The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

It’s hard to keep secrets when we all live in each other’s pockets. It’s hard not to look suspect when you can’t explain what you’re up to. Of all the things I had thought about since we decided to do this celebration, a cover story wasn’t one of them.

The hardest part is not being able to talk to Matt. I’m so used to telling him everything that I feel myself stumble when he’s near. He knows that something is going on but he hasn’t asked me about it yet. I don’t know what I’ll say if he does so I’m staying away from him in the meantime. I’ve never been good at lying, especially to him. He always knows; he gets this wounded, disappointed look on his face and stops asking.

Thorpe’s giving me weird looks as well. It’s so hard to read his stoic grumpiness; he could be annoyed with me, he could be upset, or it could be gas. Of course, asking him reveals little to nothing except an extra effort on his part not to give anything away.

Masterson couldn’t care less what we’re up to, though he’s getting snarky over the fact that Sally is spending time with me. He’s like a hangnail, the sort you’re just dying to chew off because it catches on everything but won’t because it’ll make your hand bleed.

Dillon, on the other hand, is so bored that he’s glad of any attention I can give him. I wind up sitting with him most of the time I’m in the warehouse, making him help me sort out the things that we found on the day’s scavenging. He’s still in a lot of pain and welcomes distractions. He even brushed out Nugget’s snarled hair earlier, with such patience and care that I found myself sitting and watching him when I should have been shifting supplies. He reminded me of a younger Matt; they have the same hands.

The Wolverines are as much trouble as they always are, squabbling over the division of supplies. They defend their space and gear with dark enthusiasm and the rest of the Seekers mostly avoid them. It made me sad at first, until I realised that they were stopping the doctor from getting to Dale.

Dale is pale and sickly from his injuries, not the Sickness. He hasn’t left his blankets since we laid them down; I don’t think he’s been awake much either. When I found out that his companions had prevented Masterson from checking on him, I lost it a little bit.

I told the doctor to come with me and marched over to the poor fella. When Jersey tried to get in my way, I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. The lad didn’t have the chance to reply – of all the stupid things, stopping a doctor from getting to his patient it right up there with running around in the rain. We might not have much in the way of medical supplies, but we can still make a difference. What did he think we were going to do – kill his friend? Did he really think we’d do that?

Haven’t we lost enough people already? Haven’t they? It was about time they started doing the best thing for survival and making a few compromises, because the way they were carrying on, they wouldn’t last long. We’re all making choices that we don’t want to so that we make it to tomorrow, and it was about time the Wolverines realised that they’re not exempt from that.

Then I noticed I was ranting. Masterson was watching me with a closed expression – maybe just a little smile – and Jersey’s mouth hung open a little. I caught myself, took a breath, and asked the Wolverine to get out of the way.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” he demanded, but he stepped aside anyway.

“I’m the one willing to shout at you so your friend gets help,” I told him.

“She’s the Seekers’ mouth,” Masterson agreed as he stepped calmly past us to Dale’s side. He might pretend not to care, but he still likes to make a difference.

I went to go with him, but Jersey wasn’t finished with me. “He can, but not you. I don’t want you near him.”

I glared at him, furious, and had to remind myself that Dale was the important thing here. So I left them to it and sent Sally to lend the doctor a hand.

The whole incident made me so tense that my arm aches now. The healing gashes cut deep into the muscle and they don’t like to be so wound up. The pain radiates out from my arm to the rest of my body until I find myself gritting my teeth. Then I look at Dillon and know it’s so much worse for him that I don’t complain.

My cracks are showing. I shouldn’t have gone off like that at Jersey, even if he did deserve it. I feel like the slightest thing will make me snap – the wrong look, the wrong word, a question too far. I don’t know how to uncoil myself. I can feel my dream waiting for me when I fall asleep – the footsteps in my head, the reaching fingertips at my back. It feels like something’s coming, something awful.

If I let it catch me, will it really be as bad as I fear?

Today was the day. Matt’s birthday, our celebration.

It seems silly to spend so much time and effort on something so unimportant. I don’t regret any of it, though; it was worth all the frustration and hours sorting things out in secret. Sometimes we need to do more than live hand-to-mouth. Sometimes we need to do more than the basics to survive. There just has to be more for us in this hard life After.

The first thing we did was make stew. Canned meat and vegetables, powdered gravy, and the biggest pot we could find, balanced precariously over the fire. The smell of it rolled out across the whole warehouse, drawing the others over even before it was ready. The injured were lying close to the fire anyway – we kept them in where it was warm – and those who didn’t follow their noses were fetched.

That included the Wolverines. They weren’t going to come and I considered sending someone else over to get them, but after yesterday I thought it was better if I did it myself. We wanted them to join us, share in the food and what was coming after. Jersey looked at me with distrust, wondering if I had forgotten my rant at him, and Conroy snorted derisively.

Yesterday is yesterday, I told them. What’s done is done, so let’s move on. There’s plenty for everyone and we want them to come sit with us.

They came eventually, when the smell of the stew got too much to resist. Everyone ate hungrily; for a while, the only sound was spoons scraping in bowls. Cans of drink had been circulated. Bowls emptied and bellies filled up, and chatter fluttered around the fire. I had butterflies vying for space in my stomach, because it was almost time. Candles were being passed around and lit, one flame for each hand.

I hate speeches. I’ve never been good at them. Sally had to nudge me before I’d stand up and ask for everyone’s attention.

“Not many of you know this, but today is the 22nd of June. Matt’s birthday.”

I think he looked more surprised than anyone else; he had forgotten, too.

“I don’t know how many birthdays we’ve missed so far this year, and I don’t know how many we’ll have after this one. So I’d like today to be for all of them. All the ones we forgot, the ones we didn’t get to celebrate. All the ones we might not get to, though I hope we’re able to do this again soon.”

I didn’t mention our dead, the birthdays we’ll never get to celebrate, but they were there with us anyway. I think we all felt them.

“Let’s raise a drink together, for another year past, another year older and, hopefully, wiser.”

To my surprise, Sally spoke up to add to the toast: “For making it this far.”

Masterson: “For Matt, for giving us the excuse.”

Thorpe: “For keeping each other safe.”

Dillon: “For being with good friends.”

The words almost stopped entirely as they reached the Wolverines, but Dale was awake and murmured something I barely caught. “For seeing tomorrow.”

Jersey scowled, but added: “For not forgetting the ones who aren’t here.”

Conroy: “For… the power of Greyskull? Okay, I got nothing.” But he did make us laugh and we all needed it.

Matt was the last one left, sitting next to me. His eyes were shining with tears and I didn’t dare look at him directly; my throat was already thick with emotion and meeting his gaze would just set me off. I hadn’t expected the toast to go that way, stuttering around the circle.

He swallowed and lifted his candle rather than his glass. I don’t know if he did it on purpose or not. “For the things that make all the shit worthwhile,” was his quiet contribution.

One by one, the candles lifted, as if we were all part of some great birthday cake, burning our occasion into the air before we brought them down and snuffed them out. The scorch of burnt wick curled around us, comforting in its familiarity, and the toast was completed with the obligatory mouthful of drink.

I had to clear my throat before I could speak again, because it didn’t want to work. “Now, no birthday would be complete without presents. We should have something for everyone, so… bear with us.”

Sally got up to help me hand out the things we’d hidden away until today. I didn’t realise until then that none of us had had Christmas. That’s what all this reminded me of: the celebration we were robbed of when the bomb went off. Something felt right deep in my chest as we gave the bags to their recipients, as if maybe this was a step towards mending what was wrong in the world, even though I knew it couldn’t change the sky, or the rain, or the shamblers threatening our doorstep.

Their reactions made it all worth it. A wealth of razor blades and shaving gel for the boys (they struggled to keep their faces shaved with no water to waste on it, except Dillon, of course). Heavy-duty gloves for Thorpe (he lost his firefighting gloves some time ago). A soccer ball for Dillon (with promises that we’ll kick it around when his leg is better). A shirt with ‘My bark’s worse than my bite’ across the chest for Masterson (he was amused, and I didn’t tell him that Sally helped me pick it out). A knitted sweater with a cat on the front for Nugget (she grinned and went to show Thorpe). A pair of maternity pants for Sally (she looked at the stretchy waist in puzzlement for a minute, then quickly folded them away). A jaunty black-and-white scarf and gloves with each finger a different colour of the rainbow for Matt (he laughed at the gloves, putting them on and wiggling his fingers).

Even the Wolverines were included, though from their expressions they weren’t expecting to be a full part of this. I wasn’t going to skimp, though; it’s not like any of this was costing us money. They got knitted ski hats with a wolf-like logo, from the one supply of winter equipment we found.

There was drinking and talking, and after a while some singing. I still miss Sax’s voice riding under ours, carrying us along in the tunes. I still miss Ben’s hand in mine. Jersey might not have been referring to them when he offered his addition to the toast, but I’m glad he said it. Our friends haven’t been forgotten.

Matt caught up with me when I was fetching more drinks and stole a hug. He had his scarf knotted decoratively on one side despite the chill, like I knew he would.

“You don’t mind that I hijacked your birthday?” I asked.

“Are you kidding?” He grinned like I haven’t seen him do in so long and flipped one end of his scarf extravagantly over his shoulder. “I got presents; I’m happy.” He took my face in his brightly-gloved hands and leaned in to kiss my forehead. For one heart-thumping moment, I thought he was going to kiss me properly, and I was almost disappointed when he didn’t. “Thanks, Faithy.”

He hasn’t called me that in years, not since I asked my friends to call me ‘Mac’. It’s the form of my name that my dad has always used and brought a lump into my throat again. I hugged him tightly with my one good arm until he laughingly groaned in protest, but he stroked my hair while he waited for me to let him go again, as if he knew that my eyes were wet.

When I had control of myself again, I gave him a smile. “Happy birthday.”

Our indulgences came with a price tag attached. There were more than a few sore heads this morning and a lot of cleanup to do. It was worth it in hindsight, once the hangover fog had started to clear from the room.

There was a chunk of supplies to refill. Those of us not too badly affected by the alcohol went out to seek new sources, and we found that the air outside was a sharp slap after the softened edges inside the warehouse. Nothing is more sobering than the bite of winter air at your ears and nose, and the sudden need to watch your footing.

We didn’t find any food or water stores today, but we did stumble across something useful. I was poking through boxes of stationery to see if there was anything in there we might use when Nugget ran in and tugged on my sleeve. She led me outside to the next lot, where Conroy and Thorpe were looking at the wares. An acid-scorched sign declared the place ‘Campervan Extravaganza’.

We’ve come across a few campervans in our travels, but none in a state we would risk on these roads. This place had many to choose from on its yard, though, some of them in good condition. Could I get any of them going? When the boys asked, I shrugged and said I’d try. It was definitely worth a try; a van like one of these would be perfect for transporting our injured friends.

We managed to get a couple of the vehicles working and took them back to the warehouse. I need to go over them and see what work needs doing before we can take them with us.

Everyone seemed lighter by the time we got back. I don’t know if it was yesterday’s celebration or the new vehicles, or just the relief that the end of a hangover brings. Whatever it was, I’m glad of it. We needed a reprieve from the horror of the last few weeks. Even the cat was walking around with more confidence, begging for strokes and scraps of leftover stew with a straight-up tail.

We have a lot of work to do to get ready for the road again, but I’m looking forward to it. Nearly time to get going again. It’ll be good to move forward.

I spent today poking through the guts of the campervans, up to my elbows in grease yet again. I have the feeling that I’ll never have clean hands or nice nails again.

I don’t know why Bree popped into my head when I looked at my hands. Even in this time After, she had perfect nails, painted and chip-free. I could never keep them looking like that for more than an hour even when I didn’t have an engine to investigate. How does she do it?

Some time after midday, I was pulled out of my mechanic duties by shouts from the roof. Conroy was on watch up there, and called down for us to come and have a look. Most of the able-bodied were out looking for supplies; it was only me and Sally left with the two badly-injured boys. I looked at her and she shrugged, so we jogged up the stairs to see what was going on.

I feared that he had seen shamblers heading in our direction, but that wasn’t the case. People were moving our way, but they weren’t shambling along: they were running, as fast as their legs and strength would carry them. In groups and singly, they wove between the buildings, coming out of the west and north to flow right through this area.

It was surreal, standing on a platform suspended between the low, burnt clouds above and the rat-run below. That’s what they reminded me of: rats fleeing. Like a horror movie, we knew that when the rats flooded away from something, a bad thing was about to appear in their wake. It didn’t feel real, as if they were still hours away, but already some of them were abreast of our warehouse and heading past. My heart beat uncomfortably behind my breastbone.

“Where do you think they’re all going?” Conroy asked, staring at the flood of people. Some of them clutched packs, others tried to pull friends along with them. I saw one small child being carried.

“Away from something,” I said. They didn’t know where they were going; as long as it was away from whatever was chasing them, they were satisfied. Or alive, at least. Some were heading eastwards and would run up against the ocean soon. I wondered what they would do then: turn and face what snapped at their heels, or try to keep running?

We couldn’t just watch. If nothing else, Dillon and Dale were alone downstairs and one of the doors was open. We had to move fast, prepare ourselves for whatever it was and, possibly, a sudden influx of strangers.

“Conroy, you’re fastest – run and get the others back here. Sally, you better keep watch. I’ll see about finishing up downstairs, then we should get the gear loaded.”

Neither of them disagreed, so we split up to do that. I didn’t want Sally running around outside with those rats fleeing through this area, so I was grateful that Conroy didn’t argue. It’s weird how willing people can be to follow orders when there’s an emergency at hand. We didn’t even know what the emergency was, but it seemed bad. It felt bad.

I ran back to the campervan I was working on and finished up my checks in a hurry. Everything seemed to be working and all the seals were intact; if we got stuck, it wouldn’t shower us with acid. It would have to do. I hadn’t had the chance to look over the the second campervan so I didn’t trust it, and we were already spreading ourselves thin over five vehicles.

By then, Dillon was asking me what was going on and even Dale was awake and looking worried. I told them the short version and kept working. From the looks on their faces, they were both feeling well enough to wish that they could help but not healed enough to be able to do it. That was encouraging when I really needed something to push me onwards; I worked hard in their places.

I remembered the bridge, when we lost a car to the river along with all of the packs inside. We were lucky not to lose any lives to the disturbing water, but the loss of supplies hurt us for a while. So I was determined not to put all our eggs in one basket and started to split up the gear – tools, food, water, medical supplies, other assorted equipment. A little of everything for each vehicle.

I was only halfway done by the time the others arrived. It was a relief to have hands helping me, and I was able to stand back and direct for a while, catching my breath. I thought about getting Dillon and Dale into the campervan, ready in case we needed to take off, but I didn’t want to move them unless we had to.

We were just finishing up with the loading when Jersey came running down the stairs. I hadn’t even seen him go up to check on Sally. He came back looking puzzled.

“Still more people coming,” he reported. “Traffic’s getting lighter, though. Looks like they’re starting to seek shelter – the clouds are gathering.” That meant that it would rain soon, which would drive everything indoors. That was both good and bad for us.

“Aren’t we going to lock the doors?” Conroy asked, looking towards the still-open panel they had returned through.

I paused and looked around. There were a lot of us now – ten, counting the injured. But was that enough to battle desperate people?

“Not unless there are shamblers in the area,” I said. Expressions darkened immediately in response.

“Should we go out and invite them in? Offer them something to eat and drink too?” Jersey demanded.

“That’s not what I said.” He knew how to get under my skin and seeing Masterson rolling his eyes only irritated me further.

“You’d seriously lock someone out in the rain?” Matt asked.

Luckily, that was enough to give them pause. It was a bad time for an argument.

“Go stand guard if you want,” I told the boys. “But if people need shelter, we shouldn’t keep them out.”

So that’s what we did. The rain came quickly, as if that was what had chased those people in our direction. Sally said that she barely got inside in time. A few stragglers strayed in our direction but they didn’t even make it as far as the yard; they dove into the next building to avoid the downpour.

I can’t help being aware that there are strangers all over this area now. I don’t know what they’re capable of. I don’t know what they were running from. As the rain pounds on the roof and fills up the gutters, we all know that there’s something else out there, something that might be worse.

I don’t know if we’re in the sinking ship, or if we’re on the safe ground that those aboard have swum to.

There was movement outside a little after dawn. I woke early – Matt had shifted and pulled the blankets off my feet, and my toes were cold. I let him sleep and got up, wrapping myself in layers of clothing and stamping on my boots. That’s when I heard them, footsteps pattering across the concrete outside.

I went to one of the dusty windows to look out and saw a few of yesterday’s runners creeping out of the next building. The stained sunlight peeked through the constant cloud cover enough to give them blurry-edged shadows. They stumbled wearily but with the determination of people who know that they can’t afford to rest. I’ve felt like that recently, and often since the bomb went off. We push on to survive.

I heard my name from behind me and turned to see Dillon awake and watching. I went over to sit down next to him, warming my hands and feet at the fire’s edge.

“What’s going on out there?” he asked me. He looked worried, poor kid.

“The runners are heading out now that it’s light.”

“Shouldn’t we head out soon too?”

“Maybe.” It’s true that all the movement outside was making me itchy to get on the road. Staying still just doesn’t seem safe but neither is travelling; they each have their dangers. There’s a part of me that naturally wants to hide, but that’s the worst thing we can do; if the shamblers don’t sniff us out, the rain will work its way in or we’ll run out of food and starve to death. Pushing on is our only option for survival.

Dillon looked at me and I reached over to squeeze his hand. He feels even more helpless than most of us, unable to even get up thanks to his broken leg. He seemed to be struggling to say something, so I waited for him.

“Are we going to help any of them?” he asked finally.

It wasn’t the question that I was expecting. “I don’t know. If they need it and they’ll take it, sure.” I shrugged, knowing that it wasn’t that simple. We teamed up with the Wolverines hoping that it would be simple and now Dillon has a broken leg, Dale is badly injured and they lost three of their own. “We might not be able to.”

“You don’t think it would be better if we just looked after ourselves?” He was watching me closely, weighing my reactions, and that made me careful with how I answered. I didn’t want to lie to him; he deserved better than that.

“Better for us? Yeah, it probably would. But everyone’s in the same boat here. We all just want to survive. I don’t think we should lock anyone out in the rain, but we should protect ourselves, too.” I sighed; I was convincing myself of something I didn’t want to. “We shouldn’t hurt anyone else unless they force us to. Y’know?” I didn’t want to become one of those groups, cruel because we could be, or determined to beat down the other guy before he had the chance to do it to us. I can’t look at every stranger and think about putting my bat to his head.

“Masterson says you’re an idealist.” Dillon said it like he wasn’t sure what the word meant.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” I looked sideways at the kid. “He probably said a lot of other stuff too, huh.”

That made him smile. “Yeah. I don’t listen to most of it, though.”

“Probably a good choice.” Masterson doesn’t tend to lie, but he does put his own spin on the truth. “You want some breakfast, hopalong?”

Those on watch today reported that the runners kept moving. New ones came into sight, moving slower than the rest. One pair almost stumbled right into the warehouse, but they saw us and fled around the side. We tried to talk to them, but they weren’t interested.

We talked about moving on, but Masterson said that we shouldn’t move the injured unless we absolutely have to. Dale, in particular, needs a chance to heal before we jiggle him around.

That’s only one reason to linger, though. I think we all want to see what it is that’s chasing people through here; we want to put a face to their horror because it’s less terrifying than the unknown. No-one’s quite willing to go out and ask someone, not yet. Not when we don’t know how desperate and armed they might be.

Perhaps tomorrow, when the backrunners reach us. The ones that are moving too slowly to evade us easily.

There’s still no sign of whatever is sending people in this direction. They keep coming, moving through the area, passing down lanes and alleys and hurrying across roads. There aren’t many of them now – they come in well-spaced-out clumps. The only reason we keep track of them at all is because the roof of this warehouse is higher than most around here.

Just before the rain started today, a small group stumbled into the yard out front of our warehouse. Some of the boys had slipped out to look for supplies – we’re starting to run low on some things – and the group arrived just as they returned. The clouds were gathering and they saw an open door; what happened next was inevitable.

The sickly green veil of the rain was approaching and they ran for it, water chasing at their heels. They skittered and didn’t slow down as they neared the door, despite the shouts within for them to stop. They ploughed inside, tumbling to the concrete floor in a messy heap. The rain was right behind them – we had to scrabble to get the door closed and stop the damn stuff from being blown inside and onto any of us.

There were huffy words as the strangers peeled themselves out of the mess on the floor and stood up again, dusting themselves down. No-one was hurt, luckily.

The last thing I expected was to recognise one of them. I heard the fuss and went to help, and found myself staring at a familiar face. I stopped and took in the sight before me, unable to find any words. It felt like someone had hit me in the solar plexus, stealing my breath.

Bree. Finally looking like she had realised the world had ended, she had drooping hair and torn tights. She noticed me with dismay and tried to straighten her jacket. She seemed thinner than I remembered from those few weeks ago. She was still wearing heels, but she seemed smaller somehow.

“They’re from the Pride,” I managed to say, and that changed the tone of matters.

The boys drew themselves up and formed a wall around the interlopers. There was only four of them but that name held a lot of threat.

“Toss the fuckers out,” Masterson said without hesitation.

“There is no Pride any more,” the other girl said. She was dressed like Bree and couldn’t have been older than seventeen.

“What are you talking about?” Jersey demanded of them.

“They’re gone, they’re all gone.” The girl was on the verge of tears, barely able to control the trembling of her lip.

“You’re right here,” I pointed out.

“This is all that’s left,” Bree said, looking directly at me. “They rest are dead. Faith, it’s just us. Please.”

Of all the times I dreamed about her apologising to me, begging me for something, it wasn’t like this. It tasted a little too much like blood for my liking. Conroy pulled me out of my thoughts by giving me a surprised look and asking, “You know her?”

For once, I was determined not to make the decision for the group. We told the Pride remnants to hand over their weapons, all of them. They were reluctant but they did as they were told. Between Thorpe’s looming and Masterson’s wild looks, they didn’t dare not to.

After firm instructions to stay exactly where they were, we drew back to consider the matter. Masterson was ready to beat them all to death himself; there was more venom in him than I’ve ever seen before. Sally was silent and wouldn’t meet my eye. I can’t imagine what it was like for her, after what she did with them. What she did for us.

Matt was the one who voiced the question that has always driven these choices: do we want to become killers, or do we take a chance on these people? Our options were limited because the rain was pounding on the roof; throwing them out meant killing them. We could let them stay, in various stages of freedom, but between the hate and the danger, no-one was eager to do it.

That step was still a big one to take, though. I don’t think anyone here has ever intentionally killed another person, not even the Wolverines. We all had that same look, the one that was afraid to know what murder felt like.

Imprisonment was the best choice. Strip them of their gear, lock them up in the warehouse’s office, and the watches can keep an eye on them through the night. We talked it around for a while, but we kept coming back to the same thing, so that’s what we did. I had to send Sally away to check on Dillon and Dale, and then Masterson to make sure she was all right, but we managed to get the intruders cowed and into the office without any problems.

They’ll be cold tonight, but that’s tough. All things considered, they’re lucky. From their faces, I think they know it. I wish that was a comfort.

Today, there were questions that needed answers. Our guests were quiet all night, and they looked frozen when we let them out this morning. Some of the boys had been through their gear and left it in a heap, having removed any potential weapons. It’s possible they took some other stuff too, but no-one’s willing to say.

We let them warm up near the fire, keeping them well distant from Dillon and Dale. I wasn’t the only one fingering the reassuring weight of a weapon and watching them, though I can’t see Bree as that kind of threat.

I don’t know if her friends were Pride too. The young girl, maybe; she speaks like she knew them. The other two are young men, scrawny and barely able to scuff their chins with hair yet. One of them keeps scratching at a dressing on his arm and coughing, and I think the gold smear on the back of his jacket might have been a Pride tag once. They all look strung out in that hungry, desperate way that means they could beg or bite at any moment. Bree’s the only one I know would never bite; she’s spent her life letting others do the heavy lifting for her.

Even dirtied and torn, she still looks gorgeous. When we were friends, I felt big, clumsy, and unpretty next to her, and now is no different. Damn her, anyway.

Things went quiet as the two groups looked at each other, basked on one side by the fire’s glow. Just two groups right now, us and the intruders; there’s no division between Seekers and Wolverines. I think that’s the only encouraging thing that’s come out of all of this.

I tried to keep track of where everyone was. Thorpe was standing between the injured and Bree’s group, firmly planted at Dale’s feet. Masterson was in front of Sally, looking like murder, but towards the back of our group. The rest of us were ranged in between.

I don’t remember who asked, but the first question that came up was about the Pride. We all want to know what happened to them, if what Bree said yesterday was true. And if it is, we want to know what could possibly have destroyed such a big, powerful group. It concerned all of us; I don’t think the Wolverines ever met them directly, but they had heard the rumours.

She cleared her throat and looked up at us. She was trying not to shiver as the fire warmed her and I tried not to feel sorry for her. Both of us failed.

“It’s hard to know where to start. Everything was fine until people started getting sick.”

There was a grumble from the back of the group – I suspect Masterson was behind it – in response to the notion that ‘everything was fine’. We all knew that when things were fine for the Pride, they were awful for anyone else.

No-one actually spoke, so she continued, “It took us one by one. It didn’t matter what we did, people just kept getting ill. They even–” She hesitated and looked sideways at the girl. The teen was hugging her legs to her chest and buried her face against her knees. No-one had to translate the expression of bad memories. Bree’s voice took on a note I’d never heard from her before: bleakness. “They started killing the sick ones. Leaving them behind, so the rest of us wouldn’t get it.”

She looked up and met my eyes. “It didn’t work. None of it worked.” Those words felt like a stab in the gut. Sax, the Wolverine boys, Alice, the Rats. All those we knew that we had hoped would get better and didn’t. I swallowed.

“Eventually there were only two of us left who hadn’t got it.” She nodded to her little friend. “Steve hadn’t been initiated, he wasn’t even one of them.” That was the boy who keeps scratching at his arm. “And we didn’t meet Phil until after.” The fourth member of their uncomfortable band looked like he would rather not be here at all.

There was a brief silence that no-one wanted to fill. Conroy broke first. “They all died?”

Bree nodded and Masterson spoke up, loud enough to hear this time. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bunch of people.” I wish I could disagree with him.

Bree’s expression faltered and I wondered just how attached to Kingston she had been. Sex is never just sex. I’d have been screaming and shouting by then if it was me, if it was– I don’t want to think about that.

“So what are you doing here?” That was Thorpe.

“The- the dead people, the ones who got sick. They got up and started attacking us. They, they’re….” She stumbled for the first time, honestly at a loss to know how to explain them.

“Zombies,” Conroy supplied.

“We call them ‘shamblers’,” I said. I still prefer that name; it seems less horror-movie and more like something that could feasibly exist.

“There were so many of them. They kept after us, kept killing people. So we’ve been running.” Bree shrugged.

“What about all your weapons and vehicles? What happened to all of that?” Masterson was verbally sticking the knife in, but there was something else there too. As if he was afraid that this was all a ruse and the fully-equipped Pride was about to descend on us at any moment.

I looked at Bree and couldn’t quite believe it. She’s not that good of a liar. Is she? How long was she screwing my boyfriend behind my back before I found out?

Bree looked at Masterson and then at the woman standing behind him. She recognised Sally and dropped her gaze. “There wasn’t anyone left who knew how to start the cars and bikes. And we used up all the ammo trying to fight them off. There’s nothing left.” She shrugged.

I want to believe her, I really do. I just don’t know if I dare. It’s so hard to trust my judgement around her any more.

“What about the rest of the people running through here?” Matt asked. “Where did they all come from?”

“They were everywhere.” Bree was relieved to move onto a different topic. “There’s so many of the… ‘shamblers’, if that’s what you want to call them. I don’t know how it started – suddenly there were people running away from them. It’s been like that for days.”

“Where were you headed?” I put in.

Bree looked at her companions, who were all equally blank. “We were following everyone else. There didn’t seem like an alternative.”

My stomach went cold at that news. They’re all following the group in front, blindly running in a chain that might lead nowhere? I can’t think of anything worse. I feel like there’s a cliff waiting at the end of the road and all of those terrified people are piling off it, unable to see it in time to stop. I want to go and warn them, but I’m not sure that stopping is better than falling at this point.

The rumble of thunder put an end to the argument about what to do with these ex-Pride members. Another storm is descending on us, forcing us to stay where we are for now. On the plus side, it means that the shamblers chasing these people are just as stuck.

The Pride has fallen on us and none of us want them here. There are so many dangers whirling around us, acid and bile in the air. Something’s going to bite soon.

Yesterday’s storm lasted most of the day and into the night. The weight of water pounding on the roof found a weakness in the structure, working its way inside to dribble onto the floor. We’ve tried to make a channel for it, but it’s hard to find materials to make walls out of that it won’t just eat through. The floor is concrete, so there’s not much chance of being able to dig a channel for it.

The storm washed more than acid rain in our direction. We were all sitting around the fire when it finally stopped, listening to the drip-drip-drip of it hitting the floor where we had corralled it with some rubber sheeting. Bree’s little group was sitting in the offices – they had lit a small fire in a metal bin for warmth and were keeping to themselves. That was the safest thing they could do.

We talked quietly to stop ourselves from obsessively checking on whether the water had escaped and was running towards us yet. The soccer ball rolled between Dillon and Nugget, and we huddled in clumps of blankets. I was leaning against Matt, as usual, when Conroy jumped to his feet.

“The door’s open! Who left the door open?”

We all looked over and discovered that he was right – there was a door-shaped patch of deep black in the wall, showing us the thick night outside. Conroy hovered like he wanted to go and close it, but didn’t dare in case it was one of those things you should never do in a horror movie.

We all saw the shadow next to the door move; I imagine that Conroy was glad he didn’t go over there. The shape shifted and stepped forward until the firelight fell on it. My chest tightened abruptly and I couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. I felt Matt’s arms tighten around me but it was Dillon who identified our visitor.

“Ben?”

I didn’t think I’d see him again. I clung to his promise, but I was losing sight of his face in my mind. The shadows of everything that could have happened to him were rising up to obscure my hope that he would make it through. It felt futile to believe he was able to survive everything that was happening. And yet here he was.

I struggled to get up, stumbling and nearly falling twice as I untangled myself from the blankets. I wasn’t the only one clambering to my feet, but I was in the most hurry to get over there and hug the stuffing out of him. It wasn’t until I heard him grunt and felt his hand on the small of my back that I believed he was really here. Of course, the wash of emotion that came with the realisation that he was alive and all right made me want to cry. I fought it off as I let him go, giving the others space to welcome him back.

He looked exactly the same as he did when he left. I couldn’t look away from him as he was ushered to the fireside to warm up. Everyone was full of questions: where has he been, what happened, how did he find us again. Somehow in all of that, he caught hold of my hand and kept me next to him. I was doing a good impression of a stunned fish and stayed quiet, content to watch as he tried to field the queries coming his way.

He went back to look for his brother-in-law, he said. He searched for a while, but he couldn’t find any clues about where Hugh might have gone. Finally, he gave up and turned to come after us; he knew which direction we were supposed to be heading in, so he made a guess about where we’d be by now. Then the shamblers got so numerous that they were driving everyone out of their hiding places, pushing them to run in a wave that swept up others as it passed, and he was forced to follow them. He saw our light in the warehouse and came to see if he could take shelter for the night, and here we were.

It seems far too lucky that two familiar faces have found us, but I can’t bring myself to question it. Ben’s back and that’s all that matters.

I felt bad, abandoning Matt so I could spend time with Ben, but Matt doesn’t seem to mind. He came and gave me my blankets, and tried on a smile. The Wolverines look somewhat puzzled by all of this, but I think one of the others filled them in because they haven’t asked me about it. I would hardly know where to start, anyway.

I hardly slept last night, though nothing other than chatting happened. We spent most of today talking with Ben and settling him back into the group. He didn’t have many stories to tell; I don’t think things were easy for him out there on his own. “It was tough,” is all he will say about most things. He says he’s glad to be back, though.

He’s just as chilly as he was when he left – even close to the fire, he never seems to warm up properly. He says that he’s fine, though, and otherwise he seems okay. He’s not injured, at least.

It’s hard for me to know what to think right now. I feel knocked out of my usual orbit. I think there’s a part of me that’s scared to feel this excited and pleased, and it’s holding me down. Sometimes, I think that’s all that’s holding me down.

Tomorrow, we’re going to pack up and get out of here. No more delays. I’m looking forward to it.

Getting a group this size moving is like herding cats. Today, our cat was missing but everyone else sought to make up for it. The gear was still stowed in the vehicles from the day we first saw the flood of rat-people enter the area, but there was still so much more to do before we could actually leave.

On top of everything else, it was so cold this morning that we spoke through the apparition of our own breath, our words suspended on the air before us. We all moved quickly in an effort to get warm; there was much stamping and drubbing of hands over arms and thighs in between moving stuff around.

We were about to shift the injured when Bree’s group emerged from the office. They weren’t oblivious to what was going on – not that we were trying to be subtle about it. Even so, we weren’t expecting the question that came to us.

“We’d like to come with you.” It wasn’t Bree who spoke – it was the boy she had picked up between the Pride and here. The one member of the group unconnected to the bane of the western suburbs. The one we’d be most likely to listen to.

I could feel the group shifting around us. Masterson’s expression darkened immediately and several group members tensed. Ben looked displeased, bearing a dark look I haven’t seen on him before.

No-one had the chance to speak before a call came down from on high – Matt was on watch and wanted to show us something. About half of us peeled away from the matter at hand and jogged up the stairs to the roof access to see what was going on. The others stayed behind to keep an eye on things.

Matt didn’t need to point out what he called us up there for. They were like the scum on the tide, riding in sluggishly. They stuttered between the buildings – individual shamblers might slip and fall down, but the mass as a whole continued to press forwards. The inching death that had driven so many people into flight was finally arriving. They were rising towards us, as inexorable as the sand in an hourglass.

It changed things. We left Nugget up on watch with instructions to come down if they got to our block before we were ready. The rest of the packing-up was done in a hurry and the ex-Pride’s request was almost forgotten. Almost, but not quite.

Bree had kept out of the request because she knew she had a spoiled reputation here. But they knew what we had seen – we were talking about it as we came back downstairs – and she was desperate.

“Faith. We need your help. Please.”

Again, her begging didn’t please me the way I had once hoped it would. I looked at her and thought she seemed earnest. I just wasn’t sure that that was enough. Ben came to a stop near my shoulder and turned his attention onto her. I saw her shiver.

“We’re starving and we can’t run from them any more. Please. There must be something you can do. They’ll kill us.” She looked from one of us to the other and back again, then to Matt as he joined us, and Thorpe. I think the only reason she wasn’t crying is that she knew it wouldn’t help her case.

I told her we’d talk about it. After she went away, the others asked me if I was crazy. After everything she’d done to us, everything she’d let happen. Everything she’d done to me. They were right – I didn’t want Bree or her friends with us. We couldn’t trust them and I didn’t want the reminder of all the awful things she’s done to my life. I didn’t want Sally to have to look at her, or for Masterson to finally snap and strangle her.

“We’re not killers,” I told them. It seems like an important thing to hold onto. “We’re not the Pride.”

“So you want to take them in?” Masterson had joined us and decided to weigh in, derisive as ever.

I sighed and rubbed my head. Of course I didn’t want to take them in. We didn’t have time to debate this, though; the shamblers were approaching steadily across the ice-slicked roadways.

Sally, so far silent on the whole issue of Bree and her friends, finally spoke up. “What about the other van?”

I had forgotten about the second campervan. We had managed to get it running long enough to get it to the warehouse, but I haven’t had the chance to work on it since then. I don’t know how long it will run or how well it’ll resist the rain. I mentioned all of this to my group, and then to Bree’s group, and said they were welcome to take it if they wanted to take that chance. But we wouldn’t stop if they broke down, and they didn’t have to follow us. I didn’t say it, but I think it was clear that most of us didn’t want them to follow us at all.

I showed them how to get it started – it felt weird, having Bree watch me for instructions. Always, she’s been in the lead before; I don’t think she’s had to do as she’s told in her life. Maybe the Pride taught her that. I don’t like the notion that they broke her.

If they hadn’t turned up, we might have had a similar talk with the Wolverines. With the Pride looming around us, we’ve closed ranks and there hasn’t been any more talk of Wolverines against Seekers. I don’t know how long this will last, but hopefully it’ll be enough to get past the current conditions forcing us onto the road.

The shamblers were moving slow enough that we were ready to go before the wave had reached our block of warehouses. The wounded were loaded into the Seeker campervan and made as comfortable as possible on the beds in the back. That process wasn’t easy for any of us, not for those of us forced to watch or those carrying the injured, and certainly not for Dillon and Dale themselves.

Thorpe had to pick Nugget up, put her into the campervan and lock her inside. She kept calling out the cat’s name, but no-one has seen Jones since last night before we all went to sleep, not even those on watch. We tried to tell her that he’d catch up with us; he always did. She bowed her head miserably and refused to look at anyone when she finally gave up the struggle.

It was a relief to get out onto the road. We put the warehouse in our rearview mirrors and powered south, pushing on until the first spots of rain dotted the windscreen. We had run out of buildings big enough to house us, vehicles and all, so we wound up in a covered car park. That’s where we are now, scrounging enough debris and garbage to make a fire, and hoping that the roof holds the acid off us for the night. Bree and her friends are near us, but they’re keeping to themselves.

The air tastes clearer out here. That might just be me, though.

Last night was strange. I hadn’t realised how quickly I had become used to the walls hemming us in, even in the sprawl of the warehouse.

I feel exposed out here. I feel like something is going to rush in with the wind and steal something important from me. I keep catching myself checking where everyone is, counting heads and identifying outlines against the thickening darkness. My fingers twitch as I try to keep track of everything, as if they can tally it all, or perhaps try to hold on.

My shoulderblades creep and I can feel the tension knotting up my neck muscles. I don’t like it out here. The wind breathes and the rain searches for us, for a way in to get to us.

We built a little fire and tried to protect its sides from the wind that knifed across the car park. The chilled air just swept the warmth away to the low sky, far from where it might reach us. Its light stuttered and tried to give me a headache.

Conroy mentioned something from old western movies, about how pioneers would draw the wagons in a circle at night to protect themselves from the elements (and attackers, he added). We should try that, he said. It was a good idea, but by then we had used all the fuel we had managed to gather for the fire – with the wind whipping it up, it burned through our offerings too fast for us to be able to keep feeding it.

The vehicles retained at least some of the heat they had managed to build up during the drive, so we retreated inside them. A few of the others piled into the campervan to visit the injured, and I popped in to see how they were. The two boys seemed uncomfortable after the journey, but not in pain or trouble, and Masterson seems to think they’re doing okay. Even Dale, who is pulling out of trouble now.

Nugget still isn’t looking at anyone, firmly buried in her sulk. There still hasn’t been any sign of Jones, and this morning she wanted to wait for him, even asked to go back and look for him. Thorpe looked unhappy as he strong-armed her into the campervan again and swung into the driver’s seat. Maybe I should give him a break from looking after the kid and the injured tomorrow.

We pushed on today as soon as we freed the vehicles from the encroaching ice. Turns out that our credit cards are still useful for something after all: they make good ice-scrapers. The activity got us warm, but all of us had frozen hands by the time we were done.

We caught up with the back-runners of the human tide at about midday. They look exhausted and scattered before us like driven sheep. One older fella fell down and I watched his friend help him up as we drove past. They look faded, as if each steaming breath was taking something vital from them.

I wanted to stop. We have room. They’re slowing down – I can see it – and the shamblers don’t tire so easily. We could take more of them with us. We could help them.

I took my foot off the accelerator and Ben looked at me sharply. The people outside started towards us.

“We can’t take them all, Faith. Which ones are you going to turn away?” Ben asked me. I’m not used to that short tone on his tongue; it made my eyes sting. Or perhaps it was because I couldn’t argue with him. “They’ll tear us to pieces. Keep moving; you have to.”

I did as I was told. I pressed my foot down and we pulled away, and the other vehicles didn’t hesitate to follow me.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he said. I have no idea if I agree with him or not.

I couldn’t speak; I just kept driving until it was raining and then searched for a place to stop for the night.

Tonight, the vehicles are arranged in a circle. Conroy was right – it does help to keep the elements away. Our fire survived a bit longer this time, but I still miss the walls. I want to shut the world out, just for a little while.

Tonight, I’m not sure what – or who – the circle is supposed to keep out.