The Apocalypse Blog
by Melanie Edmonds

We’re out of the area that the foraging party has scoured now, so we’ve been stopping to look for supplies again. We managed to siphon enough fuel out of abandoned vehicles to keep ours going, and there’s a gas station down the road from where we’re staying tonight that we’ll try in the morning.

We managed to find some food. Not much, barely enough for half a meal each, but it’s more than we’ve had to share around for a while. We thought about rationing it more strictly, watering it down, but it’s been so long since any of us had a decent meal that we couldn’t do it. I’m not the only one feeling the effects of hunger, with exhaustion that comes on so easily and tremors in my limbs. Jonah’s bike was wavering badly this morning, and I’ve been getting dizzy every now and then as well. It’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt.

So now we have our bellies working on a plate of preserved meat and beans. It was pathetically small but the best thing I’ve seen for a while. There was even a handful of smiles around the fire tonight.

I sat in front of Matt while he fiddled with my hair, combing his fingers through it and patiently working out the knots. It’s the sort of casual intimacy I missed in Haven. There, this kind of thing carried a weight of shame with it, because dedicating this sort of attention to one person wasn’t allowed. Even if you were in love with them. Tonight, I could close my eyes and feel Matt taking quiet care of me, and it was easier to believe that everything would be okay.

Sally is still resting up in bed in the campervan. Those who have seen her say that she’s doing better; I haven’t dared Masterson’s wrath by trying to visit her myself, but I trust the others are telling the truth.

This evening, Janice brought the baby out to the group to give his mother a chance to sleep. He was a fretful thing, but he didn’t howl as he was passed around the circle. Most of the group took a turn with him, even Jersey. She liked it more than she let on, I think.

He’s tiny. I didn’t really appreciate that until I held him. I felt big and clumsy, so afraid I would drop or hurt him. Then he made an odd sound and I was abruptly more worried about him throwing up on me. I didn’t want to hand him on – it felt good, cradling the little body against my chest, more than I had expected. I haven’t had a lot to do with babies before but I guess it’s true what they say about maternal instincts.

The boys were the funniest ones. Kostoya was open about being a big sap, cooing and tickling. Matt grinned and looked like the proudest thing in the whole world. Dale peered at the baby curiously, like he’d never seen one before, and then started making little baby-noises. I wasn’t the only one laughing at – and along with – him. He handed the little one on to Thorpe, who promptly went all rigid and disapproving, only partly because his hands are bandaged. The baby fit snugly in the crook of his arm and he looked like he didn’t dare to move in case he shook it loose.

That was the perfect time for a noise to go off further inside the parking garage we were sitting in. It was only a small structure: two levels and ramps with viciously sharp corners designed without offroaders in mind. Immediately, most of the group were on their feet and grabbing for something weapon-like, and Jonah and Bobby led the charge to see what it was. The bulk of the group moved towards the noise, forming a protective barrier between it and our vulnerable ones. Mira had the kids herded back and Bree was sending Iona in that direction too.

It was nothing. It took us a while to confirm that it was nothing – we were all imagining shamblers hiding in the shadows, I’m sure of it, but all we could find was a puddle of acid on the concrete. We think that something in the ceiling must have given way, letting the rain leak through, and something had fallen when enough of its housing had disintegrated. There was no sign of anything worth worrying about, so after some milling around to double- and triple-check, we headed back to the fire’s circle.

Thorpe hadn’t moved. He looked like he wanted to get up and see what was happening, but all he could do was screw his head around and scowl after us. Other than that, he hadn’t dared to move himself. He had one hand hovering above the baby, just in case, and he kept glancing down to check that his charge was still there. The contrast between his gruffness and carefulness was endearing.

He hissed at me when I passed by his shoulder. “Faith, can you take him?”

I looked down at the pair and couldn’t help it: I smiled at the sight. Thorpe was being so protective, and the tiny one had his eyes closed in perfect trust. “Why? He likes you. Look, he’s gone to sleep.” That was the first time I’d seen the baby sleeping. They really are much cuter when they’re asleep. And quiet.

“Faith, please.”

The others were almost on us and I think it was the first time he has been close to begging me to do something for him. I took pity on him and gathered up the little one, who woke and promptly started crying. I rocked him, feeling deaf and clumsy again, and gave Thorpe a sigh. “See? I told you he likes you.”

That’s the only time I’ve ever seen him look helpless. He has no idea what to do with something like a small baby’s preference. He’d be the most protective, devoted, and clueless father in the world, if there was ever a chance of him sleeping with a girl. I think it might be good for him. Children soften men’s edges. Except for Masterson. His defences are still firmly in place.

A couple of the girls are asking about sanitary supplies; they haven’t found any new ones in a while and it sounds like Mira just got her period. As if it isn’t hard enough to keep clean in the After. I’d better go help out; I have plenty in my pack, left over from my last cycle.

Wait. Oh, shit.

Hey, it’s Matt here. Filling in for Faith because… I’m not sure why. She’s off with the girls. If something’s wrong, they’re not saying. But she left the laptop behind with me, so here I am, whiling away the time without her.

It’s only in these pauses that I realise how much I’ve grown used to being around her. Since Haven, we’ve been living in each other’s pockets and loving it. With some people, you’d get sick of them being there all the time. We’re still catching up on the time we were apart, and making up for all those chances we missed before we realised how much we should be together. I’m still grateful every time she comes to sit next to me, never mind the moments we get to spend alone.

Without her leaning back against me, I’m at a loss for what to do with myself. My hands have nothing to do. I want to go and find her, but I don’t think that would be a good idea. Whatever’s going on with the girls, they don’t want the rest of us to know. They’ll tell us when they’re ready.

It’s weird if I think about it too much. Her and me. But right, too. I can’t imagine anyone else I’d want to be with, Before or After. And that’s not something I ever thought I’d be the one to say.

She has hardly said anything to me today. I’m fairly sure it’s nothing I’ve done. Oh God, I’m not turning into one of those guys, am I? Faith isn’t a passive-aggressive kind of girl – if I had done something wrong, she’d tell me. I’m sure I’d know if it was anything serious. I think. Ah, crap.

I should probably just talk about what we got up to today and stop thinking about all that. We’re still heading southwards, creeping around the foothills and hugging against the coast. We’re close enough to the sea to smell it – the salt-laden breeze reminds me of holiday trips when I was a kid. Those trips were about as cheerful and fun-filled as this one. I don’t know if it’s just me, but the air feels tainted, as if it’s not just carrying the salt. Could the offshore wind have scooped up some of the poison out of the seawater, too?

There isn’t much point worrying about it. By now, we’ve all breathed in enough to be in trouble, if that’s the case.

I wonder just how poisoned the seawater is. Unlike the river, it doesn’t seem any different just to look at it; the last time we saw the river, it was churned mud-brown with hints of sickly green. The waves on the shore look as turquoise as they always have, though the reflection of the orange sky lends it an odd cast.

In those times we’ve strayed near beaches, I haven’t seen any dead fish washing up. Has the poison already stripped the fish out of this area? I guess the rain would have cleaned up the sand. That’s one good thing about the acid: we don’t have to worry about corpses clogging up the world. They’re washed away under God’s great new hosepipe.

I wonder if there are zombie fish. Zombie sharks – now there’s a terrifying thought. If we were ever likely to get into the water, we certainly won’t now.

I get why Faith can’t call them ‘zombies’; it is ridiculous. The notion of zombie sharks makes me smile, even while I decide that swimming is not in my immediate future. But sharks don’t exactly ‘shamble’ – what would be a good name for them? Floppers? Not exactly less comic, is it?

I’m getting off-topic again. It’s easy at the moment – there’s not a lot to say. We’re making pretty good progress, though a flat tyre slowed us down again today. Nothing really exciting happening.

It’s all small clusters of buildings down here, picturesque once upon a time but reduced to sad collections of walls and roofs by the After. They’re far enough away from the city to have avoided the destruction of the blast wave, but the rain has rubbed away all the green and softness. Even the paintwork is eroding.

We think a group of shamblers must have passed through here: there are doors and windows broken in, sometimes whole walls, where something determined had wanted whatever was inside the buildings. We’ve only seen one thing with that kind of heedless purpose. There’s no sign of them now, though, or anyone else. Maybe the living are just too scared to come out. I wouldn’t blame them, not with how many we are now and the obvious soldiers riding armed among the group.

I’m still not sure that’s a good idea. Faith told me about her sabotage fears. We’re keeping an eye on them, the five of us – Thorpe, Dale, Jersey, Faith and me. We haven’t seen anything untoward yet but we’re keeping an open mind about it anyway. Just in case.

You know, come to think of it, Jersey has been acting strangely lately too. She has been hanging around the soldiers a lot, especially Jonah. I’d think that she was trying to get close to them to find out who was sabotaging us, but she’s not that kind of girl. I’d expect that kind of thing from Bree, not our little transvestite. The thing is, if I’m not mistaken, she has been flirting.

If I’m honest, I’m glad that she has picked Jonah to focus on. Maybe he’ll get together with her. It’s not that I’m jealous or anything – I know there’s no reason for me to feel like that. But I’ve seen the way he is when Faith’s not looking. Unless I’m way off – and I seldom am – he likes her. So yeah, I’d be happy if Jersey managed to distract him, even though I know nothing would ever happen between him and Faith. I’m sure of that. Everyone would be happier.

The girls are coming back from wherever they went. Faith’s smiling and the rest are giggling. Does this mean that everything is all right?

Oh, stop being silly, Matt. Go and ask her. If nothing else, a kiss would be nice.

Today we stumbled into farmland. It was the strangest thing – one minute we were passing over rolling hills, winding our way between one tiny town and the next, and then we fell out onto open land. It was probably once a pretty green tablecloth, flicked out at the edges and decorated with trees and flowers. Now it’s a patch of bare, abused earth, naked and stripped, stretched out like not enough skin over old bones. The world has had a bad facelift and looks anything but young. Old, dry, overdone, and not at all graceful.

We came to a stop to look at it. It was about lunchtime anyway, and we’ve had a little bit of luck lately so we stopped to eat. We’re short on fuel but we have food for now – it looks like the shamblers ploughed through this area and ate all the people, leaving us their supplies still in the cupboards, gathering dust.

We found bones in one house. They had been gnawed on – I’m no great detective or hunter, but even I could tell that teeth had made those marks on the bones. I couldn’t tell if they were human teeth or not; it could have been animals, I guess. Maybe that’s what we’ll hope. Like the crows at the prison, feeding off those who fall and aren’t taken by the rain.

In a car, we found the remains of a couple of people. They were a mess – the acid hadn’t been able to get to them and the shamblers had missed them. The car had crashed into a pole and the windscreen had been cracked by the impact of a skull, so they probably died when the bomb went off. We didn’t open the car for fear of the smell and what we would find pooled in the footwell. Perhaps they were too decomposed to be interesting by the time the shamblers crawled out of the Sickness.

It’s sad, thinking that there’s something in the world that not even a shambler would bother to eat.

We talked about where we should go next, and decided to stick to the road, following it through the open land to the next spatter of buildings. We don’t want to stray too far from shelter out here – there’s too many of us to fit comfortably into the vehicles and four of us riding motorbikes. We don’t want to end up crammed together for hours, waiting for the rain to stop. Also, we don’t have any way to protect the bikes.

I keep talking to Iona in the hopes that she’ll give us some guidance about where we should look for this flower farm of hers. I hope, more than anything, that I’m not wrong about the interpretation of her babblings. She seems to think we’re on the right path and she’s getting both brighter and more erratic by the day. I saw her lose her smile completely for the first time yesterday. We’re definitely getting close to something. With how disturbed she’s getting, I’m starting to get nervous about what we might find.

We haven’t seen any signs of glass yet, though. Not even a glint on the horizon. There’s a lot of open ground to explore, though; we’re bound to find it soon.

Matt keeps looking at me like he wants to talk to me. He tried last night, but I didn’t know what to tell him, so I shrugged him off. I don’t have any answers, just possibilities and fear. The snake in my belly has abandoned me; there isn’t room for it any more. It’s too full of an uncertain clenching. I’d like to think it’s just underriding hunger – we have food, but not a lot and we’re trying to be careful with it – but I don’t think that’s it.

I should tell him what’s going on. I don’t know how. Every time I think about it, the words run away from me and I’m left gaping at myself. I want to tell him, I want to ease that expression of his, but I can’t. Instead, I end up avoiding him and that only makes me feel worse.

I feel bad, talking about this here when I haven’t managed to tell him yet. But it’s on my mind and I think I need it. I had to look at this blog; it’s the best way to work out the dates. I had to figure out when Matt and I were together for the first time in the After, back at Haven. We were so caught up in each other, passion and love and such a desperate need to be together, that we didn’t think about anything else. It’s the only time we forgot to use protection.

That was about six, maybe seven weeks ago. With everything that was going on, I didn’t realise how late I was. I didn’t notice what hadn’t happened until Mira asked for sanitary pads and I had far too many. And now… well. Now I know I’ve missed periods.

Yesterday, I went to a little pharmacy with the girls. I got a couple of small boxes that promise to answer the question buzzing around in my head. Maybe they’ll help me sort this out. They’re not what I really need, though, but I’m scared of that, too.

The only person I can get a straight answer from is Masterson. I have to approach him and ask a favour, ask for discretion. I’m not looking forward to it. He’ll say something awful and I’ll want to slap him. Or he’ll reduce me to tears like he nearly has so many times. Or he’ll just refuse to deal with me at all and send me on my way, empty-handed and empty-headed.

Matt’s coming – I should go. I’m terrified to tell him. I’m terrified of everything.

We found the garden centre we’ve been looking for. Tucked away in a back-street of a little town, with acid-scoured signs limply pointing the way.

The front doors were broken inwards and some of its tools are missing, but there wasn’t anyone here. There are rusty stains on the floor that I think were blood pools, once upon a time. Something terrible happened here. Something else cleaned up the bodies. I don’t particularly want to find out either part of that equation.

We’ve stopped to take stock and see if there’s enough equipment for us to build a farm with. So far, it’s looking possible – most of the stuff here isn’t a lot of use in the After, unless you know of a way to make things grow like we do. There was even a couple of boxes of food tucked in a corner, probably belonging to the people whose blood stained the floor out front. We’ll be able to eat for a couple of days, if we’re careful.

They have a small greenhouse out the back here, but it’s not big enough for us to grow as much as we need to. Some of the panes are broken and we don’t know what kind of damage the rain might have done to the soil inside. We still need to find the flower farm to make this work.

Late last night, I finally snagged an opportunity to use the tests I had stolen from the pharmacy. It turns out that peeing on a stick is harder than you might think, especially when you’re trying not to get it all over your hands. My nerves probably had something to do with how difficult it was.

Waiting that full minute for the line to show itself was hard. It felt like forever, pacing around the little public toilet at the back of the store we had stopped in. I wondered if anyone had noticed me sneaking off. I wondered if any of the girls had seen what I took while they were looking for sanitary items. I wondered if someone was listening at the door. More than anything else, I wondered how a minute could take so long to tick by. I guess it’s true: a watched stick never changes colour.

Except that it did. I got hopeful at one point, sure that the time was well past and the stick’s paleness meant I was in the clear. But it had only been forty-five seconds (I was using the laptop to time it) and as my excitement faded, the blue line filled up. I stared at it, as if it might be a blip, as if it might fade again right away.

It stayed. A slender blue marker to tell me that what I had feared was true. It felt like a neon sign burning in my hand – I wrapped it up and stuffed it into my pack, in case anyone might see it through the closed door. Then I got out the second test kit and tried again. I barely had any pee left in me, but I managed it. Once could be a fluke, after all. A kit spoiled after all this time sitting on a dusty shelf. Two felt like a chance for reprieve, or confirmation.

Both plastic peed-on strips are tucked in my pack now. They match. Stupid little mindless prophets, telling me my future.

I’m going to be a mother.

I didn’t entirely trust the pregnancy tests. I wanted them to be wrong, or at least unreliable. Not just because it’s terrifying to think about having a child; there’s also the After to consider. Pregnancy is dangerous and birth is worse. Sally is lying in the campervan, pale and wasting, and possibly on her way out. As births go, she didn’t have an awful one, and she’s still in trouble. No-one’s sure if she’ll recover, even though it’s been days now.

There was only one thing left to do. I had to see a doctor and get myself checked out.

I screwed up my courage and went to speak to Masterson late last night, after the rain had stopped. He looked like hell, like he’d barely slept in days. He stays in the campervan at night with Sally. The girls who ride with him bring the baby out to be with the rest of us, so that his mother might sleep. The little one still new enough that none of us mind, though being woken up by that shrill crying isn’t fun for anyone.

I don’t know if it helps. The girls said that Sally misses the baby when he’s not near. I know the doctor can be a cruel bastard, but never when it comes to someone’s health. We have to believe that what he’s doing is for the best.

Masterson doesn’t usually come inside at night, but he’d come for some food after the rain had stopped. It wasn’t exactly the best time to go and ask my question. His girl is struggling at the end of a pregnancy and I’m starting one. Maybe. I couldn’t think about that.

I could see his shoulders go all tense when I approached him. As if he was expecting trouble from me. I’ve done my best to leave them alone! I gave them space, even though I didn’t want to. I haven’t visited Sally lately, though I said I would, because it’s what he wanted. It’s never good enough for him. As if I wasn’t nervous about this already, seeing him prepare for a battle with me made it worse.

I grabbed my courage by the throat and lifted my chin when I spoke to him. I nearly choked off my own words but I got them out. I think I might be pregnant. I need to know for sure. No pleasantries, no wasted breath. Just business.

His look was full of edges and I thought he’d throw it back in my face. I braced myself for whatever he was going to spit at me. How long? Seven weeks. How late? I’d missed two periods now. Had I ever missed them before? Never. Sometimes it varied by a few days, but they always happened. Before now. And I’m only thinking about it now? I’ve been too busy to notice. It’s not something that I thought to worry about.

He started on a lecture about ‘how these things happen’, but I cut him off. I know. I know all of that. What I need is to know if I really am pregnant, and if I’m okay. That’s what I need from him.

He grumbled and took me into a back room where we could have some privacy. What followed was one of the most uncomfortable, humiliating experiences of my life. I’ve been examined by doctors before, but I didn’t know any of them. I wasn’t painfully aware of any bad feeling between us before.

With Masterson, I was vulnerable and at his mercy, and we both felt it. I had to close my eyes for most of it, trying to think of him as a doctor and nothing else. Certainly not a man, with troubles and feelings and a grudge against me. Even when my eyes were open, I couldn’t look at his face, and all I could manage was single-word responses to his questions.

He didn’t do anything untoward – he was very professional. That almost made it worse. Afterwards, he gave me a moment to dress and then told me that everything looked fine. I asked him if I really was pregnant – I needed to hear it, I needed someone else to put it into words for me. I thought that being given those words by a doctor might make it more real.

“Did the pregnancy test come back positive?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re pregnant.”

“They’re that accurate?”

“They’re accurate enough.”

That made me feel worse, too. He could have said that to start with.

I thanked him awkwardly and we went out separate ways. The episode didn’t mend anything between us. If anything, he seems more put-out than ever. I don’t think anything will make our relationship pleasant, but at least I know that he’ll be a doctor for me. He hasn’t ever refused to treat someone and I guess that’s what’s important, for all of us.

I thought I’d feel better once I’d had it confirmed. I don’t. There’s a weight on me, pressing all the air out of my lungs when I least expect it. I’m pregnant. I look at Sally’s baby and try to think about something that tiny being a part of me, and my body doesn’t know whether to yearn for it or run away. It feels like it’s doing both.

I think I wanted Masterson to tell me that I was mistaken. There was some other problem and that’s why I had skipped periods. Maybe it was the hunger or the stress – it can do that. I wanted him to tell me it wasn’t true. Trust him to tell me exactly what I didn’t want to hear.

Then I catch sight of Matt and feel awful all over again. He still has that look about him, wanting to ask me what’s wrong. He asked me once and I couldn’t answer him. I didn’t know what to say to him. Now he’s trying to give me space because he can see I need it, but he wants to help. He wants to be with me. It’s cruel to keep him in the dark like this.

At first, I didn’t want to tell him in case it wasn’t true. I didn’t want to worry him – or get him all excited – about it until I was sure. Now I am sure and that excuse has gone away. There aren’t any more reasons not to tell him.

So that’s the next step. I don’t know why I’m waiting – I should just do it. He deserves to know. I have to tell Matt he’s going to be a father.

What if he’s furious with me? We’ve never talked about the possibility of children. We haven’t even talked about settling down together. What if he doesn’t want this? What if he leaves?

I guess I should find out, one way or the other. Get this over with. I’ve had all day to get used to the idea, but I don’t feel any better about it. I wish my hands would stop shaking.

Deep breath, off we go.

I’m gonna be a dad. Holy shit.

I’m going to be someone’s father. Responsible for a little tiny thing, like Sally’s son. I can’t wait! I know I’ll have to wait about nine months – or rather, seven, according to our calculations – but even that seems too long.

Oh yeah – this is Matt. Should’ve said that earlier. I guess it’s pretty obvious by now. I’m all – what’s the word? – discombobulated. I love that word. Also, I can’t stop grinning. She told me last night, and I still can’t stop grinning.

Faith’s terrified. She works so hard to hold everything else together, but she doesn’t do half as well when it comes to herself. Of all the things that have come up in the After, it’s the simplest, most basic human function that has knocked her sideways. I guess it’s always the thing you least expect, huh?

When she told me, my first instinct was to be angry with her. Not for being pregnant, or getting pregnant, or any of that. She thought I might be angry with her over those things, though really, she should know me better. She didn’t do it on purpose – she’s not that kind of girl, to use something like her own fertility against a guy. It was an accident – I believe her and the stricken look on her face when she talks about it.

It’s like they say – it takes two, and we both did it. The two of us, together, we made this tiny little thing that’s just starting to come to life inside of her. If I think about it too much, my head starts reeling, like it’s all too big for me. It’s the most wonderful thing in the whole world.

My impulse towards anger was because she waited so long to tell me. We’re in this together, I told her. She doesn’t have to do it all on her own. Isn’t that what she’s always telling everyone else? It’s especially true with this. She can tell me anything. Anything at all. We always have, our whole lives, and now we have even more reason to. She and me – we’re a pair, a couple, and we’re in all of this together.

Now we both know and we can work together on this. Start thinking about what we need to do next. I don’t know where to start! Gather up more baby supplies, I guess, to make sure we have enough? We’re both as clueless as each other.

I had to stop myself from following her around today and making sure she was all right. She thought that a baby might cause problems between us, that it would change things for the worse. Of course it won’t. She doesn’t understand that she was the best thing in my life yesterday, and today she’s more precious than ever. I’d tell her, but I don’t think she’d believe me.

She doesn’t want to tell the group yet. A lot can happen in seven months, she said. Give it another month, until she’s starting to show. Then we can tell them.

I don’t think she’s afraid of losing the baby, though that’s a worry too (like I said, I keep getting this urge to wrap her up and make sure she’s okay). She needs a chance to get used to the whole idea. There’s no reason for us to tell the others right away, so there’s no problem with keeping it to ourselves for now.

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to announce it to everyone. I’d write it on the broken sky if I could. Me, a dad! And maybe I will, but not yet. When we’re both ready.

If she’s not careful, Jersey’s going to beat her to it. Unless I miss my guess.

I think this is the best feeling, after the time when she told me she loved me. How sappy does that sound? I never thought I’d be a lovestruck puppy. I promised myself a long time ago I’d never get here, to this place when another person meant so much to me. I’ve seen Faith get wound up in other people and what it does to her when she loses them. I’ve got close to people and lost them too, but it wasn’t like this. Nothing like this. I think about losing her and it’s suffocating, like all the light and air has been sucked out of the room.

If I didn’t love her so much, I’d hate her for making me love her so much. But I can’t hate this.

I’m gonna be a dad. I wonder if it’s got toes yet. Or ears. When do they get ears?

I want to go and hug Faith and our little tiny proto-baby. In fact, that’s what I’m going to do.

Iona was right – the fields of glass are beautiful. The stretch over a roll of hillside is like a ripple in a frozen wave. Reflecting the low orange sky, it looks like it’s on fire. A river of molten sand, sliding down to pool at our feet.

We stopped in a spatter of whoops and cheers. Masterson might think I keep searching for the gold at the end of the rainbow, but here it is, right in front of us. Here’s our hope for full bellies and building something to survive the end of canned goods and freeze-dried packets.

It couldn’t come at a better time for me. After the uncertainty and agonising of the past few days, I needed this. Not as much as I had needed Matt’s reaction – which was so much better than I had dared to hope for that I’m still reeling – but it’s still a weight off my chest. We can make this work. We can get through all this, through everything.

The pragmatists among us didn’t join in with the cheering, though I saw smiles on a couple of them. Of course, we couldn’t know if it would work until we got down there and saw first-hand and up-close what we had to deal with. But we wanted to enjoy just getting here. We wanted to celebrate that we had got this far, and the knowledge that our dreams might not be so far out of reach after all. Sure, it was going to be a struggle and lots of hard work to make it happen, but it’s possible now.

We were like kids when we made it to the end of the drive and into the front yard of the flower farm. We piled off and out of our vehicles and ran around, checking things out. Opening doors and sticking our heads inside, checking in cupboards, filtering dirt through our fingers, poking at questionable-looking mounds to see if they twitched. We were back in the yard in record time, reporting our findings in excited voices.

Most of the glass looks intact. Certainly at this end of the long rows of greenhouses, the panes are all whole and seemed sealed enough. There was dirt and the remains of flowers long-dead in the troughs. They had died with no-one here to water and care for them. That’s okay – we can use the remains for compost. It’s a good sign: they haven’t been melted away, so the acid hasn’t snuck in. We can assume that the soil is poison-free, though Kostoya is determined to test it before we go growing any food in it.

That led us to the question of what we need to do next. We split ourselves up into three groups: housing, supplies, and greenhouse examination. I wound up with the latter group, fixed on figuring out just how much of the greenhouses was usable, what tools and equipment there was here, and what else we would need to get started. We knew it would take a trip back to the garden centre to get ourselves properly set up.

The housing group went over the other outbuildings to see where we could set up beds and other necessities. The supplies gang was the largest, with part of it helping Kostoya to set up the water filter and the others looking for any signs of food in the area. I think the professor is going to set up his lab equipment in the barn, so he can run tests on the soil and plants to make sure they’re safe.

All this activity is bewildering. Our vehicles are suddenly stationary and useless, our feet no longer seeking another road to travel down. We’re here. We’ve stopped. Now we have to make this work. All this running around in circles feels more frantic than productive, even though I know that it’s not.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive about it all. What if it doesn’t work? What will we do then? Where can we go next? Is this our last, slender thread of survival? A less paranoid and skittish question is: will we find enough food to carry us through until the first crop is ready to eat?

I was outside considering all of this when I spotted Iona. She was sitting inside one of the cars, her chin tucked down behind hugged-in knees. She was a big pair of eyes, blinking and seeing nothing. In all of the activity, no-one had noticed that she was still in there. I went over and let myself into the other side of the vehicle, closing the door with a solid thunk.

I can see why she liked it in there. There was no little breeze to fuss at her hair, no sound of feet hurrying back and forth, no voices lifted in query and answer. It was a peaceful pocket of air, shivering in time with the curled-up girl.

I’ve never seen her so upset before. She has been quiet and increasingly unhappy as we headed down this way, but now we’re here, she’s almost catatonic. I tried to get her to speak or at least look at me, but she wouldn’t. She kept murmuring something when I asked her a question, over and over between snatches of breath. I had to lean in to make out the words.

“They’ll come. They’ll come and you’ll see. You’ll all see.”

I sat back with a lump of ice forming in my belly. Whatever happened to her, it happened here or a place just like it. I think it was the thing that broke her. I hadn’t stopped to wonder if that was going to be a problem for us until that moment.

Leaning over again, I took her face in my hands and turned it so that she was looking at me. She avoided my eyes but at least I forced her to put some effort into it.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” I said. “You’re protected now, Iona. You’re safe with us.”

She murmured at me again, the same answer as before. I don’t think she heard me. With a sigh, I let her go and told her that I was going to arrange a watch. All I could do was hope that some part of her heard me and was eased, even if it wasn’t the part currently in charge of her face.

I grabbed the boys as they passed me in the yard. Thorpe, Jonah, Matt, Masterson, Dale. Jersey came along too – she’s never far from Jonah these days. I think there’s something going on there.

I told them about Iona. She believed there was a threat here. I got the arguments I was expecting – she’s disturbed, she isn’t connected with reality, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and she hasn’t been here for months. I shrugged and said the only response there was: can we take a chance on her being wrong?

A watch was a good idea anyway. Shamblers are likely to be roaming around somewhere and we might not be the only mobile group. As lean and hungry as the world is getting, its inhabitants are only getting harder in their search for survival. Jonah supported the idea – I thought he would – and most of the others were on board too. Masterson was dismissive but that’s nothing new.

Now we have another group in our mixed pod of peas: security. There are people on post now, looking out towards the road and across the fields as the rain slides off the glass. We’ve left Jonah and Bobby in charge of arranging the watches, though I think Thorpe is keeping a close eye on them. There’s still a lot of distrust floating around.

We’re here. We’ve started. Now let’s see what we can make of it.

I was woken by shouts this morning. Yanked out of my bed, I pulled on pants and a vest and ran out to see what was going on. Matt stumbled out behind me, just as mussed and sleepy.

Someone was calling for Masterson and I snagged Estebar as he wandered past me and sent him off to find the doctor. I didn’t know what was wrong, but if Masterson was being called for, it had to be something serious. Then I broke into a run to head outside, where all the voices were.

The first thing I saw was a confusion of bodies in the yard. People were running through the smatter of vehicles, most moving towards the centre of the fuss, a couple heading outwards on errands to help. Most skittered around the cause of all the mayhem, like ants with nowhere to go. I dove into the maelstrom and pushed my way into the centre of that circle, nudging less certain bodies out of my way.

There were a couple of Seekers lying on the tarmac: Bree and Conroy. Bree had blood all over her face and was slipping into shock. Conroy was ash-pale and unconscious; it was hard to tell what was wrong with him at first glance, apart from the sleeping part. A couple of others were kneeling next to them, hands hovering without a clue about what to do.

This I could do. This I knew. I remembered the fights we’ve survived and Simon’s efficiency after the Converter’s accident. Even Masterson’s gruffness helped me as I shifted people out of my way and tried to assess the damage.

Bree was the easiest to sort out, so I started with her – pressure on the head wound and have someone fetch a blanket to put around her. Mira was there, so I told her to keep Bree talking and not to let her fall asleep. The wound didn’t look serious, despite all the blood, but you never can tell with heads. I didn’t like the vague way she blinked at me – there was a distance in her eyes, and I’m used to seeing sharpness there. I hoped it was just the shock. She didn’t seem to be hurt anywhere else.

By the time I got to Conroy, Masterson had arrived. The doctor went to deal with him first and I kept out of the way, lending a hand when he needed something held or removed. There was a nasty bump on the back of Conroy’s head and a few scuffs on his limbs – from being dragged, it looks like – but he was breathing steadily enough.

After the examination, Masterson instructed a few of the boys to take Conroy inside and to settle him on a bed. Carefully now, and for god’s sake, don’t jostle his head. Gently does it.

Then the doctor turned to Bree, and after a cursory check-over, gave Mira the same instructions that I did. That was gratifying, even if he didn’t look at me once the whole time. Apparently, pretending I’m not there is the best thing for him to do. He asked Mira three times if she understood what she needed to do, until the poor girl nodded so vigorously her hair nearly shook itself loose of its ponytail. Her eyes were wide as she watched him get up and stalk off, feeling chastised as if she couldn’t be trusted with this.

“Let’s get you inside,” I said to Bree once Masterson had gone. He went to check on Conroy and make sure that no-one had damaged him when he was taken inside.

Bree shook her head, then immediately regretted it. She closed her eyes and swallowed convulsively, holding up a hand for patience. “Not yet,” she said, her voice a torn murmur.

I felt sorry for her, but deep inside, there was a part of me that didn’t mind. She had hurt me too. I scrunched down on that urge; she’s had her share of pain here in the After. I shouldn’t wish more on her, not even in the dark, hidden places of myself where resentment hides.

The others were milling uncertainly, peeling off slowly at the edges as the emergency seemed to be over. I saw Matt standing nearby, watching me with concern. He knows I have complicated feelings about Bree; I’m not sure if he was more worried about her or me.

Bree didn’t want to move, but there was a lot we still needed to know. So I settled on my knees beside her and sat back on my heels, and prepared to question her.

I was sitting there, looking at Bree, trying to figure out what to say to her. I opted to go for the big question that burned in the group lingering around us.

“What happened?”

Bree blinked at me, apparently having trouble focussing. “I’m not sure. Someone hit me.”

I throttled down the urge to snap at her, or maybe shake her a little bit. She was concussed; I should be kinder. “You’re sure it was a person?”

“Yes.” She was gathering herself towards being angry with me, and that’s when I saw that the Bree I knew was still in there. Knocked but not knocked out.

“What happened, exactly? Why were you down here?” A shadow fell over us and I glanced up – it was Thorpe. Jonah was a half-step behind him, along with a few of the others. They wanted to hear this, too.

“I was… going to fetch some water. To bathe the baby.” Bree lifted a hand to gesture towards the water filter and the tank it fed into. “Someone came out from behind a car and hit me.” Her gaze lifted to implore the faces surrounding us. “I didn’t do anything. He just hit me.”

“Who?” Thorpe asked before I could.

She hesitated. “I don’t know. It all happened so fast, I didn’t see.”

“What happened after he hit you?” I said. When I first examined her injury, she had said that she hadn’t lost consciousness, so maybe she saw more of it.

She started to shake her head, then stopped the motion and closed her eyes. Her throat worked for a moment before she could speak. “He ran away. I heard feet, and he was gone by the time I looked up.”

“What makes you say ‘he’?” That was Matt, crouching down on the far side of her.

Bree shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seemed–” She blinked. “His boots. I fell, and I saw his boots.”

“What kind of boots?”

“Men’s boots.” Her expression turned helpless, knowing that wasn’t useful but not being able to fix it. “Um. Heavy.”

“Did you see Conroy?” I asked.

She aborted another attempt to shake her head. “Not until after it happened. I got up, walked a little way… and there he was.” A hand gestured towards where he had been lying.

So Conroy had been hit first. I looked at the others around us, grim faces on all, and then at the yard around us. What had someone been doing out here that they were afraid of being caught at? Was Conroy involved? Or was the scientist’s assistant the target? So many questions, and so few answers to be found with the other victim unconscious.

My gaze tripped over the vehicle twice before I realised what was out of place. The rear door of one of the offroaders was open. We’re careful about that kind of thing – the vehicles have to stand out in the rain, and an open door would leave the innards vulnerable to the acid. Not to mention allowing it to pool in the footwells.

“Which car?” Mira was helping Bree to her feet but I asked anyway. The girl held my old friend up and Bree blinked at me blankly. “Which car did he come out from behind before he hit you?” I asked.

Bree gazed around at the yard. “It was over there.” She pointed towards the water filter and the open offroader. She had been hit over there and then tried to make it back to the main building, before the head injury had crumpled her knees and help had arrived.

I left her to Mira’s care and went over to the offroader. A group of Seekers were with me: Thorpe, Matt, Dale, Jersey, Jonah, Warren and Bobby. We fanned out to encircle it, looking for any clue about what someone was doing here. It was Dale who leaned in the open door first, only too quickly yank himself back again.

“Stinks,” he said. “It’s soaked.”

Thorpe took a look, then closed the door carefully. “Diesel.”

I stared at them. A car’s innards covered in diesel could only mean one thing. “Someone was going to set fire to it.” I glanced at Thorpe’s hands, still bandaged while his burns healed. We have been here before.

So it wasn’t about Conroy or Bree. It was about sabotage. But this wasn’t about slowing us down: we weren’t going anywhere any more, except to find supplies. And we have more vehicles than the doused one; we checked, but none of the others had been tampered with. Not a splash of diesel on any of them. The can that had been used to pour fuel over the offroader was found wedged under the passenger seat.

“Why only do one?” I asked after we’d been over the whole yard and reassembled in the centre next to the object of our consternation.

“A fire like that creates a lot of smoke,” Thorpe said. He was grim and rubbing the back of one hand with the other.

“A marker?”

“Leading right to where we are,” Jersey said. She sounded as unhappy as we all felt.

“Who was on watch?” Jonah demanded.

Dale and Bobby lifted their hands. Both of them were reluctant, and Dale was the first to offer an apology. He had been on the other side of the main building, watching up towards the road, while Bobby had been checking out the periphery of the greenhouses. They hadn’t known anything was wrong until there was a scream – Bree, we think – and shouts. They had been looking for threats outside the farm, not inside.

Jonah started to berate them about not being careful enough, we have to watch everything now. Thorpe swelled up defensively, rounding on Jonah heatedly; he didn’t take kindly to Dale being accused of carelessness. Dale tried to hold him back, but the big fella was determined.

“We all know it’s one of you. Is it all of you? Huh? Trying to ruin us?” Thorpe batted Dale’s hands off.

I felt sick. I know we’ve all been thinking it: the ex-soldiers are the ones most likely to be sabotaging us. But putting it into words only makes it worse. It makes it more real. It turned Jonah’s face red with fury and I had to do something. I had to step in.

“We don’t know anything right now,” I said, stepping quite literally between them. Matt’s hands plucked at my arm, trying to tug me out of harm’s way, just like Dale was trying to do to the person he loved. I ignored him, same as Thorpe was doing. “Except that someone is trying to hurt us. Until we know who that is, we have to be more careful. We can’t tear ourselves apart like this.”

“Why not?” Thorpe wasn’t so easily appeased. “We might find the truth.”

“Or nothing at all. What if we’re wrong? What if we’re so busy looking in one direction, we miss what’s happening in another? Again?”

“You never wanted us here,” Jonah said to Thorpe. “You’re just looking for an excuse to get rid of us.”

He wasn’t helping things. Bobby had his arms folded beligerantly and his jaw thrust forward. Warren was trying to calm Jonah down, telling him to let it go, let it go. It’s not worth it. Thorpe was only too ready to agree with Jonah’s assessment and I suppressed the urge to sigh. I interrupted, to stop them from escalating into blows.

“Jonah, did you do this?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

“No.”

“Okay. Until we do, we have to work together. If only because we’re here together.” I shot Thorpe a look and he grumped back at me, folding his arms over his chest. It wasn’t enough. Words weren’t going to make this work, not even in the short term. “We should double the watches. Mixed pairs,” I suggested. I didn’t mean mixed genders – I meant mixed origins, Seekers and ex-soldiers.

“No-one goes anywhere alone,” Dale added.

It was a reluctant consensus, but it was there. A tentative agreement laced with caution. It will have to do for now. Until yesterday, I had forgotten about the threat of a saboteur, but clearly the saboteur hadn’t forgotten about us. Somehow, we have to figure out who is doing this, before they bring Haven – or worse – down on us.

We can’t run away from this; there’s nowhere to go. We’ve got nowhere left to hide.

Last night was awkward. The rain pinned us inside together, so the whole group sat around for dinner and surreptitiously looked at each other.

I didn’t notice anyone seeming particularly guilty among all the furtive glances. There were a lot of unhappy faces, particularly Kostoya who was worried about Conroy. I think he has enjoyed having an assistant, someone to talk to about the scientific stuff, and an able pair of hands that understand the work. Conroy has been in charge of putting the water filter together – they were talking about linking it up to the guttering of the greenhouses to capture more of the rainwater, and then building it into the irrigation system already lacing through the farm. So many plans to make this place work.

Conroy was unconscious for a few hours yesterday, and vomited as soon as he tried to sit up. The head injury made him lose some time but he hasn’t fallen asleep again. He’s on bed rest at the moment and Masterson insisted that someone sit up with him to keep him awake through the night. The doctor isn’t giving much away, but the rest of are are being optimistic anyway.

Bree is delicate but recovering. Mira’s looking after her – those two are very close, and some of the way they talk to each other reminds me of how Bree and I used to be. We were friends like that once. Bree used to suggest to me how to do my makeup just so and what might look nice in my hair. I used to be the person she told everything to, and I shared everything with her. Except that she didn’t tell me everything after all, not until I found out about her sleeping with my boyfriend. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t still sore about that. I wonder if the friendship between her and Mira will end the same way, with betrayal and lies.

When we parted company for bed, we were no closer to figuring out who hurt Conroy and Bree. I know most of the group is looking at Bobby, because he was a Haven soldier and on guard when it happened. But he was riding the bike when the tyre blew out and nearly had a nasty accident. He could have killed himself. If he was responsible for that, he’s either very smart, very stupid, or very lucky.

For my part, I have no idea who to suspect. I can’t believe it was any of the Seekers. Jonah always seemed like a friend, but he was good at keeping secrets. Warren spends half his time rubbing his right arm, which is still in a sling and causing him a great deal of pain. Who does that leave? No-one. That’s all of us. It’s definitely someone I trust.

I don’t think any of us got a lot of sleep. I curled up with Matt and we both felt safer. He has been very attentive since I told him about the baby – our baby – and last night he was all about holding me close and planting kisses in my hair. It felt good, sharing affection without it tipping over into sex. Don’t get me wrong – I enjoy the sex too, but it’s nice to know that even if he’s not in the mood, there’s still closeness and intimacy. I think he needed it as much as I did.

Today, we split up again to start the work of getting this place together. The supplies crew piled into vehicles – except for the diesel-soaked one – and went back to the garden centre to fetch the equipment we needed. They’re going to look for food on the way there and take the long way back to explore more potential sources of sustenance. The roads around here are pretty clear, so hopefully they’ll be back tonight.

Masterson, Bree and Mira are looking after Sally and the baby, and sorting out the domestic issues. We’re gradually making the place comfortable, though there’s a lot of us to cater for. Iona won’t come out of the main house, but she is helping with the cleaning and tidying effort. She works with a worrying intensity; I prefer her vagueness to the way she focusses on the tiniest thing now.

The rest of us are preparing the greenhouses for planting. Pulling out the dead plants and digging up the soil. We found some bags of fertiliser, and we’re working that through while we loosen up the dirt. Janice is building a compost heap with the detritus we’re taking out of the troughs.

I love the smell of the greenhouses. The more the dead plants are taken out, the more the scent of freshly turned earth rises up under the glass. I hadn’t realised how much that was missing under the rain’s poison. Sometimes, the changes in the After still surprise me, even though the time Before is drifting further and further away from us.

I hope the others make it back tonight – the rain hasn’t started yet, so there’s time. We’re hungry and I know that Matt gave me his share of rations this morning. He’s feeding me and the baby, and that’s touching, but I don’t want him to hurt himself. If he tries to do it again tomorrow, I’ll refuse.

He has started putting his hand on my belly when we snuggle up together. The silent acknowledgement of this thing we’ve made is adorable – he’d hug the baby if he could, and that’s as close as he can get. He does it when he’s thinking about the pregnancy and if I glance up at him, he gives me the silliest stunned grin. Seeing him look like that never fails to make me smile.

He’s so proud of it and growing fiercely protective of us both. He’s excited by the whole thing, and I can’t mind. The depth of his attachment is reassuring; it washes away all my fears of him running away from this, and away from me. He wants this. Matt, who used to distance himself from close relationships so he wouldn’t get hurt, is jumping in with both feet. He wants this baby more than I do; or at least, he doesn’t have reservations constantly popping into his head like I do.

He’s the only reason I can be at all comfortable with this. He soothes me. He murmurs to me at night about how wonderful our family is going to be and he makes me look forward to it too. He makes me feel lucky. It’s only when we’re not together that the doubts and fears creep in.

Our family. When I’m alone, I think about my father. He would want to be here for this. He should be here.

When we’ve got this place sorted out, when this saboteur is found, I need to fix this. I need to bring our family together properly.