from, then?’ Jack asked quietly.

‘I guess so. It was a wartime thing. The Blitz. Bombs falling all about.’

‘There was a real craze for that slogan recently, wasn’t there?’ said Jack. ‘People had it on posters and mugs and things.’

‘My mum gave me a T-shirt with it on last Christmas.’ Ed smiled at the memory. ‘Wish I still had it. All I had to get stressed about before was GCSEs.’

‘She didn’t give you a T-shirt that said Save Kitchen Scraps to Feed the Pigs, then?’

‘No.’ Ed smiled.

‘Do you suppose in the war, in the Blitz, people thought it would go on forever?’ Jack asked. ‘That it was the end of the world?’

‘You mean like now?’ Ed shrugged. ‘Probably a few did, but I bet most just wanted to try and carry on as if things were normal.’