The Dead

‘OK.’ Kyle’s grin widened. ‘I’m with you, mate.’

Ed smiled. Somehow the boy’s insane enthusiasm had got to him. Maybe it wasn’t impossible. The two of them formed the remaining kids into a tight unit, with the best fighters along the outer edge, ready to battle their way through the sickos.

‘Make some noise!’ Ed yelled when they were ready and then they charged out of the gardens, roaring a battle cry.

It was hopeless, though, a case of two steps forward, three steps back. There were just too damned many sickos blocking their way. Instead of moving towards the bridge the kids were being forced off to the right, on to the road that ran eastwards alongside the river. The bridge was getting further away. Ed looked for the lorry but couldn’t see it any more. He hoped that the other kids at least were going to get to safety.

74

Zohra was sitting at the back of the lorry pointing out at the London skyline.

‘You see that, Froggie?’ she said. ‘What’s that?’

Froggie leant over his sister and peered along the river.

His bulgy eyes opened wide.

There it was, silhouetted against the flame-bright sky, sparks exploding in the air behind it.

‘The London Eye.’

‘See?’ said Zohra. ‘Looks just like it does on the telly at New Year, doesn’t it? With the fireworks and everything.’

‘Yeah,’ said Froggie, lost in the magic of it. ‘It’s amazing.’

‘And there’s the Houses of Parliament, with Big Ben and that.’

‘Yeah.’ Froggie smiled at his sister, his wide frog mouth stretching from ear to ear. She put her arm round him.

‘We’re go

Chris Marker sat with the cage of books he’d rescued from the museum, but for once he wasn’t reading anything. He didn’t know if it was caused by the fear and stress, the tiredness and hunger, but he was seeing things. Out of the corner of his eye: a grey shape that would dissolve if he tried to look at it straight on. He was sure it was the ghost from the museum, the Grey Lady. When he closed his eyes he could picture her clearly. Her skin was as grey as her old-fashioned clothes, but she didn’t look diseased, instead she looked beautiful, as if lit by an i

She’d come with him, to look after her books. He felt comforted by her presence. He imagined that she was wrapping her arms around him, holding him and whispering in his ear.

Like a proper mother.

Not like that lot out there, the sicko mothers. And not like his own mother. She’d never been any use to him.

The Grey Lady was a ghost mother. The mother of all the writers of the books he’d saved. She would protect him.

As long as he protected the books.

75

Ed’s group was surrounded on three sides now, with the Thames at their backs and the bridge to their right. They’d been forced off the road and on to the walkway that bordered the river. Ed was slashing and hacking at the enemy but there was nowhere for either side to go. They would have to fight till the last man standing. And it looked like the sickos were going to win. They were starting to get in among the kids, biting and scratching, and the kids were exhausted. He doubted they could hold out much longer. It was only a matter of time before they were overrun by the army of disease-ridden adults.

What was the point? What was the point of killing any more of them? Why carry on fighting? He’d done his duty. He’d saved the others and honoured the memory of his fallen friends. He’d shown David he wasn’t a quitter. He’d stood his ground like a hero. And now he was going to die a hero’s death, massacred by a much bigger force.

What was the point?

But somehow his rifle kept on moving, stabbing, battering, rising and falling, rising and falling, and somehow his legs kept from buckling. He had no idea what reserves of energy he was ru

The sickos seemed far, far away and nothing mattered to him any more. He was shutting down his conscious mind and letting his body fight on without him.

And then he heard gunshots. Shouting. And a shudder passed through the ranks of the diseased.

‘Someone’s attacking them from the rear,’ Kyle shouted. ‘Come on! Let’s show them who’s boss!’

Ed came back alive, turned to his exhausted friends.

‘Don’t give up!’ he bellowed, tears in his eyes. ‘There’s help coming!’

He sensed a fresh fight along the line. In front of them the sickos were falling away, turning to the side, trying to get clear, trapped between Ed’s group and whoever was pressing them from behind.

A mob of sickos broke and stumbled away and now Ed could see …

It was Jordan Hordern and his crew from the museum. Well armed, well drilled and fresh. They moved mercilessly through the fleeing sickos. Chopping down anyone that got in their path.

At their head was Jordan himself, shouting orders, his sword flashing in his hand.

And there was DogNut, fighting just as hard with his katana.

Ed’s group gave a cheer and laid into the sickos that remained with savage fury. The two groups fought their way towards each other until at last they linked up.

Jordan saluted Ed.

‘What happened?’ Ed panted, ready to drop.

‘Couldn’t stay,’ was all Jordan replied. ‘What about you?’

‘We got separated from the others,’ Ed explained, looking towards the bridge. ‘We have to get over there.’

‘No chance,’ said Jordan flatly. ‘You lot are finished and there’s hundreds of the bastards between here and the bridge. Plus, the fire’s just about on us. We managed to stay a few metres ahead is all.’

‘Then what?’ said Ed, feeling his new hope slipping away.

‘There,’ said Jordan, nodding.

A small pier jutted out into the river, and a metal walkway ran down from it on to a mooring platform to which four sightseeing boats were tethered.

‘We could get across on one of those,’ said Jordan.

‘You reckon?’

‘Do we have any choice?’

‘Fall back!’ Ed bawled. ‘Get on to that pier!’

They fought their way to the café that stood at the end of the pier and then swarmed past it and out along the walkway.

The surface of the Thames was alive with reflected light. Vivid reds and oranges, golds and yellows made ever-changing patterns on the normally black water. Bits of rubbish and wreckage and the bodies of people and animals flowed past serenely on the current.

The kids kept moving, down the walkway and on to the platform from where they scrambled on to the nearest boat, a blue and white cruiser, with an enclosed lower deck and an open-sided upper deck.

Jordan made his way to the wheelhouse that stood up at the front. DogNut and one of his friends went round throwing off the mooring ropes. Ed helped the other kids on board and checked that everyone was all right. As well as Jordan’s crew there were about twenty others who’d fought alongside them. The casualties from his own gang weren’t as bad as Ed had feared. Three of Matt’s acolytes hadn’t made it, the others were knocked about, but, though bruised, they had no serious cuts. Ed himself was painted with gore from head to foot – as far as he could tell, though, none of it was his.

Last to board were Courtney and Aleisha. Aleisha’s arm was soaked with blood and she was in a lot of pain. Her dark skin looked grey and she looked smaller than ever, as if she had shrunk in on herself.