The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

Don’t have long – I don’t know who’s watching. Have to make this quick.

A couple of us tried to talk to the Rats today. We had decided to leave, but I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them barricaded in the mall with friends that might turn on them. So we tried to tell them about the shamblers and where they came from.

They thought we were lying. Even with Dillon backing us up, even with the drawn looks on our faces that not even the best actor could fake, they didn’t believe us. I can’t blame them. It’s an unlikely tale.

“Just be careful,” I told them. Wariness would cost them nothing and might save them.

They’re just children. None of the Rats are older than fourteen or fifteen. There are maybe twelve of them up and about now. I would take them with us if I thought they’d come, but they won’t. They don’t want to rely on adults again; they have a home and they’re taking care of themselves, so nevermind anything else. They don’t need or want us.

Dillon went to say goodbye to Alice. We all knew he’d never see her again, not in a good way, but no-one said it. I sent Ben an apologetic look and stayed with the kid while we finished packing up. Dillon needed the support.

We left just as the morning was waning over into another dull orange afternoon. We were eyeing the store across the street while the Rats secured the doors behind us; none of us wanted to go back in there, but that’s where our scooters were. We hadn’t seen the shamblers since the night they disappeared but we still felt their shadows in that place and their eyes at the window.

I asked Dillon quietly if he would be able to drive himself today; I was worried that he was too upset. We spilled down the steps and across the road, fanning out warily, and Dillon said he would be all right. Ben’s shoulder was doing better while the rest of him got worse; he would have to ride behind me again.

We got to the broken-down door when we heard them. Movement inside the store, the breath of a chuckle, the clip of a bootheel on concrete. A strange, metallic click I had only heard in a movie before, rougher and sharper in the real world.

I looked around at the barrel of a handgun hovering in front of a grin.

Have to go – they’re coming back.

Couldn’t get back to post again yesterday – things are crazy right now.

So there was a gun pointing at me.

The gun-bearer let out a short, high bark and more sounds cascaded around us. They swarmed out of the stores lining the street, including the one that hid our scooters. Our transport had been discovered. Worse, the barker wasn’t the only one carrying a firearm – there were shotguns, handguns and even a rifle. They lifted to point towards us and gestured for us to drop our own blunt, fireless weaponry. We had them in-hand in case of shamblers, but we put them down in the face of bullets.

It took me a moment to figure out who they were. One of them turned around to pass a signal up the street and I saw the tag on the back of his jacket – a few efficient lines suggested a head with a mane and bared teeth. We had seen that tag on buildings, but now it was on people. The Pride.

There weren’t many of them – less than there were of us – but their arsenal meant that we weren’t going to try anything. They surrounded us and we shifted into a defensive circle, with Nugget and Dillon in the middle. Nugget was smart enough to keep her head down.

There were taunts and jeers, all ‘what do we have here’ as if they were taking their cues from bad teen movies. The looks that they gave us were less fake and even less funny, though; they made me push Dillon back into the centre of our group when he tried to stand out with the rest of us. Their hungry looks would’ve stripped us naked right there and then, if they could.

But they were waiting for something. In the meantime, they demanded our food and water, waggling gun barrels towards our packs. We complied with reluctant movements and plenty of glares; enough rumours about them had passed our hearing for us to believe that they weren’t bluffing when they threatened to take the supplies over our dead bodies. Even Masterson had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, though the worry that he would say something wound me a notch tighter every time I thought about it.

They were hard-looking, lean creatures, these Pride members. They watched us like whips with lip-parted grins, pleased with their catch while they waited for their leader. There was something particularly narrow and calculating about the way the girls in the group looked at us; I couldn’t figure out if we were competition or reprieve for them.

The leader didn’t take long to show up – the roar of motorcycle engines foreshadowed his arrival. His leather jacket had a tan-coloured fur collar – he took the whole ‘Pride’ thing quite seriously and I made a mental note not to call them kittens. He was tall and bore the mark of an acid burn across one cheek, the work of a single drop that had hit and dribbled through this flesh, now healed to an angry red scar.

He swung off his bike and swaggered over to us, mouthing off cocky statements like, “What do we have here?” He said his name was Kingston. I heard Masterson draw breath behind me and hoped that he wouldn’t say anything. Not him, not now.

Kingston babbled on, looking very pleased with the find and walking around us slowly. He paid particular attention to me and Sally, enough that Ben put his arm across in front of me protectively. The Proud one smiled, knowing he’d found a nerve. He stopped in front of me and asked, “Who are you?”

He meant me, but I opted to ignore that. “We’re the Seekers. Just passing through.”

“Oh, are you really?” he said, and I wanted to smack that look off his face. Smug bastard. “We’ve heard about you. Aren’t you supposed to be all sweet and fluffy?”

“Depends on who we’re talking to.”

He was expecting me to say that it depends on who he’s talking to, and my answer made his eyebrows lift. “Well, you wanna pass through here, you gotta pay a toll.”

Thorpe spoke up from Ben’s other side. “You’ve already taken all our food and water.”

Kingston smiled at me, not even sparing the big fella a glance. “You’ve got other things we can… use.”

I felt something moving at the small of my back and it took me a moment to realise what it was. Matt was standing beside me; I could feel his fingers curling into the beltloop of my jeans. As if he might be able to hold me back from this. I was stronger knowing that he’d try. I’d do the same for him.

“We’ve paid all the toll we’re going to,” he said.

“Fighting it just makes the price higher, you know.” Kingston crossed his arms smugly and, again, I had to fight the urge to slap him.

I felt Ben’s fingers tighten on my hip as he drew breath to add his own thoughts on the matter, but then I saw the girl who had ridden in on the back of Kingston’s bike. I pushed his arm away as I leaned to get a better look.

All blonde hair and high heels, perfect clothes and lipstick, she was done up as if the bomb had never gone off. With a sigh, she slid off the bike and wandered over to see what all the fuss was about. I froze, staring at her.

“Bree.”

I didn’t realise I’d said her name out loud until I noticed everyone staring at me.

But there she was, right in front of me. She was my best friend once. She was the person I confided in and shared everything with, including and unknowingly my boyfriend. She had taken him away from me, just before the End. Seeing her brought it all back in a rush that wanted to crush my chest. I forgot how to breathe.

The strangest part was that she didn’t look any different to the last time I saw her. She looked like a piece of the time Before that had stepped into After, barely pausing to flick dust off her designer sleeve. Only she could do that; looking perfect was a skill she had cultivated all her life.

I found my tongue again as she put a hand on Kingston’s shoulder, with a traitorous little thought: it was typical that she had latched onto this awful, powerful excuse for a man. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She was staring at me with a puzzled frown that took a few seconds to clear. “Mac? Oh my god, Mac?” She hadn’t recognised me at all; had I changed that much? I wasn’t sure whether or not I should be offended. She had the grace to look stunned, at least.

Seeing her, hearing that name – it all jarred horribly with what I knew the world was now. Things suddenly made less sense. I was aware that people were looking at us curiously, Pride and Seeker alike, but I couldn’t think about them.

“I go by Faith now,” I told her.

“I thought you hated that name.”

“Used to.” I glanced at Kingston, who was taking all of this in with a calculating air. “So. You’ve been all right, then.” I couldn’t help it; I smiled a little bit. Typical Bree, always coming out exactly where she wants to be.

“Oh, yeah. You know how it is.” Her fingers curled around her fella’s shoulder and she smirked. I remembered abruptly why I didn’t like her any more.

“You know what happened to Cody?” Not that I cared. I hadn’t wanted to see either of them again, not even after everything that’s happened.

The name was enough to dent her smile. “No, haven”t heard anything. You?”

“Nothing.”

And there it was, the frost between us. We weren’t friends any more. She had taken all the warmth and good feeling and ploughed it into illicit sex with someone I thought I loved. Strangely enough, the coldness helped. It crystallised the situation and I was brighter, clearer. I straightened my shoulders and felt better than all of this.

“Your boy was just propositioning us,” I told her, as if it was nothing. As if I didn’t mind. “Bit of a turnaround, isn’t it?”

Kingston didn’t like being talked about as if he wasn’t here; his expression gathered threatening clouds. Bree’s face hardened and I could see the veneer of cultivated bitch sliding into place. “The world’s different these days.”

I looked at the Pride leader and felt Matt’s hand tightening on my beltloop in warning. Careful now. I aimed my words at her again in an attempt to not provoke him. In truth, I was furious and frustrated, and nowhere near as calm as I thought I was.

“Don’t worry, Bree. I’m not interested in your leavings. Screwing other people’s men is your speciality.”

Bree bristled and Kingston drew himself up straighter, eyes narrowing. It was the sort of scene that didn’t need subtitles.

“Oh, don’t be offended,” I told him. “You’re already getting the better end of the deal. She’s much better at that than I am. So I hear.” She looked away from me and I was surprised at how satisfying that tiny victory was.

Behind my shoulder, Matt hissed my name, barely loud enough to hear. Had I gone too far? I looked around and was rudely reminded of the guns that surrounded us. We were trying not to get ourselves killed and here I was mouthing off over something that happened a world ago. I took a breath and tried to steady myself. I needed to be smarter than this.

Than I realised that Kingston was smiling at me. “And you don’t want to even the score?” In truth, I was tempted to sleep with Kingston to get back at Bree; it was a small, mean voice in the back of my head. She deserved it.

I smiled back at him with no mirth whatsoever. “I wouldn’t lower myself to her level.” I wasn’t prepared to do something like that. I still needed to be smarter. Watch your tongue, Faith.

“Maybe she should show your boy what he’s missing, then.”

I was speechless for a second; the notion of that happening all over again stopped the air in my chest. Bree glanced at Kingston in surprise, but then the corner of her mouth twitched and I knew she’d do it. Out of spite, out of pride. I could feel Matt’s hand at my back, keeping me close for everyone’s safety, and it felt like it was all that was holding me up. We were outside and there was no air.

“Sure, if she wants to get sick,” Ben said suddenly. I looked at him in surprise and saw the anger in his face. It was well-covered, but I knew that taut line in his jaw and the flat look in his eyes. He was glaring at the pair of them, both healthy and clean and so damn cocky.

“Sick?” Kingston looked more closely at Ben; his skin was pale and bore a sheen of sweat. There was doubt now and a whiff of distaste.

“Yeah. You know, the sickness that causes those… what is it you call ’em?” Ben glanced at me.

“Shamblers,” I said, mentally begging him to stop there. Don’t give them an excuse to put us down like rabid dogs. Luckily, he didn’t seem inclined to push the issue.

It didn’t take long for the Pride to recover their composure and determination. “You still have a toll to pay,” was Kingston’s decision.

There wasn’t going to be any backing down about that. He had decreed it, and even with the complications, had to see it through. It’s all about pride and status. He was looking at me differently – he suspected I was sick too, and I think Bree’s sour expression had something to do with it, too. His gaze moved on to the others in the group, sizing up Matt and Thorpe, and then those gathered behind. He smirked and my stomach lurched.

“You’re got a nice young thing hidden in there.”

I felt my hand curl into a fist at the thought. He wasn’t joking, and neither were the hungry grins around us. My belly briefly considered throwing up, right on his shoes. I drew breath to answer.

“I’ll do it.”

It wasn’t me who said it. I turned to look along with everyone else, and Sally stepped forward. She knows how to hide, that one; I had forgotten she was back there. She drew her tiny self up and the rabbit sought the lion’s eye.

“I’ll pay your toll.”

Everyone was stunned when Sally volunteered to pay the Pride’s ‘toll’.

Then a verbal maelstrom erupted. We were all refusing to let her, half of us talking to Sally and the other half warning Kingston off. I grabbed her arm and when we got too vehement, the Pride reminded us of our predicament with the eloquent, unmistakable cock of a gun. In the corner of my eye, I saw Thorpe gripping a fistful of Masterson’s shirt to hold him back.

Sally looked at me with those dark eyes of hers, the ones that know what’s coming, and she patted my hand. “It’s okay, Faith. I’m not like you.”

I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t have to do this. There was a rock in my throat and I didn’t know how to hold her back when she gently drew her arm free of my grip. It wasn’t okay. It was so very far from okay. She told me kind lies, said it was all right, and then walked away into waiting hands.

I caught the look on Kingston’s face and almost lunged at him. If Matt hadn’t still been holding onto my beltloop, I probably would have. He was enjoying it: our upset; our frustration; our friend giving herself up to the predators to save the rest of us. He probably enjoyed it more than the sex he was going to have. He liked manipulating people, watching them bend and break. He was watching me at that moment to see if I’d cry. I almost satisfied him.

I think Bree was the only reason I didn’t. She was right there, tight-lipped in a way I hadn’t seen her before. She had learned not to argue, even though she didn’t like it when Kingston put a possessive hand on Sally’s shoulder. So, she didn’t like this either. Regardless, I didn’t want to show that kind of weakness in front of her.

The Pride put Sally on the back of a bike and took her away. I don’t know where. The ones on foot scooped up their stolen food and water, and then shoved us into one of the shattered stores. We were to stay put, apparently, until Kingston was done with us. Thorpe was the only reason that Masterson didn’t try anything.

It wasn’t until the door closed on us that I remembered about the baby. Then, I cried.

We stayed in the store all that night. Everyone was unhappy and quiet. Tension ran high as we didn’t dare relax in case the Pride saw weakness; I wiped my tears away quickly before they could latch onto them.

The Pride checked on us periodically, all grins and needling comments, particularly in Masterson’s direction. The doctor sat like a stone, refusing to look at anyone or respond to the taunts. They had read his connection to her but he didn’t let them benefit from it, and the fight seemed to have gone out of him now that Sally was out of sight.

The others had questions, of course – about Bree at first, and then about how we were going to get out of this. I told them about my history with that girl, the words sticking in my throat. I didn’t want to tell them about that shameful, hateful part of my life, even though it was probably obvious from the exchange outside. A part of me had hoped that I wouldn’t have to deal with it after the bomb went off and the rain sought to wipe the world clean. But now here it was, making things better and worse. I don’t know if it saved or doomed us.

Matt and Dillon were attentive, worried about me and my reaction to having Cody dragged up again. Of all people, Matt knows what it means to me, how much Bree and Cody hurt me. Dillon looked like he’d do anything to change the look on my face, even when I told him that I was all right. I hugged him and tried not to think about it all too deeply; there were far more important things going on that I should have been worrying about. But I was grateful too. I felt less alone under their attention.

Ben stuck close to my side too, as if Kingston had reminded him that we were together. When no-one else was near, he told me that he wouldn’t have done it – wouldn’t have gone with Bree – even if the sickness hadn’t put them off. I believe him despite that awful little voice inside, the one that knows I believed Cody too. Ben had said no this time, and I clung to his hand tighter because of it. I had to hold onto what I had.

I tried to talk to Masterson. I shooed the others away and went to sit next to him, and had no idea what to say. We haven’t got along very well, the two of us, and I didn’t know where to start. He still wasn’t looking at anyone, wasn’t taking any notice of us or the Pride when they passed through.

“We’ll get her back,” I told him. I wanted to ask if he knew about the baby, but what if he didn’t? I knew how tight-lipped Sally was and was afraid of making things worse.

He didn’t answer me. He blinked and turned his head away a little more, so I knew he heard me.

“We’re not leaving without her,” was all I could think to promise him. Then I left him alone again.

As the light fell away from outside the window, talk turned towards our predicament. We didn’t think that the Pride would let us go when they were done with Sally; that would be too easy. We would have to make a break for it, but not until they brought her back to us. We wouldn’t leave her here with them.

We heard the Pride moving around in the store where we had left the scooters, and then the scrape of an engine starting. The chances of us getting our transport back were slim and we grimly decided to discount that possibility. On foot it was, then.

We would have to overpower at least two of them; they went everywhere in pairs or quartets. Surprise was our best weapon, and for that to work, we needed to get them to let their guard down. So we tried to appear pathetic and broken while we waited.

After the scene outside, they were cocky and it was easy for us to spend the night looking whipped and beaten. Far too easy. None of us got any sleep except Ben – the sickness was taking a toll on him. It didn’t take any acting on our part to look worn out by the time the sun came up.

They brought Sally back to us in the morning. She was pale and not moving very well, and the Pride members who escorted her made crass comments with sated grins. I tried not to think too deeply about how badly she might be hurt; I was afraid I’d break down again. The guilt that curled around my innards was a cold snake, one that knew it should have been me and was glad it wasn’t.

Before we could do anything, Masterson snapped. He saw their faces, heard one too many taunt about Sally’s performance, and he went for one of them before anyone could hold him back. We should have watched him more closely.

We hadn’t planned to make our break for it just then. There were four of them, four guns, though the weapons were held lazily. We hadn’t had a chance to regroup. But Masterson was flying at them, shouting, and the rest of us had to step in. He would have been shot if left to his own devices.

It was brief and nasty. All I remember is my heart beating out through my ribs, grabbing and wrenching someone’s arm, shouts banging around my head, and a shot or two going off. The sound was enough to give us all pause and there was a terrifying moment when I wondered if I was hit. Time just shortened on us alarmingly – the rest of the Pride would come and so we had to leave, right away.

The Proud four were put down as quickly as we could. We had to pull Masterson off one of them and manhandle him out of the building. There was more blood than I was expecting; I stopped and stared at it. I have no idea if they died. I hope not. Then someone grabbed my arm and shouted at me to run, and I did. I followed the others, diving down alleys and sidestreets, weaving away from that awful scene. Run, just run, bodies pumping as fast and as far as possible.

We kept going until even the strongest of us was stumbling, and the weaker ones were barely dragging one foot after the other. It didn’t help that it had been nearly a full day since any of us had had any food or water. We staggered into the first unlocked door we found. All we wanted was a place to hide, and the house had a basement, so we went down there to collapse.

We were a mess. Most of us were hurt, Ben could hardly breathe. But we were together. We were free. At that moment, panting into the daytime shadows and listening for signs of pursuit, that was all that mattered.

It has been three days since we ran away from the Pride. After that day, we haven’t stopped moving – while it was light and rain-free, we were on the road, moving as fast as we could. Considering our burdens, it wasn’t very fast, and now I think we have to stop entirely.

As we huddled in that basement, waiting for the sounds of the Pride hounding us, we tried to assess the damage. I put cloth on the bleeding wounds where I could, and then went to shake the doctor.

Masterson was a mess. His knuckles were skinned from hitting a guy over and over, and he had a wild look in his eye when I said his name. He didn’t move, though, didn’t respond. He might have leapt on those Proud members in Sally’s defense, but he was ignoring her now that we were free of them. He was useless.

“God dammit, we need you!” Anger spurted and I grabbed his arms to shake him. He glared at me and pulled himself free.

Ben was wheezing awfully, shaking and seeing spots. Dillon had a head wound that had spilt blood all down his face, but it looked worse than it was. Matt had been shot: a bullet had punched through his lower leg, luckily missing the bone. Thorpe had torn something in his wrist. I had mostly scrapes and bruises. Sally lied when I asked her if she was all right. Nugget was the only one without any damage; she had the sense to hide when things went nuts.

The Pride hadn’t thought to ask for our first aid supplies, so I had antiseptic and dressings enough to patch everyone up. Still, Matt and Sally needed a doctor’s attention, and I was scared about how bad Ben was.

We didn’t dare go outside while the Pride might be chasing us, so we stay put and tried to make ourselves comfortable. I sent Dillon and Nugget to keep watch. It kept them out of the way and they’re capable enough.

The sticking point was still Masterson and his self-imposed catatonia. I had no choice but to go and bother him again. He needed to have his hands seen to anyway, so I used that as an excuse to get close to him. He tried to tell me not to bother, but I was far past letting him brush me off – he did as he was told when it was ‘sit down and shut up’.

While I had him there, I tried to talk to him. I told him that I understood how he felt, but he needed to get past it – Sally needed him. She might say that she’s okay, but she’s not. She’s far from okay. She needed a doctor, she needed a friend, and she needed someone to care for her.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at me. I knew he could hear me – the little muscle in his jaw kept jumping. But he didn’t want to come out and play my game.

I got desperate and I did something I shouldn’t. Frustration made me snap at him. “Goddammit, she’s pregnant!”

That got his attention. He looked at me, then grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “You knew this before?”

“I couldn’t stop her!”

He shouted something at me, and next thing I knew I was tumbling across the room and crashing into a chair. Then the boys were all over the place, in between me and Masterson – who was still shouting at me – and helping me up again. I’d hit my head and the room tilted alarmingly; my knees buckled in confusion when I tried to stand. Someone sat me down and told me to keep still. I remember the sound of fist hitting flesh, and then Masterson stopped shouting – from the look of his face afterwards, someone had punched him in the mouth.

By the time I could see straight again, things were quiet again. Masterson was sitting over by Sally, scowling and holding her hand awkwardly. She wasn’t looking at him and shook her head in tiny, sharp movements every now and then. He stopped trying after a few minutes, but he stayed there with her in silence anyway.

I’ve had a headache ever since that day. We’ve been taking turns carrying the weaker members of our group, moving steadily away from the Pride. Now, Ben is too sick to move, especially not on foot. We’re trying to find somewhere comfortable to hole up for a while. For his last days.

Ben is worse today. He’s feverish and murmuring, and it looks like we won’t be going anywhere soon. Thorpe is watching Ben for me, so I’ve got a little time to post now.

The others spent most of the day scouting out for supplies – we were nearly two days without water after the Pride took our supplies, and we wound up eating cat food. It’s not an experience I’m eager to repeat, but surprisingly less unpleasant than I had expected it to be.

We’re settled in an empty house now. We took down some of the Christmas decorations, because it’s all getting a bit weird. Like the world is stuck on the day the bomb went off, growing colder and dimmer every day, dying gradually under us while the clock forgets how to tick.

I’m trying not to think of this house as the place that Ben is going to die.

We’ve seen the Pride only once since we ran away from them. They passed by the basement just before the rain came, on our own scooters. I wasn’t the only one who felt furious at that: it was a reminder of everything they took from us.

No-one did anything, though. We huddled by the high windows and watched, holding our breath as they scanned the area on their way through. They weren’t trying very hard to find us; they probably thought we were hours away by then. None of us sought to disillusion them.

To my surprise, I saw a familiar face travelling with them. Paige, the girl who told us her story just a few days before, was riding with them. The one who stayed with us that night and listened to our tales. She pointed us towards the mall when we asked if she’d seen Alice; now we think she was sending us into her group’s jaws. She wasn’t wearing the Pride’s tag and I’m not the only one feeling betrayed by that. Perhaps she was only doing what she needed to to survive, serving her group, but I can’t quite bring myself to be okay with that.

I still don’t really know how Sally is. I tried to talk to her, but she won’t open up to me – she just keeps saying that she’s fine and I shouldn’t worry. When I asked her about the baby, she paused before she said that she thinks it’s okay; that was the most honesty I got out of her.

She didn’t tell me off for opening my mouth to the doctor and I haven’t apologised for it. If nothing else, it made him go check her out.

Masterson still isn’t talking to her but he is sticking close; I don’t think he’s been more than a few feet away from her since I shouted at him. She doesn’t do much that he isn’t keeping an eye on, even if he is grumpy and growly about it.

I hear Ben calling again. I’m not sure who he’s calling for but Thorpe looks helpless – I’d better go and lend a hand. I wish this headache would go away.

Today was much like yesterday, except that Ben was quieter. He didn’t wake up at all, not even when we tried to give him something to drink.

I sat with him all day, watching him breathe. A couple of the others came over to relieve me, but I didn’t let them. I should be with him now. I think it’s all the time we’ve got left.

Sometime this afternoon, I called Masterson over. There was a rash creeping up Ben’s neck, just like the one we saw on Sax’s arm not long before he died.

I think tonight’s going to be a long night.

Something occurred to me today while I was monitoring the rise and fall of Ben’s chest. I could hear Dillon talking to someone else, asking about Alice and if she was like this. I guess she is, or has been. Poor Alice, losing her family and her face, and now her life.

It reminded me about where the Pride caught us – right outside the mall. They were very focussed on us, but they were scouring all the stores along that street. How long before they broke into the mall? Had any of them seen the Rats locking us out and watching us through the tinted windows?

Had we told Paige about the Rats and the mall? I can’t remember now. I don’t think we did; we asked about Alice, but I can’t remember anyone mentioning where we thought she might have gone.

I can’t bear to think about what will happen if the Pride find the Rats. I know how they looked at Dillon and what Sally did for us. Those kids weren’t bad, not anything like some of the other groups we’ve seen. They just wanted to protect the little they had and survive.

I want to go back and get them. I want to help those kids. I want to save them, but I know I can’t. There’s Ben, and we’re probably already too late, and what could we do anyway? We barely got away in one piece as it was. We can’t fight a gang with guns.

I don’t want this. I can’t think about those kids in the Pride’s hands. I can’t sit here next to Ben. But I have to. There’s no-one else left to take care of this stuff any more.

What else can I do? I wish there was someone here to tell me. I wish there was someone I could save.

I fell asleep a little while before dawn this morning. It can’t have been more than an hour later when I was woken up by Ben’s hand crashing into my side. He was thrashing around and shouting, delirious.

It took four of us to hold him steady so he wouldn’t hurt himself. Masterson shrugged and said that there wasn’t anything he could do; he didn’t have the medicines for this. We just had to hold on until Ben exhausted himself and fell back into a stupor again. He was restless all day, thrashing one moment and then mumbling the next, never quite still. Never resting.

By the time darkness fell, I felt as wrung out and drained as he looked. From somewhere, he found the energy to howl and thump the bedding up, writhing and sounding like someone was gutting him slowly. Whatever the fever was ripping up inside his head, he was fighting it so hard.

It was louder and more violent than anything Sax did. We were all too shocked to know what to do with Ben and Masterson was still useless. Holding him down just made him twist harder, so we let go for fear of hurting him.

I’ve never felt so helpless before. All I could do was watch and wish for it to stop, and then hope that he wouldn’t stop altogether. I want this to be over but I know that that will mean Ben is dead. I don’t want him to be dead. I don’t know how much more of this I can watch.

He’s quieter now; those awful sounds have stopped curdling in his throat, though he’s still mumbling incoherently. He seems to be calming in stages. I don’t want to see the final stage. I can’t.

I want there to be a day when I don’t end up crying.

I can’t believe it. I thought he was gone. I woke up this morning and it was so quiet. The others had gone out foraging, leaving me to sleep because I’d been up all night again.

From Ben’s bed, there were no moans or murmurs, no shouting or shifting in his blankets. He was so still, as if he was made of pale, thin wax. I couldn’t see him breathing; I thought he was gone.

I had to touch him. I had to make sure that it wasn’t a fearful hallucination, or a twisted dream I didn’t know I was in. Somehow, touching makes it real.

He was real. Cold now, the fever’s heat gone from his skin, and the sensation made my heart twist painfully. So cold. It wasn’t fair. It was too soon.

Then he opened his eyes. I felt his chest lift under my hand and he said my name, looking up at me. For the first time in days, he knew it was me there with him. I was crying when I answered him, and he sat up and hugged me.

That’s how the others found us. Ben smiled thinly and said hello while happy chaos burst around him. Even Nugget came up and patted his hand cautiously. We’ve all been more buoyant since then.

I’m trying not to read too much into it. Sax woke up before the end too. Ben’s still not well – he’s cold and clammy, and he has a grey tinge to his skin. He’s awake now and that’s all I know. I want him to stay that way. I never want to see him asleep again, just in case. He can’t slip away while I’m not looking if I keep looking at him. If I keep hold of his hand.

But it feels like a reprieve. If feels like I’m not going to lose him after all. I want to believe in this. I need it to be real.

We were forced to move today. We could have done with another day or two at least; Ben is weak and Matt’s leg is still healing.

We heard them coming around noon: low moans and the denting of a car being clambered over. A quick check out of the windows reported four shamblers stumbling in our direction, swerving with frightening intent towards the house we had settled in. They could have gone around the car, but it was in their way so they went over it like blind dogs.

These days, we’re never anything but seconds away from being packed. Those of us without serious wounds grabbed the packs of those who couldn’t carry their own. The shamblers were slow, as if working out every motion that pushed them forward required an effort of sluggish genius. But even with Ben and Matt supported on helpful shoulders, we couldn’t move very fast; we were barely be able to keep ahead of them.

It never once occurred to us to leave them behind. Masterson looked like he might suggest something like that, but he kept his mouth shut. I think he knows his audience and it was focussed on finding a way to get out of this.

There weren’t enough of us to try fighting them. We all remembered how strong Sax was, and how hard he was to stop. How do you disable something that doesn’t respond to pain and keeps coming even with broken limbs? It was Thorpe who put it succinctly: “We need to know how to kill them.”

There wasn’t any time to experiment. Dillon said they’d found a big car out back when the boys had been scouting for supplies. I asked them to buy me time and went to see if I could get it started. They were barricading up the front door and windows when I ran out the back.

It seemed to take forever to get the vehicle sorted out. It was a big multi-seat thing, sitting hunched on what used to be someone’s lawn as if it had grown lonely over the past few months. I couldn’t push and start it on my own, so I called the others out once it was unlocked and ready. I could hear wood splintering under those familiar, ominous thumps when the ablebodied of the group ran out. I don’t think we’ve got a vehicle going in such a short time before.

The shamblers were climbing into the house when we went back to grab Ben and Matt. I felt like their shredded fingers were reaching for my back as I hurried out of the door again, half-carrying Ben to the vehicle. Once outside, he groaned and tried to curl up on himself, hiding his face as if the orange-tinted sunlight hurt his eyes. I shouted for help, struggling to carry him on my own.

Dirt spat up behind the people-mover when we were all in. For one terrified second, I wondered if it was stuck and we were sardines in a can for the oncoming shamblers. Then the tyres bit in and shoved us forward, bouncing over the rough ground towards the promise of smoother roads. Masterson was behind the wheel – I don’t know how that happened – and seemed hell-bent on gunning the machine right out of that place.

I looked back as we jigged off the dirt and onto concrete; the shamblers had made it out of the back of the house. They were stopping where the car had been, heads lifted as they searched the air for us. They looked aimless, lost. Then they turned as one and stumbled towards another house. I couldn’t help but wonder whose scent they had caught, my stomach turning over on itself; our escape was someone else’s misfortune.

When I turned around, I caught my breath in surprise: there was a shambler right in the middle of the street. The others started screaming, but Masterson leaned harder on the accelerator. He was grinning. The shambler didn’t even look up as we barrelled towards it.

The impact was less impressive than I was expecting: the shambler’s head cracked the windscreen and then it was right there, clinging onto the vehicle’s blunt nose. I heard it moan over the engine’s roar.

We all shouted at Masterson to get it off. He tried wiggling the car from side to side, whipping the shambler’s legs back and forth. I winced when a parked car took one of them off and felt sick right down to my toes. The shambler didn’t seem to notice. Then Masterson slammed on the brakes and catapulted it off the windscreen.

I think if I’d seen it in a movie, I would have laughed. There was nothing funny about it today, just smears of blood on the windscreen and bonnet.

It was starting to get up when we ran over it. I’ve never been near a car accident, never heard the wet crunch of a body being run over by tons of metal and people, of a skull giving way and spilling its softness. I never want to hear that sound again.

Dillon said that it didn’t try to get up again. He was staring out of the back window as we sped away, swerving around stopped vehicles. Once we were out of sight of it, he threw up. I almost joined him.

I was busy trying to make sure that Ben and Matt were okay. Matt had howled when Masterson hit the brakes; his injured leg had hit the seat in front of him. There wasn’t much comfort I could give him. Ben was pale and clammy, but still awake, at least. It was miles before my heart stopped racing, and I watched the scenery out of the windscreen with a horrible fascination, wondering what else it might throw at us.

We passed another clump of shamblers, more distantly this time. We didn’t pause; we kept going until the vehicle started limping badly. Masterson frowned and gunned the engine, pushing the people-mover on despite its protests. He didn’t stop until sparks were spitting up on one side, where he’d run the wheel rim right through the tyre. The poor vehicle was dented, bruised, smeared and snapped underneath in a couple of places. I don’t think it’ll go anywhere again.

We looked for a place to stay for the night and found a little motel nearby. It was creepy and deserted; all it needed was a house on a hill and some plastic shower curtains, and I’d be looking for a crazy-eyed man with a nice smile and a maternal corpse. There was no house, all the showers have doors, and there wasn’t anyone home. We helped ourselves to room keys after breaking into the office and carried the sick and injured inside. There are beds enough for everyone here.

That’s where we are now, huddling in our rooms and listening to the rain eating the world away. At least the roof isn’t leaking.