The Dead

He dismounted and drew his pistol. Maybe he could just blast his way through? He was using up a lot of his ammunition. He’d wanted to save his bullets for an emergency.

Hell, whichever way you looked at it, this was an emergency.

He fired, keeping his arm as straight and steady as he could. Then fired again. And again. All the while wheeling his bike forward. His aim wasn’t brilliant. He clipped two of them, though, and the others stood there, not sure what to do. Not sure what was happening.

Ed carried on walking and firing, his bike acting as a shield to his left. How many bullets in a clip? Ten? Twenty? What would he do when he ran out?

He swore at the sickos.

Although he was moving, he was only really getting deeper and deeper into the heart of the mob. They were closing in behind him as he passed, waiting for their moment. For when the shooting stopped.

At last the gun clicked empty and Ed reckoned it was all over.

He swore again. Wished he had another weapon. Hated it to end like this.

And then he saw an extraordinary sight. A column of schoolboys wearing red blazers and carrying clubs, marching in step down the road, with packs on their backs. Like a unit off to fight in the Napoleonic Wars.

The column was two wide and maybe ten deep. The boy at their head, with jet-black hair and chalk-white skin sprayed with freckles, was shouting orders. The boys stayed in formation, and as they reached the rear of the bunched-up sickos they started to lash out and hack their way through to Ed.

Using his bike as a battering ram, Ed forced his way towards them.

‘This way!’ called the boy at their head, pointing to a walkway between two rows of houses. Ed hurried, shoving sickos away to either side. When he got to them, the boys closed ranks round him, forming a protective wall. Then, still keeping their discipline, they backed away down the walkway, leaving the confused sickos behind.

The boys followed the walkway through a small housing estate, clubbing a few stray sickos as they went, and soon found their way on to a relatively clear street where they stopped to get their bearings.

Ed was so relieved and amazed and confused he didn’t know what to say; in the end all he managed was a pathetic ‘Thanks’.

‘We heard gunshots,’ said the boys’ leader. ‘And we know that Strangers can’t use them.’

‘Strangers?’

‘That’s what we call the people with the disease. I suppose everyone calls them something different.’

‘Why Strangers?’

‘We were always taught to be careful of strangers.’

‘Stranger danger?’ said Ed.

‘Exactly.’

Ed looked at the boys who were standing staring at him in silence.

‘Where the hell did you all come from, anyway?’ he asked.

‘We’re from St Hilda’s in Surrey,’ said the leader.

‘St Hilda’s school?’ Ed gri

‘Rowhurst? God, I know you buggers!’ Another boy stepped forward, a big, keen-looking guy with fluffy hair, his shirt-collar turned up and sticking out of the top of his jumper.

‘You’re a Rowie, are you?’ he went on. ‘We came over in the autumn term. Good game too. You had a killer prop forward. Guy called Bam. Do you know him?’

‘Of course!’ Ed cried excitedly, and then a twinge of sadness got him and he bit his lip.

‘What about Joh

‘I know them all,’ said Ed quietly.

‘Are they with you?’

‘No,’ said Ed. ‘They were. They …’

A lump formed in his throat, stopping him from saying anything else. The boy obviously got it, though, and didn’t press Ed any further.

‘Bad luck.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘I’m Pod, by the way. What’s your name?’

‘Ed Carter.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Ed.’

‘Ed Carter?’ A boy with a big nose jostled to the front of the crowd. ‘I know you. Andy Thomas,’ he said, patting his chest. ‘I remember you from the football team.’

‘Yeah, hi,’ said Ed, smiling at Andy, although in truth he couldn’t remember him at all.

‘You all right? That looks bad,’ said Andy, pointing to Ed’s cheek.

Ed shrugged. ‘I think it is bad,’ he said.

‘So, are you just wandering the streets or do you have a safe place to go somewhere?’ said the boys’ leader.

‘Safe place,’ said Ed. ‘I was trying to get there. The Imperial War Museum, actually.’

The leader looked interested.

‘Could you take us there?’

‘I could,’ said Ed, ‘but I’m not in charge. The guy who runs the place is … Well, he’s not very welcoming. He’s got a good set-up and he doesn’t want to spoil it. He doesn’t really want any newbies.’

‘I’ll deal with that when we get there,’ said the boy confidently. ‘I’m David, by the way, David King. I was head of the junior school at St Hilda’s. Now, shall we get going?’

‘Sure.’ Ed dug out his A to Z and checked it quickly. The museum was much nearer than he’d realized.

They set off, Ed wheeling his bike at the head of the column with David. There were black smuts being blown on the wind now, which had grown even fiercer, and hotter. Ed had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise of it.

‘Have you walked all the way from your school?’ he asked.

‘Yes. There were quite a lot more of us when we started.’

Ed looked around at the matching red blazers.

‘You haven’t picked anyone else up on the way?’

David smiled. ‘Your chap who runs the museum,’ he said, ‘he’s got the right idea. Look after your own. May I see your gun?’

‘Sure.’ Ed passed it to him.

‘A gun is a very valuable thing,’ said David, weighing it in his hand.

‘You’re telling me.’

Ed looked at David. He had a very serious, slightly snooty expression. It was quite fu

‘I get it,’ he said, a note of amusement in his voice. ‘You weren’t trying to rescue me, you were trying to rescue the gun!’

‘Something like that,’ said David. ‘But now you can help us at the War Museum, so it’s worked out quite well all round, really, hasn’t it? We can get you there safely and you can get us in.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Ed. ‘But there may be certain conditions.’

‘I’m good at negotiating.’ David sounded very sure of himself.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes. I suppose, really, I should keep this as a reward for saving your life.’

David aimed the pistol at Ed. Ed smiled, not sure if David was being playful but giving him the benefit of the doubt.

‘I went through a lot to get that gun.’ Ed kept his voice flat and calm. ‘So, I’m afraid I’m not going to give it up.’ He gently took the gun back off David and put it in his holster. ‘You can have this bike instead, though, if you want.’

‘No thanks,’ said David. ‘I could have shot you then, you know?’ he added.

‘No you couldn’t,’ said Ed, forcing another smile though it badly hurt his face. ‘It’s not loaded.’

60

‘You’ve got to come and see this.’ DogNut was standing at the main doors looking out at the open ground in front of the museum. ‘It’s the bloody red army.’

The boy who was on guard duty came over to join him and he laughed at what was going on outside.

David was marching up the pathway at the head of his column with Ed at his side. The St Hilda’s boys were keeping in perfect step and singing as they went.

The column marched right up to the doors, Ed’s bike bumping up the steps.

‘Hey!’ Ed called out. ‘Open up! It’s me.’

DogNut came out to meet him.