The Dead

‘Yeah, but I thought finding all this food … it’s changed everything, hasn’t it?’

‘Why?’

‘I mean, you can’t leave all this.’

‘I’ll come back. It’s not far. I’ll get my things and –’

‘No, Jack. It’s too dangerous.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Jack bluntly. ‘I always meant to go home. And now I won’t be leaving you lot in the crap any more. Not now you’ve got all this.’

‘Jack –’

‘You’re all right, Ed,’ Jack interrupted, shaking Ed by the shoulders. ‘You’ve got food, you’ve got shelter, you’ve got friends, weapons, girls. You don’t need me any more.’

‘I do, Jack … you’re my mate.’

‘You said it yourself, last night, though, Ed. I’ve been giving you a really hard time lately. I would’ve thought you’d be glad to get shot of me. I’ve been a right pain in the arse, I know that. And that’s why I need to get away. To clear my head. To go home. To get back in touch with how things used to be.’

‘And then you’ll come back?’

‘Of course I will. I’ll probably be back tonight.’ Jack gri

‘What if you don’t come back, though? What if something happens?’

‘I’ll be all right.’ Jack slapped his sword. ‘I’ve got this.’

‘Jack …’

‘You know me, Ed. Stubborn bastard.’

Bam had been listening in. He leant over and held the shotgun out to Jack.

‘Take this, mate,’ he said. ‘With any luck I won’t need it any longer.’

‘No, you keep it, Bam. You’re the shotgun king. I’m fine with my sword.’

‘Well, then, let me come with you.’

‘No way, Bam,’ Jack protested. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else. That’s why I’m going. These kids, they need a dad to look after them, but I’m not ready to be a dad yet. It’s hard work. Worrying about everything, looking after everyone. I used to laugh at my mum for getting anxious if I was out late. But I know what it feels like now, being responsible, being scared, and I don’t like it. I’m going. OK? This is my decision and it doesn’t affect anyone else.’

‘And it’s my decision to come with you, mate,’ said Bam. ‘My decision. My choice. My risk. I won’t hold you responsible. You won’t have to worry about me.’

‘I don’t need anyone!’ Jack turned away from his friends.

The lorry was snorting and hissing, shuddering as it started to accelerate. Justin was obviously getting the hang of the controls, risking a gear change. Jack jumped down off the back before it was too late.

Ed stared helplessly at him, thinking he might never see him again. And then Bam was on his way too. He vaulted over the back, stumbled in the road as he landed then ran after Jack and slapped him on the back. Jack threw up his hands, then Bam said something to him and he laughed.

As Ed watched the two of them growing smaller Frédérique came and joined him at the tailgate.

‘What are they doing?’ she asked nervously.

‘Jack just wants to check his old house out,’ Ed explained, trying to play it down and not upset her. Not upset himself either, to be honest. ‘It’s not far from here,’ he added, wanting to believe it. ‘He’ll be back later.’

His efforts were obviously failing. Frédérique looked terrified.

‘He ca

‘Hey, you’re all right now, Fred. We’re all go

‘He must not go …’

The lorry was getting faster and faster. Jack and Bam were walking in the opposite direction, already two distant figures. Ed tugged at his hair. How could they be so reckless? So unafraid? Strolling off like that. Who knew what was out there? It was crazy.

He suddenly felt very alone. Something clicked inside him. He grabbed Frédérique and shoved her at Brooke.

‘Make sure Fred’s all right,’ he said to the startled blonde.

‘Why, what’s going on?’

Ed was light-headed, drunk almost. And yet everything suddenly seemed very clear and simple. It was as if he had just woken up and cast off a dark heavy suffocating blanket. He wouldn’t be afraid any more. He wouldn’t be alone. He would be free, and alive. Nothing really mattered and as a result he could do anything he wanted.

He kissed Brooke and swung out over the tailgate, hanging there for a moment dramatically.

‘We’ll be home for tea!’ he shouted. ‘And I expect a decent spread as well.’

42

From the shadows of a burnt-out house at the side of the road a figure watched the three boys with red, sore eyes. He’d been following them all morning, waiting for his moment. He’d lost them a while back, but the noise of the lorry had alerted him and now here they were again.

Close enough to taste.

Not yet. Not yet. Wait some more. Watch some more. The time would come.

Shut up! Stop talking! Those voices in his head. Why wouldn’t they just shut up? There was too many of them in there, all talking at once, too many to fit, crammed in, bursting his head. It was going to split open.

His head was going to split open. Split open. His head. Like a peach.

Not yet! Not yet!

Shut up!

He shook his head violently, a dog with a rat in its jaws. Spraying sweat everywhere.

He was shivering. Shivering and sweating at the same time. His nose was ru

Why would you dress a rabbit? What was a rabbit? He couldn’t remember. Why was it so hard to remember anything? An animal? Yes.

He rubbed his neck. It was ringed with boils, like a horrible shiny yellow scarf.

Never mind that.

The boys were there. The ones he wanted. The boys who had done …

What had they done? He didn’t remember. He only knew he hated them. He wanted to smash them and crush them like insects. He wanted to tear the flesh from their bones. He would eat them. He would eat them, but first he would make …

Soap …

Soup?

He would make soup of them.

Soup? What was soup?

Something.

Rabbit soup.

His mind kept spi

His boy. That was it. His boy. His boy who was … little …? Little boy? He had a name, but the big boys had taken his name, they’d taken his son, they’d taken his son from him. His boy. Lee-am

His Liam.

Yes. He gri

But he would get the boys. He would do them. He would skin them. He would dress them. He would do it. He knew how to do it. He was a …

What was the word?

Pooch?

Butch?

Teacher?

Not a teacher – he hated teachers – a pusher.

No.

Come on, clever clogs, think!

A butcher.

That was it.

Mr Clogs the Butcher. And he had the thing to prove it. The tool thing hanging at his belt. He’d had it with him all the time. Clever, see?

A clever. That was it. No, not a clever. A cleaner. A leaf cutter. A leaver. The thing the butcher used. A cleaver. A clever cleaver.

Boys … Meet the cleaver.

A meat cleaver. He was a butcher. He had his cleaver and he would do butcher to them.