I wish it wasn’t bad news.

We knew it was bad when Faith came out of the van this morning. We were digging out the vehicles – one of them was wrecked, but it had protected the others from the worst of the landslide. She looked so strange that we all turned and stared at her. I’ve never seen her so calm before; it was the kind of calm that made me want to go over and shake her, just to see if my Faith was still in there.

“We need to go Dillon’s aunt’s house,” she said. Last night, we had agreed to head back to the university, get the kid to the doctor. We all knew she wouldn’t make such a reversal lightly. “He should be with his family.” She didn’t need to tell us that there wasn’t much time left.

She went back into the van and closed the door, and the rest of us finished up. It wasn’t long before we were on the road.

I haven’t had such a horrible journey before. Thorpe insisted on driving the van and Dale went with him. I wanted to ride with Faith, but there wasn’t room in the back with her and the kid. I couldn’t have done anything anyway, but I wanted to be there. I should have been there. I shouldn’t have left her alone with him.

Something happened about halfway to the house – I’ve never seen Thorpe drive so crazily before. At first I thought it was the ice, or the tyres on the van going. Then I saw Faith moving in the back of the van, rocking back and forth, and I knew. I knew. I have no idea how Thorpe and Dan did it, but somehow they kept going.

We didn’t get a warm welcome when we got to the highset house. We pulled up and piled out, and suddenly there were guns aimed at us. We held our hands out and denied coming to take anything – the people in the house seemed to believe we had come to steal all their food. They wouldn’t listen to us. I heard the guns cocking and thought that, apparently, things can always get worse.

Then the van’s door opened. Faith stepped out with Dillon in her arms, and we all forgot about the guns and the paranoia that might kill us. I don’t know if it was the fall of his arm, or the way his head fell back, or the look on her face, but everyone could see that he was gone. Even those in the house.

I don’t know where she gets her strength from. She’s so thin these days, and I could have sworn I saw her shaking as she walked up to the front of the group, step after heavy step. We moved aside for her and she didn’t falter once. She carried the kid and raised her voice, and I know that he must have been so heavy.

“Mr and Mrs Holt?” I had no idea what Dillon’s last name was until she asked for his parents. I didn’t even know that she knew it. It got their attention. “We were bringing him home. He was protecting us, and… he was so brave. I’m sorry.”

They came out of the house, down the steps and close enough to see his face. There were four or five of them, all carrying rifles. A couple of them started shouting and making demands and threats. His mother howled and buried herself in her husband’s chest. But Faith, she carried on like she couldn’t even hear them.

She told them that Dillon had been with her when the bomb went off. I didn’t know that. They found each other in the rubble and they haven’t been apart since. They’ve looked after each other through this whole nightmare. They went to his home and found the note left for him. That led us here, after all these months. We wanted to bring him home. And we almost made it. He almost got to see them again.

I think the thing that got to me most was the smudge of blood on her jaw. Looking at it, I knew that she had hugged him when she realised he was gone. She had held onto him like that all the way here, I just know it. It’s just the way she is.

When she was finished speaking, she stood there, holding him and waiting. I thought they might let her stay like that until the rain came, but finally one of them stepped forward and took him off her. I think it was Dillon’s father. He took the kid away, back to where his family could cry over him.

Without Dillon, Faith was so lost. I touched her arm and she shrank in, so I wrapped her up. All her strength went with him.

“We have to sing for him,” she said, looking at me to fix it. I glanced at the others, at the new Seekers who haven’t been through this before and didn’t know. Dan looked solemn, standing with his head bowed. The siblings were holding onto each other, Terry trying not to cry as obviously as his sister. Dale had tears streaming down his face and his arms wrapped around himself. Thorpe nodded at me, stony-faced; he’s a stoic bastard, but he got it. Even he wanted to sing for the kid.

So we did. The lyrics were garbled and thick, but we got through it. The Holts stared at us, but a couple of them joined in. It was like they couldn’t help themselves.

When it was done, we went back to the vehicles. No-one wanted us to stay. What were we supposed to say to these people? There wasn’t anything left. They had Dillon and we had nothing but empty hands.

Inside the van, Faith finally broke down and sobbed like she was trying to choke up her whole heart. That time, I wasn’t going to leave her alone back there. I’m not too proud to admit that I cried right along with her. I loved the damn kid too.

Now we’re a few miles down the road, stopped wherever we were when the rain hit. I guess Thorpe and Dan drove; they were the only ones capable, I think.

It’s hard to think about tomorrow. My head is full of Faith standing there, carrying the kid and telling his family how good he was and how much we’re going to miss him. She wasn’t wrong.

She’s sleeping now. I think I’m going to curl up with her; we both need the company right now. Whatever comfort we can get, though it won’t be enough to forget the one we’ve lost.

Good night, kid. I wish it wasn’t goodbye.

I don’t know where they came from. We were spread out, everyone checking the buildings for anything of value to us. I think Dan saw them first; he was the first one I heard shouting. They were stumbling over the slope above the little town, tripping over rocks and falling down. Dirt skittered down around them – that should have been our first warning.

I counted heads as the group emerged into the street to see what was happening. The shamblers were still a way off, so we decided to complete our search before we left. They’re slow and we were sure we’d have time.

Once upon a time, there were trees on these hills, and grass with its tiny roots, binding it all together. The rain scoured all of that away. There are no trees, or grass, or roots. Nothing to hold it all together. The messy weight of the shamblers was enough to bring it all down.

My first thought was that another storm was coming. Then I realised the rumbling was under my feet and shivering up the walls. I looked up and the whole world was sliding.

I think I screamed. Then there was running, everyone running away. Except Thorpe – he ran back towards the rolling hillside that was coming down to meet us. I shouted at him and looked back. Dale was behind us, just in front of the first building the dirt swept over. I saw him go under, dragged into the wave feet-first.

I ran harder. I couldn’t help it – I just had to get away. Everything was pounding so hard I didn’t even notice the rocks pinging on my back. Then I was thrown down and everything washed over me. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to curl up into a ball, but I couldn’t do that, either.

Then it was over. I pushed myself up and spat out foul grit, and couldn’t believe there was air. My eyes were streaming; I had to scrub them before they’d work properly. Then I saw an arm near me and went to pull it up. It was Terry, coughing and struggling to get up. We stumbled around, trying to find everyone. I ticked names off in my head – Matt, Dan, Tia. Thorpe struggling out of the press of dirt and rocks, shouting so desperately. Dillon fought with the door to a store to get it open, hobbling out on one crutch and looking so worried. He was the only one of us inside when it happened; the rest of us got caught in the tail-end of the landslide.

Except Dale. I haven’t seen Thorpe so frantic since the diner when the rain first came down. It took us minutes to find where the ex-Wolverine was buried, and longer to dig him out. He was unconscious, unmoving. I had to push the fireman out of the way so I could check his pulse and his breathing. His mouth was full of dirt.

I’ve never actually done CPR before except on the training dummies. My hands shook and I had no idea if I was doing it right. The breaths made me dizzy. I kept counting and counting to get the ratios right – breaths and compressions, breaths and compressions. I’m not sure when he came around. Someone pulled me back and I landed on my backside, blinking away spots. Someone was crying; I think it was Tia.

Dillon was the only one of us not mud-coloured. Head to foot, we were long brown smears. He was so bright in his orange jacket, hobbling over the fallen hillside on his splinted leg and one crutch. I think we all heard him shout at the same time and turned to look. He had almost made it over to us.

We weren’t the only dirty bodies pulling ourselves out of the ground: inexorable and hungry, the shamblers were dragging themselves free. There was one just a few feet away from me, almost completely emerged. I hadn’t even noticed the movement. Dillon smacked it in the head with his crutch before I could finish scrambling to my feet. Once, twice, and once more to make sure it wasn’t going to move again. Then he grinned at me.

The flush of relief was sliced off by the movement behind him. More of them were crawling free and he was too close. He tried to hit them, but he couldn’t turn and his leg– He went down. He screamed and then I couldn’t see him any more..

We got to him as fast as we could. No-one had any weapons – it was just bare hands and desperation. We pulled him free and got him into the campervan. There was so much blood. I did what I could for him, but… there was just so much. He kept telling me that it was all right, it’s all right, Faith, don’t worry, it’s all going to be fine. I managed not to start crying until he fell asleep.

I can’t sleep. I keep watching him breathing, terrified every time it catches. I don’t know what to do. Masterson is so far away. The vehicles are stuck in the landslide.

Hold on, Dillon. We have to make it. We have to.

Please don’t go.

We have answered the burning questions we had: where everyone went; what happened to the organisation and official channels that were supposed to help us. We know where they went, but we don’t know if they made it. What happened to them is the same that happened to all of us – the rain, the lack of supplies, and most likely the Sickness and shamblers too.

We know now that there’s no-one coming. No-one is looking for survivors, because that’s all that’s left now and the mirror is close enough. Maybe there’s a government tucked away somewhere, buried in a bunker with three years’ worth of supplies. With no sign of them, they might as well not be there at all.

There’s still the army base. There’s a hope there, growing slimmer by the second. Why aren’t they scanning the air waves? Why haven’t they answered any of our transmissions? Every establishment we have hoped on has turned out to be empty: first the hospital and now here. I think I’m too tired to rest my hopes on that any more. I can’t take any more disappointments.

We’re on our own. Life, death, what little is left of morality – it’s all up to us now. We’re our own higher authority; we’re our own saviours. We’re all each other has got.

That doesn’t mean that we’re not going to see what’s at the base, though. We talked about it while we waited for the storm to blow itself out and all of us want to continue on to Greenberry. If nothing else, there is the signal. There’s power to send it and that has to come from somewhere. There must be something there.

I asked if we could go back up before we head down the mountain again. I wanted to see the sky, to imprint it on my brain before we were cut off completely again. There was a note of relief in the group; after the bleakness of the revelations here, we all need that comfort.

The storm cleared about midday – it’s hard to tell with all this fog, but it felt like midday – and we took whatever we could find that might be of use to us. There wasn’t much; the ECC workers did a good job of evacuating the supplies when they left.

Before we closed the doors behind us, we tacked a note just inside so that whoever came here after us would know where we’ve gone. So they wouldn’t have to search and wonder.

We have spent the rest of the day on the mountaintop, stunned by all the space after spending a couple of days inside windowless walls. We can see the storm circling off to the west, the thunderheads reaching up much higher than we are. It looks like it’s trying to scrub the stained clouds away, but it’s not having much luck.

As focussed as we have been on finding official organisation, we haven’t forgotten what our next destination is. We have to go south a short way to the place where Dillon’s family fled to. To look for them and hope they’re still there. I don’t think any of us can bear the thought of another empty building telling tales of people long gone.

I spent most of the day sitting with the kid; he’s quiet with nerves now that we’re close to his aunt’s house. He’s afraid to hope they’re there and excited at the same time. It’s worse than when we went to his home – I think the wait has made this carrot seem even more precious and distant than the last one.

The boys kicked his ball around on the mountaintop under the setting sun, and he joined in. He’s still slow and relying on his crutches, but the fellas were kind with him. He hobbled back to me with a grin, flushed and needing a rest. It’s good to see him that way. But that grin faded when he sat down, so abruptly that I asked him what was wrong.

“I’m gonna miss you if I stay with my folks,” he said, then stammered to correct himself. “All of you. Everyone. It’s gonna be strange.”

I wrapped both arms around his shoulders and told him that we’ll miss him too. It made me feel heavy inside; of all of these strangers I’ve grown to like and love, he has been with me the longest. I don’t want to think about him not being in the group.

He was quiet for a little while, then he asked, “What if I don’t want to stay with them?”

It wasn’t something that had occurred to me as a possibility. “That’s up to you,” I told him. “No-one’s going to make you stay there.”

“My dad might. And you guys’ll be able to move faster without me.” He tapped a crutch on the split that bound his healing leg.

I know that kind of doubt and fear; I’ve had those thoughts myself, eating away at me while no-one’s looking. I made him look at me, right in the eye so he would know I was telling the truth. “You’ll always have a place with us. We’re not looking to dump you.”

He nodded and looked glum, so I’m not sure if he believed me. Then the boys called him away to play soccer with them and I joined in too, running and shoving with the rest of them. It felt good to get breathless and laugh with them. Even silent Dan joined in, and I know I saw Thorpe grinning like a kid.

The moon has come up tonight, so bright that we don’t need flashlights at all. The sun is watching us from the other side of the world through that great, waning mirror. It’s a comforting thought. We need all we can get of those as we move towards tomorrow.

I don’t want to be here any more. I’ve been buried in blankets, as if they might protect me from the world. From the truth. They won’t. They can’t. It seeps in, it grabs me and sucks me down, and plays over and over in my head. I keep thinking of things I could have done better, or differently, but the end is always the same. A perfect circle.

I could have not picked up the gun. I might have lost them both, but it wouldn’t have been my hands that did it. I keep trying for a better solution, but I can’t find one, and that hurts more than anything.

Dillon came to see me today. He struggled all the way up three flights of stairs on his crutches and into the room I had isolated myself in. He asked me how I was, but I had no answer for him. There just aren’t words. I shook my head and returned the question.

He was quite happy to talk. About how he’s getting better on these crutches and the doctor says that his leg is healing all right. He’s been playing soccer with the other two kids, hopping about and using crutches to bat the ball, and they’re not letting him win any more. His grin didn’t mind that, but it didn’t last long. He’s going to miss them when we go; the other youngsters are staying here. Dillon has a family to find.

Before he left, he said that he didn’t blame me for what happened and put his hand on my head. It was the only part of me he could reach from up on his crutches. The gesture brought tears up again, but I held them back until he was gone.

If I’m not to blame, then who is? It’s not Ben’s fault that he became what he did. It’s not Thorpe’s for bringing the gun. It’s not Matt’s for standing up for what he thought was right. He was trying to protect me.

I made the choice. Just me.

I want to write it down but I’m afraid to put it into words. That awful scene, the moment when I knew I had to do something. Each frantic little thought that led to the sharp tang of gunpowder in the air. I can explain it. I can justify it. And that’s the part that frightens me the most.

I don’t want to know that I can do something like that again.

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t we head out soon too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With Dillon injured and unable to get up, the Seekers gathered around him to fight off the wave coming in through the empty windowframe. They just kept coming and coming.

I looked across the showroom floor, and there was Kirk, grinning cockily. Dale was crying out for help but Kirk was taking his time, walking around his friend to get a clean swipe at the shambler chewing on him.

Kirk never saw the pair moving up behind him. I shouted at him but he didn’t even glance in my direction, focussed on his target. One minute he was lifting a crescent wrench to take aim, and the next there were hands all over him, pulling him towards hungry mouths. Then there were so many people screaming that it was hard to hear anything.

They had hold of his arms and there was no-one close enough to help him. He couldn’t pull free on his own, not grabbed like that. There was snapping and a lot of blood, and then I didn’t watch any more. Conroy managed to get over to help Dale but they didn’t get to Kirk in time. I remember catching sight of his legs sticking out from the back room, one foot twitching.

The mess attracted the other shamblers in the room. Maybe it was the hot blood hitting the air and spreading all over the floor. Whatever the reason, we suddenly had a reprieve as the staggering attackers shifted towards him.

“We have to get out of here.” I’m not sure who said it. It might even have been me. There were no verbal answers, just a general air of agreement, this was not a place any of us wanted to be any more.

It was an effort to pull my attention around to what needed to be done. I took Sally and ran out to the yard, dodging the shamblers still making their way across the slick footing towards the violated showroom. We started one of our prepared trucks and she backed it up to the shattered window, blocking the portal. The others managed to get the gear thrown into the back while I struggled to start a second engine on my own. I nearly ran it into a wall, but the brakes bit in just in time.

There was no order to it. Just fill up the back of an offroader with whatever packs came to hand, move it out of the way, and do the same with the next one. We ran over the shamblers that got in the way, though that didn’t always stop them. My body didn’t know what to do first – it was a fight between a stomach that wanted to throw up, a heart that wanted out of my chest, and skin that was desperate to crawl off and hide.

Finally all the engines were started, the gear was all piled into vehicles, and we just had to get the injured in too. Dillon screamed when Thorpe picked him up, and again when he was laid on a back seat. Dale had to be helped into the back of another offroader. We were all covered in someone’s blood.

Finally everyone was in a vehicle – even Nugget with a wide-eyed Jones clutched to her chest – and we took off. Shamblers crunched under our tyres and we slid on the mess of blood and ice, but we were all determined to get the hell out of there in the pieces we had left.

We drove for a couple of hours after we saw the last of the zombies. I don’t know how we all stayed together – somehow I ended up in front and the others followed.

Zombies. That term doesn’t seem funny any more, not even a little bit.

We found ourselves in an industrial area and set about looking for a warehouse we could close up for the night. Something we could make secure, though I don’t think any of us will feel secure again. We found one eventually – big enough that we could all drive in and with roller doors we could close after us.

Then there were injuries to deal with. Most of us were torn or bitten somewhere. Masterson was hurt, so I helped him first; then he got to work on patching everyone else up. We barely had enough bandages to deal with it all.

I have four long scores down my upper arm where that shambler grabbed me that felt they were filled with hot lead. It was worse when it was washed with antiseptic – I thought my arm would burn right through and come off. When it was finished, I could barely see and was shaking all over. I can’t believe that Matt had this every day on the bulletwound in his leg.

And then there was Dillon. One leg was broken by the shelves that fell on him, snapped clean through, the doctor said. We scrounged around for something to splint his leg and tore up blankets to lash it all together. The Wolverines gave us a bottle of vodka and we got him drunk before Masterson set the leg. I held onto him and he screamed so loudly. At some point in it all he passed out; I didn’t even realise until someone told me that it was over and to put him down.

We’re all putting up with pain at the moment. I never thought I’d want two small pills so much in my life, just a little relief. The kid has it worse than any of us, and we haven’t tried to move him since his leg was set. He only cries when he thinks no-one will see.

I’ve spent as much time with him as I could. There’s so much to organise: going through what was grabbed in the flight from the car yard, checking the vehicles to see what damage has been done, checking on the injuries, trying to talk to the Wolverines. They’re in a mess, down to only three of their previous six. Jersey won’t talk to anyone except in snaps. Dale has lost a lot of blood; we’re not sure if he’ll pull through.

We’ve set a watch on the roof during the light hours, in case more shamblers turn up. Everyone’s too shell-shocked to talk much, and I’m a little afraid of what will be said once we get past that. I’m afraid of what I’ll say.

For now, all we can do is try to tend to our wounds and hope we avoid attention.

The way we have always worked – the Seekers, that is – is that we share everything. Everyone carries a portion of what we find depending on what they can manage, and food and drink are handed around between us when we stop to eat. I think we just got used to it that way; we’ve had children and injured people with us so often that it wasn’t possible for everyone to carry their allocation of supplies. Things got tense when supplies grew thin and hoarding instincts kicked in, but we got through it. There was never any one person left hungry; it was all or nothing.

We’ve been with the Wolverines for a bare few days, and there hasn’t been a discovery of supplies without some kind of fuss over who gets what. We tried to agree to just let each group keep what they found, but that didn’t satisfy them. The other guy always has the better stuff and luck isn’t always fair.

Early this morning, when most of us were still asleep, a couple of the Wolverines caught Dillon alone while he was on watch. He wouldn’t tell me what happened, or what they took from him.

I found him sitting by a window, looking out, hunched up and hugging his knees. He had been crying; I could see where he’d scrubbed at his cheeks to hide it. He couldn’t hide the bruises, though. I made him show me how bad it was and saw florid colours on his ribs and arms. Nothing broken, at least, but that’s not a comfort.

The idea of anyone hurting Dillon like that made me feel sick, and then tense and hot all over. I hugged him carefully and stood up, ready to go and tear strips off the damn Wolverines. I was furious, partly with myself for not keeping a closer eye on all of this but mostly with them, and I intended to give them a piece of my mind. But Dillon grabbed my hand and asked me not to. Matt was in the room by then and agreed with the kid; confronting them about it was a bad idea.

“You can’t win with them that way,” he told me. He had a look about him that took me a while to place: it was the same one he carried when we found him with the Sharks. It was that look that made me stop.

“I’m not going to live this way,” I said. Matt looked away from me, uncomfortable with the whole thing. But I had to do something; I couldn’t just let this happen to the people I care about. It’s not good enough.

When everyone gathered to eat, I could see the Wolverines watching us, waiting to see how we’d react to the attack on Dillon. We did a fairly good job of acting like nothing was wrong, not rising to their bait, but supplies were still a problem. Our packs were lighter than they should have been, though theirs weren’t.

While we were all together, I proposed a new way of doing things. There are four able-bodied members in each group capable of searching. We would pair up, one Seeker, one Wolverine, and pool everything we found in one place. Mixed pairs would keep everyone honest, and we would split up the supplies so that everyone got an even share.

They didn’t like it, but their attempts at arguing fell flat. They tried to claim that the kids shouldn’t get full portions – they don’t eat as much, they can’t carry it – but the rest of us spoke up to counter it. Thorpe said he’d carry the kids’ food if necessary. And what about Jones? Does the cat get a share too? No. Nugget hugged the scrawny creature defensively when we said that we’ve never fed him anything except scraps.

Eventually, it was agreed.

Dillon stayed back with Matt, which meant I didn’t have to worry about either of them too much. I was partnered up with Conroy, who kept trying to impress me with chattering about how this reminded him of a movie he once saw, or a particular storyline in some comic book. As if any of that stuff mattered any more.

He sidled towards me a couple of times, as if he was going to try something lame like a yawn-stretch-arm-around-shoulders move. Making him carry our find kept his hands busy, though; it was worth the risk of him slipping things in his pockets.

Today’s supply-search went well, despite all the angling and grumbling. I suspect the Wolverines are still hoarding when they can, but our packs are filling up again. That’ll have to do for now.

As for the watches, we’re doing that in our own pairs – no single Seeker is going to get caught out again. It means that we’re getting less sleep, but better that than another beating, or worse. No-one is to go off on their own, for any reason. Both Sally and I tried to convince Nugget of the seriousness of this, and I think the solemn little girl understood.

I wish there was another way to do this, but I guess this is the best lemonade we can come up with right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have to go – they’re coming back.

We spent the morning scouring the mall, checking all the exits and entrances. Wherever those shamblers went, they didn’t come into the mall. Not that we could tell, anyway.

The Rats came to harry us as we got into the northern end of the mall. It seems we had finally stumbled near to the parts that they call home. They’re getting braver and better armed; they were confident enough to try to scare us off. They weren’t to know that there are far scarier things than them around these days.

They came at us while most of the boys were in the back room of an electronics store, shouting and waving sticks and barbecue forks, and banging on pans. The sound was shocking in the quiet mall, enough to set my pulse racing even before I knew what was causing it.

Sally, Masterson and I spun to face them, weapons in hand; the Rats weren’t expecting that. But with the threat of the shamblers hanging low on our heads and shoulders, we weren’t going to be chased off by kids and noise. We backed up, shouting for them to stop, shouting… I don’t even know what we were saying. It all melded into one morass of words and warring intentions, each side trying to be louder, be heard. Then the boys came out from the room behind us, swelled our size until the kids looked up and stopped. They knew when they were outmatched.

Thorpe looked like he was going to cuff each and every one of them, and as he had his short metal pipe in hand, I thought it best to stop him before he got carried away. So I stepped forward and shouted at them instead, barely taking the time to catch my breath before I launched a tirade at them. Didn’t they know what was out there? Didn’t they know that we were making sure that this place was secure? Did they really think that we were here to steal from them, or attack them?

“No, but we know what you did to Alice.”

The words stopped me in my verbal tracks so abruptly that I forgot how to breathe for a moment. I stared at the kid and his thrust-out chin, and tried to work out what the hell he was talking about.

“We didn’t do anything to Alice.” Dillon stepped forward and I put a hand on his shoulder; he looked like he was ready to punch the kid in the face.

“You did, you got her sick,” the kid replied, unintimidated.

“We did nothing of the sort,” I said, before anyone else could wade in. I could feel the control between us slipping; it wouldn’t take much for someone to fall, and I didn’t want to know what that would mean. “The sickness is all over the place.”

“She brought it to us,” Thorpe put in before I could stop him. I shot him a look that I hoped would quiet him; the last thing we needed was a reason for them to argue with us.

“Alice is sick?” Dillon had shifted under my hand. I didn’t need to see his face to know that he looked stricken.

“We just want to see her,” I said before they could speak.

The Rats scowled at us, then withdrew a few steps so that they could exchange glances and hushed words. They finally came back to say that they would let one of us see her. We told them that that would never happen, and we came to an arrangement: most of my group would continue to check out the security of the mall to see if it had been breached, and three of us would go to see Alice. Dillon, because he’s her friend; Masterson, because he’s a doctor; and me, because someone has to get something useful out of the girl.

I wish that Dillon hadn’t come along with us. I didn’t want him to see what the Rats showed to us.

They took us to a small backroom in a clothing store, where beds had been made up between the racks and boxes of stock. Only one was occupied, the half-visible face pale and sweaty with fever. Alice looked like she had shrunk in the wash and still hadn’t dried despite being thoroughly wrung out. She blinked her good eye and hardly seemed to see us at all.

Masterson checked her over first, despite her protests. When he withdrew, Dillon said hello, said her name, and that was all he could manage. She looked at him and gave half a smile, and then he tore out of there. He couldn’t stay and watch his friend in such a state, knowing what had happened to Sax. Fearing it would happen to her.

I would have gone after him, but I couldn’t. Not until after I had spoken to her. I asked the doctor if it was safe to hold her hand and he shrugged, so I did it anyway. I do worse with Ben and he’s almost as sick as Alice now.

“Alice, your group – we have to know if they really died,” I told her.

She looked at me; she had been vague before, but the question had sharpened her attention. She knew what I was asking her about and the pain of it showed in every line of her. Her hand felt like thin, damp paper between mine.

“They did.” Her voice had been sandpapered and stapled to the back of her throat.

“And the attackers you saw – were they your friends?” She looked away from me; I had to press her. “Alice, we have to know. Sax, he–” I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say what had happened to him. The thought of it made the words stick in my throat and prickle at my eyes like hot needles.

She shook her head and at first I thought she was giving her answer. Then I saw the tears in her eye and knew that she was refusing to answer the question. She was a girl who didn’t want to say ‘yes’, to acknowledge such an awful memory. As if admitting it made it real, made it impossible to hide from any more.

I was going to press her again – I wanted more, I wanted her to confirm the horror of it, for all of us, for Sax. But Masterson put his hand on my shoulder and told me to stop. Him, of all people. I think the shock of him stepping in for another person’s sake was what stopped me in the end.

I patted her hand and stood up. I apologised and told her that we weren’t angry with her. Then I painted on a smile and told her to get better soon. By the time I was out of the door, there were tears on my cheeks even before I asked Masterson to confirm what I already knew. She had the same sickness as Sax, the same creeping rash. He didn’t say how long she had.

It was on the way out that I caught sight of what was in the next store. Five or six beds – I didn’t stop to count – each of them with an occupant tossing back and forth, or lying very very still. I kept on moving until I made it back to my friends, where I could give my report and break poor Dillon’s heart again. There were arms to hold us there, comfort for us to lean on. And Ben with his irrepressible cough and the clammy heat on his skin.

He’s getting worse. I don’t know how long he can keep moving. I don’t know how long he’s got left. The worse he gets, the more he pushes me away, as if creating a festering bubble around himself will help.

There were no signs of the shamblers yesterday, and we took today to try to decide what to do next. We need to talk to the Rats, need to make them believe what’s coming. They need to know the danger they’re in, though I’m afraid of what it might make them do.

I wish I knew how to help them, and us.