Ralph looked at them in turn. “We might die in here.” He glanced around the classroom. People were murmuring and chattering. Crying children. Two men were arguing. Raised voices and panicked sobs.
Ralph could feel the tension and fear in the room. The thing in the sky terrified them. He felt sorry for those who were beginning to lose control. He had adjusted to the situation, and maybe a part of him was actually enjoying this. He wasn’t sure how this had happened so easily. Maybe there was something wrong with him; a chemical imbalance or a defect in his brain.
How could this be enjoyed? He should be fucking terrified like the poor bastards in here with him. Like Joel and Magnus.
He was hungry. They had only been given a few cheese crackers and a cup of water each for lunch. Supplies were running low, the police had said. But they would be re-supplied soon, they had been promised.
Ralph knew a lie when he heard one.
A loud boom from a few streets away shook the building. Someone screamed. Ralph looked at the ceiling. The light fixtures rattled. The windows trembled.
Gunshots nearby. Getting closer. Another muffled thump not too far away.
“The infected are nearly here!” a woman said.
The room went silent. More gunfire. Ralph could hear the police moving around outside.
“It’s falling apart,” Joel said. “We have to leave.”
“And go where?” said Ralph. “We could make a stand here.”
“Make a stand?” Magnus said. “This isn’t Rorke’s Drift, you idiot.”
Ralph shrugged. “The coppers won’t let us leave.”
“They might not have a choice very soon,” said Joel. “They’ll have other things to worry about.”
“Joel’s right,” said Magnus.
Ralph sighed. “Fair enough. Let’s go outside and see what’s happening.”
Magnus and Joel nodded.
Another burst of gunfire made Joel jump. Mothers comforted their children. Ralph turned to see Susan Blake sat alone, holding her dog to her chest. Ralph’s eyes met hers. She gave him a little smile, but her face was drawn and pale, and the smile didn’t last.
Ralph wanted to help her, but he had to look after Joel and Magnus first.
He turned back to his friends.
“On your feet, bitches. Let’s go.”
Refugees filled the car park at the front of the school. The police did their best to calm them, but panic and fear were more persuasive than words.
Ralph, Magnus and Joel lurked at the back of the crowd. There was no path to the front, but Ralph could see through gaps in the scrum of bodies to the road beyond the gates.
Fires lit the sky within the town. The crackle of gunfire. A baby was wailing.
A military vehicle pulled up outside; a soldier jumped out. Automatic rifle and desert fatigues. Boots pounding over tarmac. He moved quickly. He spoke to one of the police officers. The officer’s face sagged as he listened.
“That doesn’t look good,” Ralph said.
The soldier ran back to the jeep and got in then the jeep took off down the road. The police officer relayed whatever he’d been told to his sergeant. The sergeant listened, nodded and hefted his weapon. He went to the crowd and said something.
The crowd didn’t listen.
The sergeant raised his gun and fired into the air.
The crowd quietened. A few scared voices, but the police sergeant now had their attention.
“Please listen!” The sergeant was a big man, gut straining against his shirt. Sand-coloured hair and ruddy cheeks. “I’ve just been informed that the infected have breached the Safe Zone. Please remain calm. The army will be along very soon to evacuate you all. Please stay calm. You are all safe here. We will protect you until the army arrives.”
“We need to leave now!” said a woman at the front of the crowd.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t leave on your own. We cannot guarantee your protection out there.”
“Can you guarantee our protection here?” asked a man.
“Yes,” the sergeant said, but Ralph saw the lie in his face. “You must remain here until the transports arrive.”
“Fuck off!” said another man. This sentiment was echoed by a few others.
The other police officers looked tense and scared. Only the sergeant appeared to retain any sense of composure.
“Please remain calm,” the sergeant said. “There is no need to panic.”
Screams came from up the street from the direction the army jeep had come.
The crowd surged towards the car park fence, almost overwhelming the police. Ralph kept Joel and Magnus close to him. He formed his hands into fists.
The refugees screamed and cried. The clamour of stinking bodies; dried sweat, dirt and fear. Shit and panic. Ralph was jostled by the people around him. Sharp elbows dug into his flanks. A woman with too much neck fat looked at him with saucer-eyes.
“Oh shit,” Joel was repeating. “Oh shit, oh shit.”
The infected were coming.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Frank and Florence arrived at the outskirts of Horsham just before five. The world was turning dark. Dead street lamps loomed over them.
Jets roared low and unseen overhead. A moment of silence. A flash of light. Then a great boom as something detonated. The closest Frank had ever been to a war zone was watching news reports from Afghanistan. This was surreal. This wasn’t supposed to happen here. Not in Britain. Not in England.
There were so many bodies.
Most of them had bullet wounds. Executed in the street. Faces frozen into snarls and stretched grimaces. Some of the corpses were bent into unnatural angles; bones protruded from bodies and gleamed wetly. There were children here. Some of the bodies were burnt. Charred and twisted remains of people. Grinning faces. The stink of meat left too long on a grill.
A car alarm was blaring from deep within the town.
Florence said nothing as they picked their way through the dead.
“Don’t be scared,” Frank told her. “We’ll find some help.”
A fire burned on the next street. The air tasted acrid, scraping the flesh of his throat. Florence kept her hood up and covered her mouth and nose with one hand.
Frank’s eyes flicked to both sides of the street. No one came out of the houses. Front doors hung open. There was fire damage to some of the houses. Scorched walls and blackened lawns. Frank swallowed, felt the burning heat of being watched from the windows, but when he turned there was no one there. He raised the axe. He stepped on broken glass. There were suitcases and bags on the road and the pavements. Scattered belongings. Abandoned cars. Frank contemplated stealing one of the cars to travel into town, but he was worried that they would be held up by roadblocks and wrecked vehicles. And bodies, of course. Also, driving around was a good way to get noticed by the things he didn’t want noticing them.
“Where’s everyone gone?” said Florence. “The ones who aren’t dead.”
“Maybe they’ve been evacuated.”
Turning onto the next street they found a body slumped across a car bonnet, rendered genderless by the ferocity of its death. The body had been shredded and most of it had been scattered on the road.
A burst of gunfire, and they both ducked instinctively. Frank pulled Florence closer to his side and scanned the road ahead. Smoke drifting through the air gave the impression of figures moving within a grey-white veil.
They passed a dead man in a Rolls Royce, slumped over the steering wheel. Frank didn’t look at him in case he began to move.
Ahead of them was a fire engine left abandoned across the road. Its crew were nowhere to be seen. Long gone. Florence stared at the vehicle as they passed it.