The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

Our convoy is making slow progress. We have to keep on the move constantly during the light hours, stopping only for comfort breaks.

Ben was right: the human tide will tear us to pieces if they can get their hands on us. We go slowly enough that we’re not going to hit anything, but too quick for anyone to be able to keep hold of the vehicles. They try – they leap onto the bonnets and cling to lines lashing gear to the roofs, feet scrabbling at the running boards. Sometimes, they manage to cling on for a block or two. We’re keeping a close eye on the damage they’re doing but we don’t dare fix it out on the road.

They’ve started to turn on each other, too. I’ve seen the stronger ones taking things from the younger and weaker along the roadside. Food and water, probably; we didn’t stop to check. I can’t begin to imagine how many are falling by the wayside.

Each time we pass by a group that I know we could help, my stomach empties a notch. It doesn’t matter how much I eat – I can’t get rid of that hollow feeling. I caught myself snacking on food we have to ration carefully and stopped guiltily. Ben doesn’t seem to have noticed but I have.

It’s wrong, what we’re doing. Each of our vehicles has room for at least three more people. We’re riding in warmth and comfort, easily putting distance between us and the threat gobbling up the city, and all around us people are falling.

I snapped finally. I couldn’t do it any more.

There were two of them, maybe nineteen years old. The boy was trying to carry the girl and failing; her head lolled and her feet dragged on the tarmac. The shamblers weren’t anywhere near, but he kept looking over his shoulder anyway. Something much closer was chasing them.

It was when the girl lifted a hand to try to push the boy away that I decided to stop. Leave me, save yourself, she was saying with that motion. But he was ignoring her, dragging her onwards.

I slammed the brakes on. Ben asked me what the hell I was doing and I ignored him, rolling down the window instead. I could feel the heat escaping from the car but I didn’t care. The lad shied back and stared at us.

“Get in,” I told them, twisting to unlock the back door.

They didn’t believe us at first and stood there gaping. I saw Masterson leaning his head out of the offroader behind mine, looking predictably pissed off.

“You asking for directions?” he shouted at me. I ignored him too.

“We can’t stay stopped,” I said to the lad. “Now or never.”

He chose now. He struggled to manage the door and the girl, and Ben turned around in his seat to help pull her into the back. He didn’t look happy about it but he did it anyway. I was grateful for that much.

In the rearview mirror, I saw a couple of striding stragglers homing in on the rear vehicle – I think Bree’s group was back there, trailing along in our wake. I hurried the boys up and gunned the engine, pulling away as soon as the door closed.

“Who are you people?” the lad asked. He was pale and shivering against the back seat. The girl’s eyes were closed and he held onto her hand.

“We’re the Seekers,” I said.

“Are you Faith?”

“She’s insane, is what she is,” Ben muttered.

The pair in the back warmed slowly in the heated air, and the lad told me a piece of their story. Their names are Terry and Tia – siblings that have managed to stick together all this time. A group of older men had taken their water a couple of days ago, and they had run out of food a day or two before that. He was afraid of what might happen to his sister if anyone caught up to them again – and himself, though he didn’t admit that – and so they kept moving. To the end of their strength and then some.

I asked Ben to give them some of our water and let them rest while we drove on. He had a silent, disapproving expression firmly set in place, so the offroader was quiet until we had to look for a place to stop for the night. That was harder than we thought – too many places were full of runners desperately seeking shelter before the rain came.

We finally managed to find an underground garage without any other inhabitants, except for some rats who were heard but not seen. We made our circle and I wasn’t the only one glad to have walls around us again. The car might have become claustrophobic, but I still preferred something to wrap between us and the broken world.

The others made tentative greetings to the pair, and Masterson grumbled but checked the girl out when I asked. We’re not sure what to do with them, but they’re with us for the night at least.

Tomorrow, I guess we’ll make that up as we go too.

Ben and I had a blow-up today. The only saving grace about it was that we did it in private, not in front of the whole group.

There was a discussion about stopping to search for supplies over breakfast, involving everyone; we’re getting short on food and water, particularly. We’ve put a couple of days between us and the shamblers, so it should be safe to pause here, even if the car park is starting to creep me out. I can’t tell what time of day it is, and the rain runs down the entry ramp towards gutters that are sounding dangerously full. There are sounds in the dark corners that I have wish to investigate.

The question of the two newcomers came up as we talked. How we can’t afford to be picking up strays and how it’s dangerous to stop to do it. We can’t just leave all these people to die out here. The siblings haven’t been any trouble. They’re too weak to be a danger to us, but not to be a burden. We shouldn’t feed them. Our injured are a burden too – should we stop feeding them? Where do we draw the line?

The group split predictably. Matt, Sally, and Dillon (who had hobbled out of the campervan to join us) backed me up. Masterson, Jersey, and Thorpe disapproved with varying levels of voracity. Nugget, Conroy, Dale, and Ben all stayed silent but watched us to see what we would say. Bree’s little bunch and the siblings stayed well out of range, sensing that their presence wouldn’t help matters, especially not for themselves.

It was difficult to argue with them and not just because they’re friends. The problem is that they’re not wrong; we just disagree on what’s an acceptable risk and effort, and the level of compromise we’re willing to make. We didn’t come to any kind of agreement; we barely agreed to disagree before we all moved off. The whole episode left a nasty taste in my mouth.

A group of the boys went out to search for supplies and I turned my attention to the vehicles in the dim lighting. Some need minor repairs after all the grabbing-on that’s happened lately. Desperate people will ruin what they’re trying to get their hands on, if they can. That’s when Ben came to check on me. I thought he’d gone with the others, but there he was, standing at my elbow and making me jump. I nearly hit him with a spanner.

He asked if I needed a hand. It was a simple offer, but I was still stinging from the argument. I snapped at him about needing his help earlier; I didn’t realise until that moment just how much his lack of support had affected me. It’s not that I think it would have helped me ‘win’ the argument; seeing him standing on the sidelines, watching me fight my corner and not stepping in, hurt more than I’d realised. I had always been able to rely on his support before, he had always been rght there with me, but since he recovered from the Sickness, that has changed.

It changed him. Maybe it was the helplessness, maybe it was facing death and the prospect of becoming a mindless expression of hunger. Maybe it was because he had to fight to survive and now thinks that everyone should. Maybe something hurt him that I don’t know about.

“The problem with you, Faith, is that you think everything should happen your way.”

Those words still ring in my ears. I stared at him and it took a stunned moment for me to loosen my tongue enough to respond. Of course I thought that. Of course I did. Everyone wants things their own way! I stand up for what I believe in – when did that become wrong? But I’m not selfish with it. I’m not. I listen to the others and we make decisions as a group when we can. I try to be fair. I try to do what’s best for everyone. Maybe I don’t always get it right, but I try.

I haven’t changed, but he has. I told him that. The Ben I got to know wouldn’t have tried to turn those kids away. He would have shown them some mercy and understood what I was doing. The Ben I knew had a kinder heart than the one that’s here now. What happened? What’s wrong?

He wouldn’t answer the question; I tried a few times. Finally, he hit back.

“And what about you and your ‘friend’?”

It was such a change of tack that I struggled to keep up with him; it left me stumbling and breathless. Matt? He thought that Matt and I–

I told him no. I explained to him why some of the others might think that (and that I didn’t care what they thought now, with Ben back and me apparently switching beds). It was for safety, because being single and alone is dangerous. It was because he left me on my own. It wasn’t what he thought, dammit.

I missed him, and I worried about him, and I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. Now he’s all distant and weird, and I still miss my friend called Ben. Not just my lover who slept with me, but my friend, the one who stood next to me,. He won’t tell me what happened to him, he won’t explain anything. I was crying then and I’m crying again now, because I don’t know what’s wrong, let alone how to fix it.

He looked at me as if he was trying to figure out the answer to eternal life from the trails on my cheeks, then cupped one side of my face. “I’m working it out,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

I let him hug me until I had calmed down, then I got back to work. The lack of proper lighting gave me a headache but I kept at it anyway. Anything other than dwelling on it all. Anything other than thinking about how he didn’t want me to help him work this out; he made that clear.

When the boys got back, Matt came over to ask me what was wrong. Trust him to spot it from across a room. I brushed him off, told him it was nothing, cut too freshly to know if I should open up to him or stay away because it might upset Ben. Then I got upset with myself for not daring to talk to my best friend and went away to smack at a stuck window lever for a while.

At dinner, Ben was attentive to me, as if trying to make up for the argument. I’m too off-balance to know what to do with him. I want to lean on him, but it feels like he might shift at any moment. I can’t tell which way he’d go any more.

I guess it’s time I learned to stand on my own.

I kept to myself last night and was too distracted to listen to what the boys found yesterday. They were boisterous, far more high-spirited than I knew how to deal with; I went to bed early. Ben surprised me by coming along and cuddling up. Nothing happened and he didn’t say anything, but I appreciated the gesture.

This morning, Jersey bounced over to me with an expectant look. Was I ready to come look at the truck yet? I had to ask him what truck he was talking about, and he stared at me like I was a crazy person.

“The water truck,” he said. “The one we found yesterday.”

A truck full of water. I didn’t believe them at first, but the buoyed spirits of the others backed him up. I didn’t waste any time in putting on my boots and lashing myself up in scarf and coat and gloves. They led me to it at a jog. One of the others even carried my toolkit for me.

It wasn’t a big truck, but one of those ones with rolling doors on the sides, spooling up to reveal racks of fat plastic water bottles. The type that fit into water coolers and glug. It was a windfall, enough to keep us hydrated for weeks. We could afford to wash wounds with that much water. I got a sudden craving to wash my hair, though I wouldn’t dare waste it like that.

They wanted me to get the truck going so that we can take it with us, which was much more sensible than trying to load its wealth into our other vehicles. The boys had used some boltcutters to get it open (I have no idea where they got the ‘cutters, and probably don’t want to know), and from the marks on it, we weren’t the first to try.

“We’ll be an even bigger target with this thing,” Thorpe said, and he wasn’t referring to its size, though it would be our largest vehicle. The damned thing had a water company logo painted on the sides.

We still wanted to take it with us and I went to take a look at the mechanics of it. I haven’t worked on an engine of this type or size, but at least the basics are relatively familiar. It was a new truck before the rain took the shine off the paint, so its ignition is useless; the only ones I’ve got going without a push-start are the older models.

I sent a couple of the boys back to the car park to get one of the offroaders; there was no way we were going to push this thing far enough to start it, so we were going to try towing it. While we were waiting, I realised that there was a fresh coat of paint over the truck’s sides and a new padlock pinning the roller-door shut. They had been busy while I was buried in the engine.

“Does anyone have a dispenser?” I asked.

Thorpe and Conroy were the only ones left with me. They looked as if I’d suddenly spoken German: similar to English and yet still a mystery. I couldn’t help it; I laughed. All this wealth, so much time and effort spent to take it with us, and we had no way to get at it other than hacking the tops off and fighting over a straw. They didn’t want to leave the truck – or me – but I shooed them off to find a water cooler. Someone must have been making a delivery here when the bomb want off, so there has to be one close. There was no-one around and the others would be back any minute, so they headed into one of the office buildings.

I think that’s the first time in months that I’ve truly been alone. No-one within earshot to come if I screamed, not a soul within sight. A silence that I’m not used to descended and I caught myself holding my breath, ears straining to pick up any whisper of sound. There was nothing. Just the orange sky squatting over the stubbly remnants of a city. I was torn between revelling in the peace and panicking at the strangeness.

I stamped my feet and circled the truck to keep warm. On my third circuit, I saw a twitch of movement down the long stretch of the street, past where a set of blind traffic lights poked up. I stopped and squinted, and the twitch resolved into a patch of weary stragglers heading towards me. I was no longer torn; panic thudded at my breastbone.

I looked around for somewhere to hide but didn’t want to leave the truck. I could lock myself into the cab, but that would only trap me there. I didn’t know that they would attack me but it was a safe assumption, considering what lay behind those rippling metal panels. I didn’t even have a key for the new lock to bribe them with. I thought about following Thorpe and Conroy, but I was afraid that I’d get lost and no-one would find me in time.

I couldn’t see any Seekers coming, couldn’t hear the engine that was bringing them to me. I opted to try higher ground and scrambled up onto the top of the truck. The stragglers seemed closer from there and I felt even more exposed. One quick look around and then I sat down, making myself a smaller object. Smaller target. Still no sign of my friends. They were coming, I knew they were coming.

The stragglers shouted up at me when they were near, asking what I was doing up there; they seemed wary and curious, circling like dogs. Just a handful of them. Waiting, I told them and hugged my knees closer. Waiting for my group. They looked at each other, dubious.

Over the beating of my own heart, I heard the engines before I saw them – too loud to be just one. By then, I was so paranoid that I wondered if it was my friends or another group. Maybe it was the hidden remnants of the Pride, mobile and armed and looking for trouble. I wanted to lie down on the truck’s roof and hope that no-one would notice me up there. The ice from the metal roof was seeping up through my clothes, chilling me from the buttocks inwards.

It wasn’t just one of the offroaders – it was all of them, and the campervans as well. Our whole convoy was powering up towards the water truck with me like a cherry on top. I’m not sure who decided to bring everything but I’m glad they did. I was even glad to see Bree’s vans slinking up in the rear, keeping a cautious distance from the rest of us.

The noise flowed around us, engines and tyres, the rough squeak of brakes and the metallic chunks of the convoy juddering to a stop. They wrapped around the truck, drove in to take firm possession of it. The stragglers shied back from the aural assault and the sight of so many working vehicles. Sometimes I forget how strange it can be in this After world. Doors slammed and hands beckoned for me to come down while the engines growled around us. I jumped down into them, shaky with relief.

When Thorpe and Conroy got back, Ben tore into them for leaving me on my own. I tried to protest but he wasn’t listening. Conroy went pale and even Thorpe backed up a step under the verbal attack Ben levelled at them. He hasn’t been out of arm’s reach of me since that, which is both nice and a little disconcerting. On the plus side, the pair had managed to find a water cooler.

We hooked up the truck and got it moving, and its engine coughed to life. The stragglers were long gone by then, not even appearing in our mirrors as we drove away. I almost feel sorry for them and wish we could have left them a bottle.

We had a little celebration last night. So much water – we all drank our fill when we found somewhere to stop for the rain. Even the siblings joined in; it’s funny how they’re fitting in with us much easier than the ex-Pride group. No-one has mentioned that we should ask the siblings to leave since the big argument a couple of days ago, despite them getting their strength back, so they’re still here.

Bree and her friends hover on our edges and exchange supplies with us every now and then, but they aren’t part of us.

Then the Wolverines got out a few bottles of liquor and we drank some more. We lit a big fire and got merry. There was even a spate of messy, coat-flapping dancing that collapsed into laughter. I remember my head buzzing and Ben’s arm around me.

I was still floating this morning when I went around to rouse everyone. There were sore heads but plenty of water to ease them with this time.

I was slammed back down to earth when I got to Matt’s offroader (most of us are bedding down in the vehicles at the moment). Thorpe was asleep inside it, and Matt was standing on the other side, getting dressed. I didn’t need a diagram; the truth slapped me in the face. I hurried away before he saw me.

It felt like someone had stabbed me between the ribs and one lung wouldn’t reinflate. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had no right to be upset, but I was anyway. He was just my friend. I was with Ben. He had every right to sleep with whomever he wanted. I know it’s ridiculous of me to feel this way.

It felt like it had when I found out about Bree and Cody. There was a part of me that wanted to shout, ‘no, he’s mine’. But we’re not like that. We’ve never been like that. I wish someone would tell that to the feeling in my chest. It doesn’t understand.

Ben asked me what was wrong and I told him it was nothing. Then I told him it was the hangover and he smiled and patted me on the shoulder.

I remember kissing Ben last night, before we went off to find our blankets. There was only kissing, though, after we went off; he stopped and I fell asleep. He hasn’t seemed to want more than that. Is it him? Is it me? I have no idea what to think about that.

I’ve hardly seen Matt all day. A part of me thinks that he’s avoiding me, while another points out that I don’t usually pay this much attention to where he is. I haven’t seen him with Thorpe, either – they’ve been conspicuously apart.

I think I’m reading too much into everything and need to stop. I want to walk away from all of them but I can’t bear the thought of doing that, either. I’m bruised all the way through.

I feel like I’m standing on the point of the knife, wavering back and forth. There’s nothing to grab onto for balance. There’s nothing to hold me up. It’s already hollowed me out, but I don’t know what will happen if I fall.

Why does this stuff never make sense?

Just when the clouds started to thicken overhead, one of the offroaders got a flat. There was no time to fix it, so we all piled out.

I was the first one to spot the church, well the steeple actually. I pointed it out to the others and we headed that way to seek shelter from the rain we knew was coming.

We all stopped and stared in wonder when we got there. All the stained glass windows were intact and the colors hid the dirty streaks left by the rain.

The church looked so normal. I think we all expected to see a priest pop out to welcome us to mass as the door opened. The smiled disappeared from my face as I realized it wasn’t a priest. Well, I suppose once he was, but now he was a shambler.

We were too close to run away, so we had to fight him. We shoved Nugget and Dillion behind us and got our weapons out as the shambler lurched towards us. I looked into his slack face above the white collar, a big mistake. I could picture how his face would look if he was alive, welcoming his flock to his church. I froze.

Thankfully Ben and Thorpe had no problem fighting a dead priest. They ended him quickly. We all turned to the church but no more followed the priest out.

I don’t know who headed to the doors first but we all stepped inside as quickly as we could. We were greeted by silence. We listened for the tell-tale sounds of more shamblers dragging themselves around in the darkness of the church but heard nothing, not even our own held breaths.

We carefully walked down the aisle, looking down each pew for dangers. The main chapel was empty but when we arrived at the altar, we could see a door broken apart down off to the side.

We crept towards the door weapons ready. We smelled the blood before we saw the body, another priest torn apart by the shambler. I jumped a foot when I saw the body move. I realized the poor man was still alive and watched as Sally ran to him calling for Masterson.

Masterson took one look at the body, torn and bloody, and shook his head. There was nothing he could do. Sally tried to soothe the dying man, who whispered painfully, “Run, get out before he kills you.”

“Shhh, it’s okay, Father. He’s gone now. He’s in Heaven, at peace.” She said the words a priest would want to hear. I was surprised at first, then I remembered the rosary she wore around her wrist.

“What Heaven? God has forsaken his children.” Tears filled my eyes at his last words, as this servant of God lost his faith. Sally continued to murmur words of comfort of God and hope, but this priest, this forgotten child of God, couldn’t hear them anymore.

I prayed that his one moment of doubt wouldn’t stop him from getting into the Heaven he devoted his life to; somehow, that didn’t seem fair.

Masterson tried to comfort Sally when we all heard it, a noise outside in the chapel. Someone or something was out there. We all gathered our weapons and headed to see if it was friend or foe. We found him raiding the sacrificial wine. He didn’t seem surprised to see us, didn’t seem to care.

“Is he gone to see his God now?” the man asked indicated the room behind us.

“Yes, who are you?” I asked the man who continued to guzzle the wine.

“Name’s Jake. Is the other gone too?” We looked at the front doors where he was pointing and knew he was talking about the shambler. I nodded.

Jake sighed deeply, “Well at least I don’t have to feel bad about breaking my promise to stay sober if they’re both gone, anyway.”

“Isn’t there anyone else?” I asked him, surprised others hadn’t taken refuge here.

“Nope, not anymore, not even that guy.” Jake pointed at the crucifix above the alter before continuing. “There’s a basement used as a shelter for the homeless. We had a full house until a few days ago, when Father Marco was attacked while he was outside trying to find people who need help. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess.” Jake gave a flat smile. As he drank he seemed to want to talk more and more so we let him ramble on.

“He managed to stumble in and Father Anthony tried to save him. It was no use, though. His wounds were bandaged but the Sickness got in and he died a couple of nights ago. We moved him into the office over there and Father Anthony was giving him last rites when he became that zombie thing.”

“We call them shamblers,” I interrupted.

“Whatever. Father Anthony was able to get away from him and ran into the church yelling for everyone to run and save themselves. Bastards did just that, never stopping to make sure the good Father was with them. They fought their way to the door running and shoving to escape. I grabbed the priest’s arm and tried to pull him with me, but he wouldn’t go. He told me he knew that Father Marco was still in there somewhere and he was going to save him. I begged him to leave. I’ve seen those, uh, shamblers before and knew that there was nothing inside them but hunger. He wouldn’t budge.

“Guess his faith saved our lives; well, mine anyway. Just as we heard Father Marco crashing through the office, we heard the rain and the screams of the cowards who ran out earlier. None of them came back inside so I figure the rain got ’em all.

“Course we were trapped with that thing. Father Anthony shoved me towards the basement door and ordered me to lock myself in. He ran the other way to distract Father Marco. Luckily that basement had a good strong door and I was able to barricade it.

“Looks like Father Anthony managed to get back to his office and lock himself in, but the whole time he was talking to Father Marco, trying to find the human inside. He must’ve realized it was a waste of time though, because I could hear him through the vent praying and calling for God to save us.

“I heard the door being torn apart and then Father Anthony screamed ‘Run, Jake!.’ After that, he just screamed and screamed.” Jake paused and gulped down the rest of the wine. He rooted around behind the alter until he found another bottle.

“I tried, I swear, I tried to get to Father Anthony. I started to tear down my barricade until the screaming stopped. Then I just froze, didn’t matter though, that shambler smelled me or something. He started trying to open the door and I piled back my barricade. Ain’t never been so scared before. The door’s strong, built to survive during a natural disaster. But another day or two, it wouldn’t have mattered. He would have gotten in and I would have died. Guess you saved me.”

He didn’t actually say thank you, not that any of us cared. We shivered at his gloomy words and heard the rain begin.

Jake finished the second bottle and staggered unsteadily to the office. We didn’t want to disturb his goodbye, so we let him go by himself. He lurched out carrying Father Anthony in his arms. “He saved me twice, once from the bottle and once from the shambler. He wouldn’t want to become one of those things. I am taking him outside to let the rain have him.”

I tried to stop him but Ben held me back. I turned on him and said, “He can’t do it without getting hurt or killed.”

“He knows, Faith,” Ben explained in a soft voice. I understood then. He knew. Hell, he  was counting on it.

“Shoulda died years ago,” Jake said. “Shoulda crawled into a bottle and died but Father Anthony saved me, gave me a job and a home at this church. I got no reasons to stick around anymore. Besides, maybe God didn’t get the message that things are fucked up down here. I’ll be sure to tell Him. Take the supplies from downstairs. Bye.” Jake smiled at us and headed out in the rain.

Despite the pain being inflicted on him, he managed to close the door behind him, holding Father Anthony lovingly at his side. We braced for the screams that never came.

We all sat listening to the rain for a few moments. It was beautiful behind the stained glass windows. We went into the basement to see what supplies we could use and were shocked.

There was so much food and water we would be able to stock up our packs to the brim. Masterson was delighted at the medical supplies he found. There was even a camp stove we could use to have a warm meal for once.

Delighted, we put together a stew with rice and found packages of chocolate cake for dessert. We dragged everything upstairs, not wanting to be trapped down there if trouble came.

“Too bad we didn’t find this in time for the birthday party,” I said before biting into the chocolate cake.

Dillion grinned like a kid and said, “I love cake. I didn’t think I’d ever have cake again. How did we find cake?”

Matt grinned, “You just gotta have Faith.” He winked at me as the others groaned or chuckled. I sighed; if I could have reached, I would’ve smacked him.

[Guest post by Rissa Watkins.]

I woke up this morning to the whispering echo of a prayer in the ceiling. In that strange land between sleeping and waking, it was a tug back to a time when I was small and my mother took my sister and me to a church.

I remember the hush that stole over my whole body when I stepped inside, and the quiet reverence it inserted into my shoes. I exchanged a glance with Chastity and she gave me a cheeky grin in return, clattering off down the aisle to poke into the side chapels. My mother took a firm hold of my hand to stop me thinking about following and drew me up the centre. There was that same indistinguishable murmur moving around in the air and I looked up; it felt like I might be able to see the words on their way up to God’s ears. Then it stopped and the robed figure kneeling before the altar stood up, crossing himself.

That was the last time I was in a church. This time, the priests were mindless and faithless, at least at the end. I don’t like the patterns this world has fallen into. I hope their God has mercy on them. It’d be nice if He had mercy on all of us down here too, but I’ll take what hope I can get right now.

I pushed the blankets off me and sat up, wincing at the hardness of the pew. It might have been nice to stretch out for a change, but at least the offroader’s seats were padded. I tried to be quiet, because that whispered prayer was real and I didn’t want to disturb it.

It was Sally, kneeling before the altar, her head bowed. She had lit five candles in the rack nearby and their ruddy light brushed her hair in highlights; the black dye was growing out, and I think the auburn underneath suited her better.

Ben was watching her pray too. He was sitting on the pew past my feet, silent as a rock. At first, I hadn’t even realised he was there. I don’t know how he does that.

Everyone else was still asleep when Sally finished her prayer and got up.

We didn’t waste much time in heading outside and fixing the tyre. There was an awful moment when the jack shifted: the whole vehicle nearly toppled onto Thorpe and Jersey while they tried to get a spare wheel on. Ben caught it in time to stop it crashing down and, a second later, a couple of the other boys jumped in to help too. Between them, they managed to keep it propped up long enough to fasten the wheel on.

We checked everything else over quickly before we got in and hauled ourselves into motion. I think we’re all paranoid about people getting to our vehicles and the gear we recklessly keep inside. We haven’t seen anyone else today, though, and after the incident at the church, I’m relieved. I’m not sure I can take another encounter like that. I remember Jake pulling the door closed after him, already dissolving, and I shudder.

We stopped a little early today to refill our cans when we found a gas station. We’re all topped up and trying not to think about the rain now. It’s hard when the damned stuff is hissing up the concrete just a short distance away. If we feed enough to the fire, perhaps its snapping will drown out the drizzle.

I thought that we had outpaced the runners, but I was wrong. We found another clump today desperately reversing course. Shamblers don’t only exist in the north and west; they stumble all over these outlying suburbs, and this group had discovered another gaggle of ravenous ex-people.

They were running towards us when they came into sight. I stopped the convoy, not quite foolish enough to plough on towards whatever they were running from. They didn’t stop even when they came abreast of us – they just kept on running around and past the vehicles. I saw someone fall in my rearview mirror, and then there was movement ahead. Jerking, wobbling. Shamblers.

There was a flash behind me – the door of an offroader had been opened. Matt was leaning out of the driver’s window and beckoning. The faller and the one who stopped to help him scrambled into the vehicle. I looked at Ben and he had a hard, set look on his face. There were a lot of shamblers lurching into view, filling up the street.

I leant on the horn to warn the others, then swerved off down a side street. In the rear seats, the siblings weebled and grabbed onto doorhandles. We haven’t gone fast enough to need seatbelts before, but I think they were wishing for them then. I know what damage the living did to the vehicles in their desperation, and I didn’t want to find out what damage the should-be-dead would do in their hunger and persistence.

We wove through backstreets between cluttered-together houses. Twice more, a horn sounded and we stopped while doors opened and closed. We were running across the front of the wave of shamblers, scooping up living flotsam on our way. For a brief, heart-thumping time, I was proud of my little group even as I chafed at the stop-start of it.

We kept going until we lost sight of the shambling wave. A sweeping on-ramp took us away from the suburbs and into the university campus. I think I’ve only been this far south once before, when we came to tour the campus a few months before my sister died. Everything changed after Chastity was gone, including my plans to study. I haven’t thought about this place since then.

It looks different now, with green clumps scoured away by acid and the walls stripped of the overlap of torn posters. It’s grey, concrete and dulled glass. What used to be daring architecture is hard and cold now, sharp-edged against a low, malevolent sky.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone here. We stopped to take stock and wound up shifting into one of the buildings for shelter – I think it used to be the social part of the campus, all sofas and burned-out music equipment. There was nothing of use left apart from thrown-over furniture, as if a strong, angry child had a tantrum here.

The runners were in a bad way. It looks like they had been running for a while – days, even. Masterson is checking people over, but I see him shrugging a lot. We gave them water and something to eat, and posted guards in case the wave wandered in this direction. Hopefully the vehicles ruined the scent trail and we gained enough distance that they won’t be able to follow us.

There’s so much to do that I can barely count heads right now. Everyone is here, I think, spread out between a handful of rooms. Seekers, Wolverines, ex-Pride, runners. I’m starting to forget names as soon as I hear them. We need to decide what we’re going to do and I have no idea how that will go.

I think I’m going to try to organise this mess again. At least so I can check on my friends.

We spent most of today searching for a missing fella. I’d like to say that it was worth the effort, but we didn’t find him.

Last night, I went around and tried to take stock. It was easier once everyone had settled down and stopped moving around so much. All of the Seekers were accounted for except Jones. Poor Nugget is still upset about that; she won’t say anything except his name if she’s questioned, or offered food, or told to cheer up. I’ve seen her looking under chairs and in cupboards in the hopes that he’s here somehow. No-one has seen him since we left the warehouse, but I don’t think any of us has the heart to tell her the obvious. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.

Dillon and Dale were made comfortable with the rest of those needing attention on padded seats and sofas. Our two injured boys are looking better, though Dillon still can’t put weight on that broken leg. Thorpe is usually hovering around there, keeping an eye on them. I offered to relieve him for a while but he told me that he was fine. I don’t know how to talk to him, not after the thing with Matt, so I left him to it.

I don’t think it’s a thing between those two. I’ve hardly seen them exchange five words since that morning. It’s a shame – I think they might be good for each other – but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved.

Matt has been mostly keeping an eye on the newcomers, making sure that they get what they need. He has an easy way with people – always has – and they seem to trust him. Most of them are automatically wary with me and I’m not sure why. The rumours about the Seekers, perhaps. I wish that my name wasn’t attached to those whispers.

Bree’s group was short a person last night. Steve – the wannabe Pride-member who had a bandaged arm and seemed to be getting sick the last time I saw him – was gone and they couldn’t tell me where. Bree was pale and refused to say much about it. Perhaps the Sickness took him and they left him behind. They said that’s what the Pride had done.

They didn’t ask us to look for him. This morning, one of the runners we picked up yesterday was missing. A man in his fifties – his wife was desperate for our help in finding him. He went off to relieve himself sometime after dark and didn’t come back. No-one on watch saw him go or what happened after. We searched the campus buildings, calling his name – Norman, are you there? Norman? – but there wasn’t any answer.

His wife is distraught. They had made it this far, through all this craziness. They haven’t been apart in nearly forty years, she said. Childhood sweethearts, married young, parents, grandparents, and now surviving the end of the world. They saw each other through all of that.

“We live in each other’s pockets, got used to the lint and lost pennies,” Iris told me. Now she’s alone and she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

I had no comfort to give her. He’s probably dead and we all know it. I suggested that she help Sally with making sure people were fed and she went off with a vague air. Hopefully the purpose and activity will help her.

We picked up seven in total. Iris and Norman were the first, scooped up by Matt in the offroader behind mine. There’s a young boy, Estebar – just short of Dillon’s age, so eleven or twelve years old – who keeps asking if we’ve seen his sister. He last saw her a few days ago, so I think she’s lost. The Asian fella in his thirties hasn’t said much to anyone and keeps to himself. I don’t know his name. Janice and Tom are a dark-skinned couple, about my age. They keep to themselves too, but seem well-adjusted with everything that’s happening. Caroline is the last one that was picked up and she’s far from well-adjusted. From her shell-shocked look, she lost someone close to her recently. I don’t know who.

We’ve been sharing our supplies carefully with these runners. There’s always at least a couple of the boys watching over the stocks, but there’s only one or two of the newcomers that I think are a danger in that way. The Wolverines in particular are grumbly and defensive, and have convinced Thorpe to help them. He seems to be spending a lot of time with the Wolverines lately, but maybe that’s just because they stick close to injured Dale and Thorpe is always near our healing pair.

We have a fire tonight, lit carefully in a drum dragged inside. Tom has offered to tell stories about the land – his family goes way back in this area, he says. Tales of the past to ward off the present; it sounds like a good way to pass the evening while we try not to listen to the rain.

Tomorrow, we’re going to have to make a decision. Who comes, who is left behind. I look at them all and know I can’t be the one to say. I don’t want fear to make the choice either. In this group of friends, allies, and strangers, I don’t know which way it will all go.

For tonight, we’ll remember what was. I think I hear Iris crying somewhere.

The temperature dropped sharply sometime overnight, solidifying the treacherous ice into solid sheets and rime around the windows, encroaching every surface it could get its clammy hands onto.

Jersey swore when he realised that it was as thick inside as it was outside. We’re going to have to be careful when it melts; I’m not the only one watching the ceiling for signs of creeping ice and building drips. No-one wants to wake up to that.

We were supposed to be heading out today, but instead we huddled in. We broke down furniture and fixings for wood to burn, leaving only the padded seats for some of our number to rest on. The fire drum we’re using is not doing the best job of heating us, but it’s certainly better than nothing and safer than setting the carpet alight. We’ll probably rip that up and burn it, too, if it stays this cold.

Someone found a pair of crutches yesterday and Dillon has been practicing with them since then; he’s determined to get around under his own steam again. The activity helped him to keep warm, too, and he wasn’t the only injured person struggling around the floor in an effort to keep the blood pumping. At least there’s always a pair of steady hands around to offer support when they need it.

We found Norman today. Conroy returned with a solemn face from a perimeter patrol – we do circuits every now and then to check for shamblers wandering in our direction. He had found bloody clothes and a belt buckle poking out of the ice. He had the buckle with him, worked loose of the ice’s grip. There was no room there for a body, he said; the rain must have got rid of it.

He didn’t want to ask Iris if it was her husband, so I did it. With my heart on my tongue and feeling ready to throw up, I sat down with her and showed her the buckle. She stared at me and said nothing. The whitening of her knuckles answered the question for me. I covered them with my hand and told her how sorry I was. I asked if she needed anything. I asked if she wanted me to leave her alone and she twitched the tiniest nod. I didn’t know what else to do for her.

My hands were shaking when I left her to her grief. It was a silent thing, stony and shocking. She looked so lost, sitting there on her own.

Ben came over and told me he was sorry. He sounded so sincere that it brought the tears into my throat, and all I wanted right then was a hug. He patted my shoulder and told me to go warm up by the fire, and then he went away.

I went to go hold my hands over the flames for a while, hating that the fire is the same colour as the tainted sky outside. I miss blue and green. I miss trusting the sky. I miss not having to think about telling someone that the person she loves is dead.

Matt came over and asked me if I was all right. I told him what Conroy had found and he put his arm around me. I didn’t know what to say to him, or whether I should lean into him the way I wanted to. Everything feels so much more complicated now. He said something soothing that helped push the lump down, out of my throat.

I stood there for a long time with my head down and my hands out, trying to get warm and shivering anyway.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Matt roused us. I remember hearing his voice sliding into my dream, and then Ben was shaking my shoulder and telling me to get up.

Everyone gathered at the windows and glass doors, looking out like children who had heard that Santa had been spotted against the moon. There has been no moon for months and Santa didn’t come last Christmas, but we all looked anyway. I’m not sure what we hoped to see.

“There, there!” There was pointing and straining as we strove not to touch the icy glass.

It was there: a single square of light against the blackness. Not the scorched orange of the sky, not the white of stars, but a warm, electric yellow. It beamed steadily across to us from such a distance, not a fiery flicker in its form.

Those who spotted it whooped and slapped their neighbours indiscriminately. I think I laughed and grabbed onto Ben’s cold hand. It’s hard to know why it was such a stirring sight, but it made my heart lift in my chest. Electricity, power. Safety, perhaps. Survival. Promise. All those things, bundled into one small square of light and shone in our direction.

It went out and our breathing almost stopped. We misted up the glass before it came on again. Then someone scrabbled for a pen and started to scribble on the window, trying to record its position.

There’s someone there. There’s a survivor who can run electric lights even after six months of a broken, powerless world.

No-one said that we should go find it. No-one questioned the assumption that we’re going to set out and see who’s there, first thing in the morning. Our consensus was immediate and, for once, without paranoia. We just have to go and see what gives.

This morning is orange and hard, frozen solid outside annd reflecting the tainted light back at us. There’s a black square drawn on a window that we think is pointing us towards the right building, like a symbol from a movie I saw a lifetime ago.

The building is tall and dark today, but not as far as we had feared. It doesn’t seem worth the fuel to drive there, so we’ll walk, heralded by the steam of our own breath.

The footing outside is slippery but we’re all gearing up anyway, even the injured. Dillon wants to go on his crutches, but I plan to keep a close eye on him; I don’t trust the ice. Thorpe is supporting Dale. We won’t move fast but we’ll get there.

Time to wrap up and make a move. Wish us luck.