The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

Today felt productive. Today, I felt like we were finally making progress towards getting the hell out of here.

Jersey nabbed me this morning, murmuring hurriedly into my ear while the dorm swirled sleepily around us, a mass of grumbles and clothes flapping into place. She’s still working in sanitation (I was surprised that she was still being punished, but I think she’s there out of stubbornness now), and she knew of a couple of hiding places that no-one would ever look. Were they safe for food, safe from the rain? She believes so.

I nodded to her and we went our separate ways. The next task was to figure out how to get the food in the first place. The answer to that came along when I went to fetch lunch for the infirmary’s inmates.

The kitchen workers don’t know how many patients we have currently, or who is on duty on any particular day. I ordered enough lunch for everyone there, including Jonah, knowing that he comes to help himself. He flirts with the girls – if I’m not mistaken, one in particular – but the dumpy woman sorting me out didn’t blink. She just piled up the food and water bottles in my box and sent me on my way.

I gave out what I had to, ate half of my own share, and secreted the rest away in a store room. Just the stuff that would keep – packets of chips, bottles of water. The hot stuff would only go rancid if I tried to store it without refrigeration.

What we really need is someone in the kitchens to siphon cans and boxes my way. I must ask where Tia is working these days. Or perhaps quiet Jaye.

I almost got caught when I was stashing the food. My hand twitched to the pile of dressings and tape as soon as I heard the door open, and I tried to hide the racing of my heart when I glanced over my shoulder. It was Peter, leaning against the doorframe and watching me.

“You need something?” I asked him.

He smirked in that way that makes my hand want to curl up into a fist. I restrained myself, straightening the stacks of equipment instead.

“Just wondering when I’ll get to see that tattoo again,” he said. It covers my whole back, but it’s always covered by my clothing. I remembered him walking in on Matt and me and flushed red. “Wouldn’t mind seeing it up close.”

“Never gonna happen.”

“Not even so you can keep seeing your little boyfriend?”

My fury curdled in my stomach – could he really take that away from me? It was none of his business. I scrabbled around for any ammunition I could find.

“If you tell them about that, I’ll have to tell them about all the times you’ve tried to pressure me into sleeping with you, outside of the regulated bounds.” It wasn’t much, but it was all I had. I couldn’t prove it, but then, neither could he.

Stalemate. I could see it in his face as the smirk slid off and his mouth settled into a displeased line. Gotcha, I thought.

He flicked me a sharp look as he stomped out of the room. We had reached an impass, but as soon as he gets something on me, he’ll drop me in trouble faster than a ferret down a trouserleg.

I’m going to have to be more careful from now on. I moved the food I was hiding, in case Peter came back to check. I need to work out how to get the stash out of there and to Jersey before he finds it.

I’d better go find her now. We have to get this sorted, and soon.

With so many eyes on me right now, I’m trying to keep my head down. So of course it’s the perfect time for someone to break into the infirmary to see me.

It was luck that had me looking for something to entertain Debbie with; it put me close to the office when the thuds rattled inside. I didn’t want to look – maybe the boys were up to something in there, or some unusually-sized rats had broken up through the floor. But I wanted to know what it was. Just like the thumping in the basement, it was huge and terrifying until I opened the door on it. Unlike the thumping in the basement, it wasn’t terrifying after I saw what it was.

If it had been anyone but Matt, I would have been furious. I found him on the floor, feet up on the cabinet he’d tumbled off, looking up like a puppy caught chewing on my shoes. His grin had a hopeful note to it.

“Are you insane?” I asked as I helped him up.

He said something cheesy that made me roll my eyes and slung an arm around my waist, pulling me close. That was almost enough to make me forgive him on its own. Then he tried to put his weight on his healing leg and winced. I called him a couple of names that disparaged his intellectual ability and he assured me that he was fine. He’d better be.

He couldn’t stay in the office. Any of the boys might come to get something from in here, including me. Simon had another of the girls in, this one more obviously pregnant, and he might decide she needed a female presence.

The only place safe enough was upstairs. There’s another whole floor on this building, but no-one uses it. It used to be offices and more wards. The rain got in fairly early on, melting a whole set of rooms down one end. They sealed the roof and wrapped it over and over to make sure the rain wouldn’t get in again, but no-one is willing to risk the patients by putting them upstairs. We huddle underneath, secure in the knowledge that there’s a whole floor between us and the hissing, dissolving water.

The hardest part was getting Matt to the stairs. I felt like a part in one of those farcical spy movies, sneaking around with amateurish steps and not a clue in the world. I tried to keep track of everyone – Jonah outside smoking, Simon sitting with Debbie, Peter wandering around doing… whatever it is he does most of the time.

With peeking and handwaving and my heart trying to beat its way out through my throat, we managed to get Matt to the stairwell at a hurried limp. I tried to do the smart thing and wait around downstairs to avoid suspicion. Moved a stack of sheets, brought Debbie a fresh pillow. When no-one was paying attention to me, I slipped away as well and stood frozen against the wall of the stairwell, listening for the shocked voices wondering what I was doing going upstairs. The voices never came and eventually I crept upstairs.

I couldn’t ever be a spy. I think the stress would kill me before any enemies had the chance.

When I finally found Matt in one of the broken-ceilinged rooms, I smacked him. For scaring me like that, for hurting himself, for putting us both in a position where Peter could get us in trouble. He’s the one I made particularly sure wasn’t watching when I snuck away, above all the others. He’s the biggest danger in the infirmary, even more than Jonah. I know I can talk to Jonah, even if he is a cutout.

Matt was apologetic but still smiling as he fended off my swipes. It was infuriating.

“Good to see you too, Faithy.”

I could feel my mouth twitching towards a smile and gave his shoulder one last cuff. He’s so hard to stay mad at. Damn him, anyway.

The boys have found a solution to the vehicle problem. There are some unused ones in a warehouse down the back of the compound. No-one will notice if they’re moved or messed with. Between Thorpe, Dale, and my dad, they can slip away from their regular duties to make sure the vehicles are working and fueled up, given a few days. If they’re careful, they can steal some fuel away, too.

It won’t take much to disable the other vehicles, they say. Remove a key piece or two from the engine and hide them, and they’ll go nowhere. All they need is warning to get it done.

On the other hand, we’re not doing so good on the food front. I’m doing what I can to secret a bit away every day, but it’ll still take weeks to get enough together to keep the Seekers fed for only a couple of days. It’s not enough. Jaye is working in the kitchen crew; I’ll have to bring her into this if we’re going to have a chance of surviving.

I tried to make Matt promise to stay away and be careful, but he refused. He said that what we really needed to do was find a better way for him to get in. My stomach flutters when I think about the risks he’s taking, but I’d be a liar if I said I minded. Seeing him is worth it. Stolen time and whispered secrets, and so many hopes for the future.

I was grateful that no-one came looking for me until I was dressed again. I heard the voices raised downstairs and rushed back, just as Jonah and Simon were discussing where I might have got to. I gave them an excuse and got back to work, and they dropped the matter.

All we need now is a ladder for Matt to sneak in by. And for no-one to miss us when we’re together. And a bag full of luck if we’re going to pull this off.

The escape effort is coming along in skips and steps and occasional great strides. I’m at the back, fretting and nudging, and trying to keep all these balls both in the air and out of sight. The more I think about it, the more shaky the ground beneath me feels. And every now and then I have to stretch for a curve ball.

I talked with Jersey and Tia late last night and explained my problems with being watched. I feel like there are eyes on me all of the time, and while it’s sometimes justified, I know that sometimes it’s not. I’m not paranoid enough to believe that all of Haven is out to get me; it just feels like that.

They said that they would sort out the supplies issue themselves. Some of Tia’s little friends work in the kitchens and she thinks she can get access to the supply store easily enough. Jersey can pick up boxes left out for her when she’s collecting trash and move them to her hiding place.

I feel awful putting this onto them. They should do something to help, of course, but they’ve taken on the whole task of securing us food and water. It’s dangerous; I don’t know what the punishment for hoarding supplies might be, but I doubt it’s as lenient as being put on sanitation duty. They’re happy to do it, even reserved Tia. I think she likes the espionage factor. Jersey enjoys the chance to stick a finger up at Haven, even silently; to her, it’s not just about leaving.

I guess a lot of what I’m feeling is guilt. I’m so useless in this, hampered by the chains of the attention I’ve gathered over the past few weeks. Everyone else is risking so much more than I am right now and I’m not used to it. I’m used to being in the front line, right out there with the rest of them, pulling my weight. I don’t like sitting back and waiting for others to do everything for me. It doesn’t feel right.

Matt told me to enjoy it while it lasts. No-one minds how much I’m doing; we all do what we can, he says. That made me feel worse and more useless than ever. Beholden to all of them. Life is hard enough here without people who don’t contribute, and it’s going to get harder for us.

Matt linked his fingers through mine and kissed my hair. We were sitting in the lopsided upstairs room again, watching the rain make tracks down the plastic-shielded window. There’s something not quite right about the way the liquid slithers.

“You’re the one that pushes us forward,” he said. “Without you, we wouldn’t be leaving at all.” He wasn’t exactly lifting the guilt with that point. “You hold us together – we need you for that. You’re coordinating – that’s something, too.” That was better.

Leaning back into his chest, things didn’t seem so bad. The uncertainty creeps in when he’s not there. It’s getting harder to let him climb out of the window, to let him go at all. I keep stopping myself from asking him to stay, because I know it can’t happen, not here. Not until after we’re far from here.

Jersey threw another complication my way tonight. She sat down on my bunk with a scowl that I thought was bad news, but was actually just building up courage to ask me for something. She isn’t used to asking anyone for anything.

“Iona should come with us,” she said finally.

I didn’t even try to hide my surprise. Disturbed Iona? With her plucking fingers and disconnected phrases? I have seen Jersey dealing with her – and defending her when Nadine or Mama Prusco came around looking for ‘volunteers’ for the nightly entertainment – but I didn’t know she felt that attached. I think she feels responsible for Iona and knows what might happen if she’s not there to fend off the deal-makers. I was mostly surprised that Jersey would put up with someone that dysfunctional and a little part of me wondered where the attachment was rooted. I’m fairly sure she doesn’t swing that way, crossdressing or no. Unless I miss my guess, she was once interested in Rico, the leader of her old Wolverine gang, and Terry more recently.

“I don’t think we can make that choice for her, Jersey,” I said.

“So we ask her.”

It was the obvious answer, and I think that we could get her to understand. She’s not that broken. There was, however, a ‘but’. “She says whatever crosses her mind. It’s risky, letting her know.”

“We don’t have to ask her now.”

Jersey had given this a lot of thought; she knew what I was going to say, the barriers in our way, and had responses ready for me. And she was right; if we waited until we were about to leave, the chances of Iona betraying us – accidentally or otherwise – were small. I couldn’t help smiling at her. “We’ll ask her closer to the time, then.”

She gave me an odd look, as if she couldn’t believe it was that easy, and I patted her shoulder. Not everything has to be a struggle.

“She’ll be your responsibility when it comes to it, though,” I said. That stiffened Jersey’s shoulders, but not in a bad way. “To keep her quiet.”

She thought about it for a moment, that scowl descending again. Finally, she nodded and pulled herself off my bed. That was the end of the conversation, apparently.

Iona came by a bit later on and gave me a hair band to tie my hair back with. My last one had broken a couple of days ago and the tie she gave me looked like it had never been used. Red, with a white plastic flower on it.

“Such pretty hair,” she said, holding it out. “Needs flowers.”

I took it and thanked her, and she smiled vaguely as she turned away. I don’t know if Jersey put her up to it or not, but I guess it didn’t harm her case.

This whole escaping business is getting prettier all the time.

Today, I thought we were finished. Busted. Broken. We still might be.

When I got to the infirmary this morning, I was fretting about the stash of food I had in a storage cupboard. I didn’t like how much Peter has been following me around lately, always there when I turn around. The paranoia was like water, rising higher and higher, its poison seeping into everything I saw and said.

I didn’t notice Jonah overmuch. We chatted like we always did – perfunctory greetings and how-are-yous, and see-you-later at the other end. He went to his post outside the infirmary door to stand like a good cutout soldier and I went inside. Nothing unusual there.

Simon was in his office, going over paperwork with a frown – I think it was inventory. The gaps on our shelves are widening with all the injuries lately and clean sheets are a problem. He’s looking for solutions and wishing for a genie bottle to rub.

Peter was sitting with Debbie, trying to get her to eat breakfast. He frowned when he saw me, as if that was clearly my job and what the hell did was I doing letting him do it. For a nurse, he really isn’t too keen on looking after people. He’s good enough with most of them; maybe it’s just kids he doesn’t like. Or the Sickness.

I wasn’t going to hurry to relieve him. I had my own checks to do, one of which was on the food stash. Just in case, I told myself. Just so I wouldn’t worry about it all morning until I was free enough to take a look.

It was gone. All of it, every packet of chips and bottle of water. The stacks of empty boxes in front were arranged just as I left them, but the one in the back holding the carefully-gathered supplies was missing. Not empty, just gone. I checked all of the other boxes, and it wasn’t there.

Finally, I sat back on my heels and just stared at the cupboard. I felt sick. My heart was thudding against my sternum, Morse code trying to tell me that I was in trouble. But my brain wasn’t listening – it was stuck on a loop of ‘but it should be here’. My fingers shook when I put all of the boxes back into place, covering up the gaping hole in my world. I still knew it was there. I could feel it.

No-one had said anything when I arrived at the infirmary. No-one had asked me about it. Were they waiting for me to flip out? Because I was nearly there. I wanted to demand to know who took the food – didn’t they know it had taken me days to gather just that much? That I was going to put it out with the trash today for Jersey to collect? Didn’t they know how close I was to getting it out of here and out of danger?

I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t go around asking who had taken my secret stash of food – of course I couldn’t. I couldn’t let on that anything was wrong. Perhaps whoever found it doesn’t know it was me who put it there. Maybe they’re waiting for a reaction so they can spot the culprit. I couldn’t give them one. If I keep it all hidden, I might get out of this yet.

So I had to pretend that nothing at all was wrong. Straighten my shoulders and steady myself, and walk back out into the infirmary with a smile ready for whoever came at me next. I braced myself against Peter’s sideways comments when I went to take over Debbie-duty; they stung, but I just told him to go do something useful. Debbie was too vague with the Sickness to notice anything.

I’ve been taut since then, wondering who would come over and demand to know why I was hoarding food. Would it be one of those near me, or a delegation from the General? Would they come crashing in and drag me off?

No-one came. Simon was as distracted and guarded as always, and Peter was his usual annoying self. The only one I thought was paying particular attention to me was Jonah, but that’s his job. I can’t tell if it’s my hyper-sensitivity or if he really is watching me more closely than usual.

All day, I’ve been waiting for that shoe to drop. I’m still waiting. Matt didn’t come today, and Dad hasn’t brought me dinner for several days now. When I think about what might have kept them away, the room shrinks in on me and it’s hard to breathe. I keep thinking that Thorpe will protect them, but what can he do against cutouts with guns?

The sensible part of my brain keeps telling me that I’m over-reacting. There are lots of reasons why Matt might not be able to come. Dad only comes every few days. Jonah’s always watching me, and so are the women in the dorms. It’s nothing unusual. I shouldn’t read too much into it.

But the box is still gone. Someone knows. Maybe not that we’re gearing up to get out of here, but certainly that food was being hoarded. That alone is enough to get us – me – in a lot of trouble.

I’ve told Jersey about it. Asked her to get the word to the others. We’ll need to keep our heads down for a while until this non-storm blows over. I don’t dare to do any more.

What are they waiting for?

No progress today, not for the Seekers. Or not in any good direction.

Like little Debbie. Her fever is spiking and she hasn’t been fully conscious since early this morning. She murmurs and calls for her mother sometimes, or makes whimpers that tug at me. All I can do is try to keep her cool with fans and a tiny bit of water.

This afternoon, I caved and told her, “I’m here, it’s all right, Debs. I’m here.”

“Mum?” she said without opening her eyes, so desperately hopeful. I stroked sticky hair back from her face and told her yes, and she fell into a quiet sleep for a little while. It was worth that little bit of heartbreak to give her some relief. She’ll never get well enough to know I lied, anyway.

Dad made it over today, but not with dinner. One of the mechanics had got himself in an accident and had a suspected broken ankle. Dad half-carried him in, waving off help until he got the guy sitting down. I got up from Debbie’s bed to lend a hand, but Simon was already there and Peter was hurrying over too. Then Dad was standing in front of me and I forgot all about them. It was all I could do not to throw my arms around his neck right then.

We retreated down to the other end of the room to where Debbie was shifting restlessly under the fever’s grip. We had no fear of the little girl hearing us, even if she could make sense of it through the delirium.

The first thing Dad said was sorry, for not being able to come. He has been put onto the Converter recovery project and can’t get away as easily any more. From the hard edge to his tone, I think the assignment was very deliberate and more to do with the restriction than the work. They knew exactly what they were doing. He didn’t say, but I’m sure that Dad volunteered to bring the broken ankle in so that he could see me.

I told him about the missing food stash and he didn’t seem surprised. Someone is suspicious about something, though we’re not sure how high the concern goes. They can’t know what we’re planning, but they might easily think that we’re planning something. The question is how many of us are being watched and what will give us away. Caution begs an extreme answer.

I had to ask about Matt. I haven’t seen him for a couple of days, and the last time we parted, he said he’d try to make it over every day. Was he all right? Had something happened?

Dad shrugged. “Probably just got caught up. Haven’t heard anything,” he said. He seemed very sure that nothing was wrong, as if he has been keeping tabs on Matt and the other Seekers. That would be like him – he has always been fond of Matt. He patted my hand and told me not to worry.

I hugged him before he left. Wrapped my arms around his middle and leaned into his chest. He rested his cheek on the top of my head and I felt safe. For that moment, I was safe and everything was going to be okay.

Then he sighed and told me he had to go, and the bubble shattered. Debbie murmured behind me, distress etching the noise into the air around us. I sighed and nodded, and briefly considered begging him to tell the cutouts where to go so he could stay with me. Then I did the right thing and told him goodbye. He can’t stay and we all know it. As he was leaving, I noticed just how grey his hair is getting – it’s almost pure white at the temples now.

I can’t wait to get out of here.

Before the rain came, I told Jonah that I would have to stay in the infirmary tonight. Debbie needs to be watched and I don’t want to leave her alone. She doesn’t respond to the boys as well as she does to me. He wasn’t happy – he feels it’s necessary to stay if I’m staying – but he didn’t argue. He merely excused himself to fetch some gear while there were other cutouts around – for their injured comrade – and came back prepared to camp in one of the empty beds.

I guess that’s what we’re all doing tonight. Camping in beds that aren’t ours and wishing we could be elsewhere.

Anywhere but here.

I was up for most of last night, catching naps on one of the infirmary beds when Debbie was quiet. She was restless and wouldn’t settle for long. At first, I could hum or sing to her, and she would drift down into a deeper sleep. As the night wore on, sleep grew thinner and let her rise up towards irritable shifting quicker and quicker. By the early hours of the morning, I couldn’t get her to sleep at all.

She wasn’t truly awake, either. She murmured a great deal, but the only words I could make out were the occasional calls for her mother, and sometimes her dad. Eventually, she stopped believing I was her mum, either hearing the lie in my voice or unable to hear me at all. With such a scorching fever, it’s hard to tell.

An hour or so before dawn, Jonah surprised me with a bottle of water. He came over while I was watching Debbie helplessly tossing and turning, tangling herself in the covers. It was all I could do to stop her from strangling herself. Her distress was caught in her throat in raw sobs and she wasn’t reacting to me at all. I could have shouted and she wouldn’t have known.

Jonah was being kept awake by the kid almost as much as I was. He came over and stood next to me, wordlessly holding out the bottle. I thanked him and drank deep – it felt like forever since I’d had something to drink. I wasn’t used to kindness from him – though he hasn’t been unkind – and watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was watching Debbie with a pull-down frown.

“Why do you have to be here all night too?” I asked him.

“If you’re not in the dorm, neither am I,” he said with a sigh.

“There isn’t anyone who can relieve you?”

“No, you’re my assignment.”

“Sorry.”

He glanced at me and shrugged.

“They must’ve been upset with you when they gave you this assignment,” I said.

To my surprise, the corner of Jonah’s mouth twitched and he said, “Something like that.”

I had meant it as a joke, but apparently it was true. There was an awkward bump to the atmosphere in the room, punctuated by struggles from the delirious little girl. Was watching me really a punishment? Am I that bad? Or is it just a lowly and boring job for a cutout to have to do?

“What did you do?” I asked him, trying not to show how my curiosity burned.

“Oh, nothing much.” His tone suggested that it was anything but ‘nothing much’, but I let him brush me off. I was still reeling from the idea that I was punishment.

“Sorry.” It was all I could think of to say.

He shrugged again and that seemed to be the end of it. He returned to bed a few minutes later, trying to sleep through Debbie’s moans and throttling sobs. Thoroughly confused, I tried to comfort her, even though she didn’t know I was there. For a while, I had the urge to cry along with her.

Jonah has been stuck with me for some infraction, and he hasn’t ever taken it out on me. That makes me feel worse. I haven’t made his job easier, with my weird hours and illicitly-visiting boyfriend, but he hasn’t done more than frown at me and look displeased. Does he think he deserves it as part of his punishment? Does he sympathise because I’m also being punished? Do we deserve each other?

He’s hard to read and he doesn’t exactly over-share. If I ever wanted to date a guy like my dad, he’d be the one. Now that’s a scary thought. Luckily, I have Matt.

I should be kinder to Jonah, try not to make this hard for him.

Is he watching me the way I think he is? Or might he be sympathetic to our cause? I don’t dare dream about that; it’s a lot to hope for. I wonder if he might be a friend to us, but how do I approach it without exposing myself and my friends?

So many questions, so few answers. I haven’t seen Matt for days, or any of the other Seekers since yesterday morning. All I have is the thoughts running around in my head and a sick child dying in front of me. Right now, I can’t see tomorrow being any better.

Debbie had another bad night last night. Her fever drove her out of shifting delerium into a quiet, barely-breathing coma. It’s not looking good for her. I watch her, and it leeches the hope out of me a drip at a time. I know there’s no saving her, not from this, but that doesn’t make it easier to watch.

I know I should go back to the dorm. I should let one of the boys sit with her. I should talk to Jersey and Tia, get back in touch with our escape effort. I should put her out of my mind and get on with my life.

But there’s a tiny girl fading who sometimes calls for comfort and I can’t bear to leave her alone. Even I’m just sitting there holding her hand, it feels better than not being there at all, despite her hand being small and clammy and as limp as if she was already gone. If I was elsewhere, I could pretend that she wasn’t here, but I’d know. I’d know and feel bad for abandoning her.

I just noticed today’s date. Yesterday was Halloween, and today is what some cultures call Dia de los Muertos – the Day of the Dead. The day when the dead rise and walk among us.

They’ve been doing that for months. It’s as if the bombs shattered time when they broke the skies, robbing us of a calendar that makes any kind of sense.

The whole world is still decorated for a holiday that has long since become meaningless, with tinsel and baubles and smiling plastic angels. Pretty lights are still strung up across streets and in houses, though they’re on dead wires now, hanging limp like electric corpses. The world still hasn’t moved on from Christmas, as if it doesn’t know how, but there are no gifts for anyone.

Now it seems that the Day of the Dead has been bleeding all over the past few months, twisted into an awful parody of what should be a celebration and a commemoration of those who have left us forever. They should be ghosts, returning to walk with us, benign and honoured. Instead, it’s their bodies that have risen, empty shells that mock us with their familiar faces burned by the touch of the sun. There are no souls there, nothing to celebrate and remember with fondness, or even hate. Just horror and fear, and knowing that no matter how far we run, they’ll follow us doggedly, one ragged step after another. Because it’s all they know how to do now.

It’s easy to forget about that here in Haven, where the cutout soldiers keep the dead at the gates. If the acid didn’t eat the bodies, we would be awash in the stench of their decay by now. But I know they’re out there. When we leave here, we’ll have to face them again and find ways to keep ourselves safe.

Today, on this Day of the Dead, there’s a tiny girl whose future is a shambler. She’s grey and fading, and I don’t think she’ll wake again. Most of those I have seen with the Sickness swam up to the surface once before they died, but they were bigger and stronger. It is hitting Debbie harder and faster than I’ve seen before, and I don’t think there’s anyy swimming left in her.

Maybe today is the day her soul will walk free. Maybe today will be the end of all of this for her, and all we’ll be left with is the husk she leaves behind.

Or maybe today will be her reprieve. Perhaps the fever will break and she’ll wake up clear-eyed and smiling. If there is any magic left in the world, now is the time for it to show.

I’ve seen that magic, though. I saw Ben get up out of the Sickness and seem like a person again. But it had eaten him away inside until he was a halfway thing, striving to be a person despite the gnawing inside of him. The thought of that happening to Debbie turns my stomach so badly that I dread the thought of her waking again. The notion of her smiling again has an edge of horror now.

What sort of world does that to people?

It’s possible that the lack of sleep is getting to me. I’m not usually like this. I just wish that there was something I could do for her. A way to make a difference.

I’m going to curl up in one of the side rooms and try to get some sleep, while the boys are here to keep an eye on the little one. After I wake up, I’ll try to work on my acceptance. But I can’t help thinking that accepting these fates is the same as giving in to it. We’re better than this. We deserve more. Maybe someone else has the answers for us and all we need to do is find them.

In the meantime, I’ll try to keep to the spirit of the day. I’ll send thoughts to our dead and hope they’re in a better place. They are free of all of this, and perhaps the luckiest of us all.

In the dark of last night, there was a thud upstairs. I was staying in the infirmary again – somehow, little Debbie was still hanging on and I didn’t want to leave her. Jonah was fast asleep on one of the infirmary beds, better able to ignore the noise in the room now that the child was barely breathing at all.

While I’ve been watching over Debbie, I’ve heard the thumps from downstairs, drifting to me through the dark hours. Those distant, almost-rhythmic thumps, beating in time with a broken hunger. I know what makes those noises, chained in the dark, never sleeping, never stopping. It’s easier to block out the shamblers’ chain-rattling during the day, but it always seeps up to us at night.

I’m doing better at ignoring it now, and trying not to think of the small accompaniment that will soon be joining them.

Last night, the thud came from above and inspired a spark of hope in my chest rather than a squirl of disgust in my stomach. Shamblers just aren’t smart enough to climb in through upstairs windows.

I checked on Jonah, but he was out cold. He was lying with his arm flung over his head to block out the wavering light from the candle by Debbie’s bed. I leant on the creaky floorboard near his bed, twice, and he didn’t move. Satisfied, I snuck off towards the door to the stairwell.

I should have taken the candle with me, but I couldn’t bring myself to rob a little girl of the only nightlight. It seemed wrong to plunge her into darkness, even if she was unlikely to ever know about it. It made a difference to me.

So I left it behind. The stairwell door flapped closed behind me, shutting out the last dregs of yellowish light, and I was wrapped in a thick black blanket. I wondered if my sentimentality was worth it as I stubbed my toes on the first step. I tried to be quiet, feeling my way up like the clumsiest ninja in the class. When I got to the top of the flight, I nearly fell on my face by trying to step up onto a step that wasn’t there and had to grab at the wall.

The next thing I knew, there was a hand on my arm. My heart nearly stopped and I had to stop myself from flinching backwards down the stairs.

Then there was a familiar voice in my ear with a riff of laughter. I sagged. Matt. Of all the times to creep into the infirmary, he had to pick the middle of the night and sneak up on me. I would have smacked him if I had been able to see what I was hitting. I hissed his name and he chuckled at me. Then he slid his hand down my arm to link fingers with me so he could lead me off into the melted-walled room.

He told me that he’d had to wait until the rain dried up enough for him to come. It was getting harder for him to get away – I was right, I’m not the only one being watched at the moment. Between that and the distinctive limp that slows him down, he has been stuck with the boys.

“For some reason, that’s not as fun as it could be,” he mused. I laughed and slipped in for a hug, apologising for ruining his fun. He grinned and forgave me. He always knows how to cheer me up.

Then he asked how I was and I didn’t know how to answer him. I sagged again, but from the weight of sadness rather than relief this time. I stumbled over my explanations, telling him about the missing food stash – that subject made him suddenly solemn – and Jonah and Debbie. He stroked his fingers through my hair and let me lean on him, and murmured something soothing. We weren’t in trouble, we were doing okay, he said. We were lucky that Jonah wasn’t being a bastard, and as for Debbie… well. All we can do is try to make the end better for her, and she’s lucky to have that much.

He didn’t need to say that some people wouldn’t look after her at all. Some groups tossed their Sick out into the rain to be rid of the threat and the mess. I don’t doubt that some people with a sniffle or a cold been killed that way, just in case. Paranoia has a lot to answer for in these times.

I tried not to think about all that. It was upsetting enough unloading onto Matt, finally letting all of this stuff out and trying not to spill it in tears. He listened, like he always has, but closer than he used to. It’s nice, having a solid person to lean on and have him rest on me in turn.

He sighed when I asked him what’s been happening with him. Things on the boys’ side are no better than they are here. There’s pressure for everyone to help out with the Converter reconstruction and a lot of impatience with the injured who can’t pull their weight. Like Matt, who is still recovering from being stabbed and isn’t back up to full strength yet. He’s fetching and carrying a lot, which isn’t giving his leg the rest it needs, but at least he’s able to talk to most of the Seekers in his travels.

He’s fairly sure that a contingent of the cutouts – he calls them the Scouts – is watching everyone very closely, like snakes in their grass. Whatever snatches of communication he gets with others has to be light and brief. He talked about trying to make up clever codes but was afraid it would only confuse things. They still manage to say what they need to say in euphemisms and sideways references.

He says that the girls have worked out a way to get food out of the stores and over to Jersey’s hiding place. We’re not sure how much they’ve managed to smuggle out yet, but Jersey will let us know when we have enough to support the group for a week. Soon, they promise. Soon.

With all the attention on us, it makes me nervous to think about the risks the girls are taking. A week’s worth of food and water for the Seekers – plus the additional two who might be coming along – is a lot. I don’t know how they’re shifting it all, or how cautious they’re being. A part of me wants to trust them to look after themselves, but I know I’ll feel responsible if they get caught or if something bad happens to them.

“Tell them to be careful,” I asked him. It’s all I can do – pass on wishes and hope they come true. It’s not much use but it’s what we’ve got. I’m so sick of making do.

I rested my forehead against Matt’s, glad at least for him and a stolen closeness that will prop me up during the time we’re apart. I will have that and the promise that we’ll have more of it soon, always ‘soon’. Just a few more days. In the meantime, we took what comfort we could in each other.

That was when Jonah walked into the room and pinned us in a flashlight’s beam.

“You two are insane.”

My heart was thudding so loudly that it took me a moment to make sense of the words. I couldn’t see, my eyes narrowed to painful slits in the white light, and I struggled to untangle myself from Matt enough to shield myself from the beam.

“Could you lower that, please?” Matt was quicker than I was to form the question.

The flashlight beam continued to pin our heads for a few long seconds, and then moved down to our bellies. Thrown-up light still illuminated our faces, but we had a chance to let our eyes adjust and see what was around us. It took much blinking and squinting, but eventually the dazzle faded.

I was relieved to see that Jonah was alone. For a stomach-clenching second, I was afraid that he had grabbed some backup before coming up to spring blindness on us. I desperately tried to think about what he might have overheard and when we had last mentioned our escape efforts. He had come in just as we were moving on to more innocent stuff, but I had no idea how long he might have been standing outside. Fear curled up in my belly, cold and scaly.

Jonah was scowling at us over the dipped beam, his mouth set into an unhappy line. The expression pulled at a scar on his jaw, making it stand out in the shadow of his stubble.

“Don’t you know how much trouble you’re in already?” he said. “This will only make it worse.”

“Only if you tell them,” Matt said. That was when I noticed that he was standing slightly in front of me, an arm held out across my front. Protecting me. I stepped up behind his shoulder and took his hand, trying to offer him support and solidarity. I didn’t need protection but I was grateful for the gesture.

“Jonah, we’re not doing anything wrong.” The lie curdled around the snake in my belly and it was an effort not to let it show on my face. I hoped my desperation was coming across as earnestness.

“If I tell the officers about this–”

“If?” Matt moved to take a step forward and I had to hold him back. I tightened my grip on his hand and he stopped, standing tautly. I could tell he was glaring at the cutout.

“We know,” I said quickly. “We know. Please, don’t. You know what they’ll do. You don’t have to, right?”

“Technically, I do.”

“But are you going to?”

Jonah paused, watching us narrowly. Weighing us up, judging our worth. I could feel Matt vibrating with tension.

“What do you want?” he asked before Jonah came to a decision. “For not telling them?”

“Have you got something I want?”

I felt Matt tense when Jonah’s gaze flicked to me. By then, I was holding onto my boyfriend with both hands, just in case. The last thing any of us needed right now was a physical fight – the noise would bring everyone down on us, and if I’m honest, I don’t think that Matt would win. Cutouts have training in this kind of thing, and Jonah knows that my boyfriend has a weak leg. It could only end badly for us.

“Might not get exactly what you’re after,” Matt said.

Jonah frowned. “That goes for both of us.”

“Guys, please.” My desperation was rising quickly – I didn’t want testosterone or pride from getting in the way of us reaching some kind of agreement. I wanted a solution that didn’t mean something awful for any of us. “We have to find a way to resolve this. Jonah, what do you want? To keep this just between us?”

“A promise that you’ll never do this again, to start with.” As demands go, it wasn’t a horrible one, though it still made me shift closer to Matt. I didn’t want to make that promise; I didn’t want this one warm hope to be taken away from me. Even if we were leaving soon. Whenever ‘soon’ was.

Jonah went on to say that he never wanted to be in this position again – that was why he wanted us not to meet up like this after tonight. One secret was all he was willing to keep. The more we meet up, the worse he’ll look for not noticing, or they’ll suspect that he didn’t report it. So no more. For his sake as well as ours.

I hadn’t ever thought of it like that. I hadn’t thought about how our deceptions will reflect on him. What will they do to him when we leave? When I slip away from him and leave him without a charge to watch over? Will they accuse him of being involved, or incompetence? What will his punishment be?

I couldn’t think about that then – the matter at hand was far more pressing. Jonah was talking about us owing him a favour – nothing he would define now, but a token he would call in when he needed to. Matt and I were both nervous about agreeing to it.

We didn’t have a lot of choice. We had to agree now and hope that the request wasn’t too awful later; better that than reaching no agreement at all. Better that than being turned in. So it was wrung from us, reluctant words passed over the flashlight’s beam.

Jonah nodded uncomfortably and left us alone. For a while, Matt and I just hung onto each other.

“Soon,” he promised me. “We’ll get out of here soon.”

I nodded and wrapped my arms around him, and we didn’t say anything else for some time. It was almost dawn before we kissed and said goodbye, and he said he’d see me again before long. One way or another.

I haven’t heard from him since. Little Debbie gave up her fight this morning, after such a long battle. By lunchtime, she was gone completely – I don’t know where they took her and I don’t want to ask. I can’t picture her like that, chained up in the basement like a tiny animal. I’d rather remember her pale, still face, greying as the blood settled in gravity’s grip.

I’m trying not to let her fate mean more than it does. I’m trying to believe that it’s not a metaphor for this world After the bombs, succumbing to the poison that surrounds us every day. We can get through this. We have to.

With Debbie gone, there’s no reason for me to linger in the infirmary any more. Being back in the dorm is strange, and yet exactly the same.

Most of the women don’t speak to me. I’m used to it now, but it doesn’t make the bubble around me any less weird. Luckily, I have a lot of other things to worry about, so Nadine’s glares and Mama Prusco’s grumbles tend to fall short of their mark. I do my best to ignore the mutterings of the others.

I only managed to exchange a few words with Jersey before lights-out last night. Everything’s going fine – that’s all she would say. She made a great show of huffing off, scowling up a storm. I don’t know if I’ve done something or if it was just a show for the others. I’m hoping it was the latter.

Tia tried to speak to me as well, but we couldn’t find the space. Every time she came close, one of her little friends would appear to drag her off for something – to fuss over someone’s hair or to swap clothes or something. The world might have ended but girls are still girls, I guess. I’m going to try to steal her away for a chat tonight, somewhere we can get some privacy. From the glances she was giving me, I don’t think she has good news for me. I wish I knew what to brace myself for.

Jonah is still being Jonah. He walks me between the dorm and the infirmary, and stands post outside when it’s not raining. We exchange greetings and idle pleasantries just like before, though with more sideways glances and caution now.

I wish I knew what to think of him. It’s so hard to tell what’s going on inside his head. I don’t know why he’s helping me, or why he’s keeping the secret about Matt and me. I want to ask him, but we have this strange truce between us – ask me no truth and I’ll keep telling lies. I don’t think he’s interested in being friends, though he’s friendly enough to do us this favour.

More than anything else, I’m glad it was him who found us. I don’t know what Simon would have done, but I doubt he would have kept his mouth shut about it. Glad to be rid of us, probably. And as for Peter – well, that could only have gone badly. He would have tried to sleeze a deal and Matt would have wound up punching him, and it all would have tumbled downhill from there. I would have had to make a horrible choice – giving Peter what he wants or giving ourselves up to the cutouts. I would have chosen the second and damned us.

So it could have been a lot worse. It’s going to be a while before I know the full price of our secret, but maybe we’ll be gone by then.

I’ve had no word on the escaping side of things apart from Jersey’s hurried, off-hand reassurance. I try not to worry about it all, but I can’t help it. How’s it all going? Do the cutouts suspect anything, or anyone (besides me)? How soon is ‘soon’? Will we be ready?

How do we make sure that no-one is hurt when we leave? I might be the only one worrying about that, but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t. Most of all, I look at the guy patiently escorting me around the compound, performing his penance for an unknown sin. He’ll be blamed for our escape – unless we hurt him. Knock him out and tie him up. It sickens me to think about, but we’ll be kinder than the General. That much I am sure about.

I wish I could tell him. Warn him. I can feel the apology queuing up behind my teeth already, muddling in with all the things I wish I knew how to ask him.

But I can’t. There’s our truce, our non-speaking pact that keeps the peace. So nothing of meaning passes between us.

I should go. The rain has almost stopped; it’ll be time to head back to the dorm soon. Time to submit to my armed escort.