The Dead (40 page)

If Ed had just carried on pedalling when he’d first rounded the corner, he might have been able to smash his way through the waiting sickos, but he’d waited too long now. They were bunching into a mob. There was nowhere to go in either direction.

He dismounted and drew his pistol. Maybe he could just blast his way through? He was using up a lot of his ammunition. He’d wanted to save his bullets for an emergency.

Hell, whichever way you looked at it, this
was
an emergency.

He fired, keeping his arm as straight and steady as he could. Then fired again. And again. All the while wheeling his bike forward. His aim wasn’t brilliant. He clipped two of them, though, and the others stood there, not sure what to do. Not sure what was happening.

Ed carried on walking and firing, his bike acting as a shield to his left. How many bullets in a clip? Ten? Twenty? What would he do when he ran out?

He swore at the sickos.

Although he was moving, he was only really getting deeper and deeper into the heart of the mob. They were closing in behind him as he passed, waiting for their moment. For when the shooting stopped.

At last the gun clicked empty and Ed reckoned it was all over.

He swore again. Wished he had another weapon. Hated it to end like this.

And then he saw an extraordinary sight. A column of schoolboys wearing red blazers and carrying clubs, marching in step down the road, with packs on their backs. Like a unit off to fight in the Napoleonic Wars.

The column was two wide and maybe ten deep. The boy at their head, with jet-black hair and chalk-white skin sprayed with freckles, was shouting orders. The boys stayed in formation, and as they reached the rear of the bunched-up sickos they started to lash out and hack their way through to Ed.

Using his bike as a battering ram, Ed forced his way towards them.

‘This way!’ called the boy at their head, pointing to a walkway between two rows of houses. Ed hurried, shoving sickos away to either side. When he got to them, the boys closed ranks round him, forming a protective wall. Then, still keeping their discipline, they backed away down the walkway, leaving the confused sickos behind.

The boys followed the walkway through a small housing estate, clubbing a few stray sickos as they went, and soon found their way on to a relatively clear street where they stopped to get their bearings.

Ed was so relieved and amazed and confused he didn’t know what to say; in the end all he managed was a pathetic ‘Thanks’.

‘We heard gunshots,’ said the boys’ leader. ‘And we know that Strangers can’t use them.’

‘Strangers?’

‘That’s what we call the people with the disease. I suppose everyone calls them something different.’

‘Why Strangers?’

‘We were always taught to be careful of strangers.’

‘Stranger danger?’ said Ed.

‘Exactly.’

Ed looked at the boys who were standing staring at him in silence.

‘Where the hell did you all come from, anyway?’ he asked.

‘We’re from St Hilda’s in Surrey,’ said the leader.

‘St Hilda’s school?’ Ed grinned, which sent a spasm of pain up his wounded cheek. ‘I know St H. We used to play you lot at rugby.
And
football. I’m from Rowhurst.’

‘Rowhurst? God, I know you buggers!’ Another boy stepped forward, a big, keen-looking guy with fluffy hair, his shirt-collar turned up and sticking out of the top of his jumper.

‘You’re a Rowie, are you?’ he went on. ‘We came over in the autumn term. Good game too. You had a killer prop forward. Guy called Bam. Do you know him?’

‘Of course!’ Ed cried excitedly, and then a twinge of sadness got him and he bit his lip.

‘What about Johnno?’ said the St Hilda’s boy. ‘Piers?’

‘I know them all,’ said Ed quietly.

‘Are they with you?’

‘No,’ said Ed. ‘They
were
. They …’

A lump formed in his throat, stopping him from saying anything else. The boy obviously got it, though, and didn’t press Ed any further.

‘Bad luck.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘I’m Pod, by the way. What’s your name?’

‘Ed Carter.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Ed.’

‘Ed Carter?’ A boy with a big nose jostled to the front of the crowd. ‘I know you. Andy Thomas,’ he said, patting his chest. ‘I remember you from the football team.’

‘Yeah, hi,’ said Ed, smiling at Andy, although in truth he couldn’t remember him at all.

‘You all right? That looks bad,’ said Andy, pointing to Ed’s cheek.

Ed shrugged. ‘I think it
is
bad,’ he said.

‘So, are you just wandering the streets or do you have a safe place to go somewhere?’ said the boys’ leader.

‘Safe place,’ said Ed. ‘I was trying to get there. The Imperial War Museum, actually.’

The leader looked interested.

‘Could you take us there?’

‘I could,’ said Ed, ‘but I’m not in charge. The guy who runs the place is … Well, he’s not very welcoming. He’s got a good set-up and he doesn’t want to spoil it. He doesn’t really want any newbies.’

‘I’ll deal with that when we get there,’ said the boy confidently. ‘I’m David, by the way, David King. I was head of the junior school at St Hilda’s. Now, shall we get going?’

‘Sure.’ Ed dug out his
A to Z
and checked it quickly. The museum was much nearer than he’d realized.

They set off, Ed wheeling his bike at the head of the column with David. There were black smuts being blown on the wind now, which had grown even fiercer, and hotter. Ed had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise of it.

‘Have you walked all the way from your school?’ he asked.

‘Yes. There were quite a lot more of us when we started.’

Ed looked around at the matching red blazers.

‘You haven’t picked anyone else up on the way?’

David smiled. ‘Your chap who runs the museum,’ he said, ‘he’s got the right idea. Look after your own. May I see your gun?’

‘Sure.’ Ed passed it to him.

‘A gun is a very valuable thing,’ said David, weighing it in his hand.

‘You’re telling me.’

Ed looked at David. He had a very serious, slightly snooty expression. It was quite funny in a way, on a boy his age, but Ed knew better than to laugh at him.

‘I get it,’ he said, a note of amusement in his voice. ‘You weren’t trying to rescue me, you were trying to rescue the gun!’

‘Something like that,’ said David. ‘But now you can help us at the War Museum, so it’s worked out quite well all round, really, hasn’t it? We can get you there safely and you can get us in.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Ed. ‘But there may be certain conditions.’

‘I’m good at negotiating.’ David sounded very sure of himself.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes. I suppose, really, I should keep this as a reward for saving your life.’

David aimed the pistol at Ed. Ed smiled, not sure if David was being playful but giving him the benefit of the doubt.

‘I went through a lot to get that gun.’ Ed kept his voice flat and calm. ‘So, I’m afraid I’m not going to give it up.’ He gently took the gun back off David and put it in his holster. ‘You can have this bike instead, though, if you want.’

‘No thanks,’ said David. ‘I could have shot you then, you know?’ he added.

‘No you couldn’t,’ said Ed, forcing another smile though it badly hurt his face. ‘It’s not loaded.’

‘You’ve got to come and see this.’ DogNut was standing at the main doors looking out at the open ground in front of the museum. ‘It’s the bloody red army.’

The boy who was on guard duty came over to join him and he laughed at what was going on outside.

David was marching up the pathway at the head of his column with Ed at his side. The St Hilda’s boys were keeping in perfect step and singing as they went.

The column marched right up to the doors, Ed’s bike bumping up the steps.

‘Hey!’ Ed called out. ‘Open up! It’s me.’

DogNut came out to meet him.

‘Where’d you pick this lot up, brother?’ he asked. ‘You got yourself an escort?’

‘I needed one.’

DogNut looked at Ed’s ruined face with a pained expression. ‘Yow,’ he said. ‘You want to get that seen to.’

‘Yeah, I will,’ said Ed, moving towards the doors. ‘Let’s go inside. I need to sit down.’

DogNut put up a hand.

‘You know Jordan’s rules,’ he said, and nodded towards David and the others. ‘They can’t come in.’

‘Oh, don’t be so silly,’ said David, and before DogNut could do anything he pushed past him and took his boys inside.

DogNut turned to Ed, looking panicked.

‘Ed!’

‘I’m not responsible for them, DogNut.’

‘You brought them here.’

‘Had no choice, really.’

‘Hold up.’ DogNut looked puzzled. ‘Where’s Jack and Bam? Ain’t they with you?’

Ed followed David inside. ‘No,’ he said bluntly over his shoulder as DogNut hurried after him.

‘What do you mean?’ said DogNut. ‘Where they at? They coming back?’

‘No,’ said Ed. ‘They’re not coming back.’

‘You mean they –’

‘DogNut!’ Ed snapped. ‘They’re dead, all right?’

‘Shit …’

Inside the museum it was chaos. David’s boys were milling around and Jordan’s guards were shouting at them.

‘Ed, you got to sort this out, man,’ said DogNut.

‘Not my problem.’

Kids were filtering out of the café to see what was going on. Brooke was among them. When she saw Ed, she broke out into a broad eager smile and trotted over to him. Halfway there, though, she caught sight of his wounds and stopped dead, one hand up to her mouth, her eyes wide.

‘Oh, Ed,’ she said into her fingers. ‘What have they done to you?’

Ed felt suddenly deflated. Everything that had happened in the last few days came tumbling down on top of him. What
had
they done to him? Tears came into his eyes. Someone pushed past. He ignored it. The angry shouting of the boys in the atrium sounded a million miles away. Through a film of tears he saw Brooke shaking her head, backing away, horrified. Before he could say anything, Jordan appeared at the head of the stairs.

‘Be quiet!’ he shouted, and miraculously everyone fell silent. All eyes turned as he came down, his long military coat rustling on the stone steps.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked, and David stepped out of the crowd.

‘I’m David King,’ he said. ‘We brought Ed Carter back for you.’

‘He doesn’t belong to me.’

‘He lives here, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re in charge, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’

‘Then he belongs to you.’ David was holding his hand out. ‘You must be Jordan Hordern,’ he said.

Jordan looked at David’s hand through his thick glasses, but didn’t make any attempt to shake it.

‘Thanks for helping Ed,’ said Jordan. ‘But I’m afraid you’re gonna have to leave now. We haven’t got enough food for you all.’

‘I understand that,’ said David. ‘I would do the same in your position. But might I talk to you for a minute?’

‘You might,’ said Jordan, intrigued by David’s strange, stiff, grown-up manner. ‘Your boys can wait outside, though.’

‘They’ll wait inside, actually,’ said David. ‘I don’t want them exposed to any danger. I’ve got them all the way here from Surrey. I’m
responsible
for them. They stay with me.’ He was so firm, so sure of himself, that Jordan was taken aback. He looked round at the scattering of red blazers.

‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘But they stay here in the atrium. And no trouble. Whatever you and I agree on they don’t argue about, OK?’

‘They won’t be any trouble. They’ll do whatever I tell them.’

David shouted some orders and the boys began to take off their packs and find places to sit.

‘You got ’em well drilled,’ said Jordan as he led David back upstairs.

‘Without discipline we would all be dead,’ said David. ‘Wasn’t it the explorer Roald Amundsen who said “adventure is just bad planning”?’

‘Was it?’

‘I think it was.’

‘You remind me a lot of me,’ said Jordan. ‘And that is not necessarily a good thing. There’s not room here for two generals.’

‘I appreciate that,’ said David. ‘But I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’

Jordan laughed briefly. ‘We’ll see about that,’ he said.

DogNut put a hand on Ed’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry about Jack and Bam,’ he said. ‘They was good people.’

‘Yeah,’ said Ed. ‘The best. We should never have gone. Just three of us.’ He looked towards the café. Brooke had disappeared. ‘Is everyone all right here?’

‘Need to talk to you about that, blood.’

‘What?’ Ed looked at DogNut. He’d been assuming that the rest of the coach party were safe.

‘It’s the French girl,’ said DogNut.

‘Frédérique? What’s happened to her?’

‘You better come see for yourself. Don’t sweat, everyone else is fine. Is just her.’

‘Where is she? Is she hurt?’

‘We had to lock her up in the Blitz Experience,’ said DogNut, leading Ed to the back of the atrium. ‘To keep it safe.’

The Blitz Experience was a mock-up of a wartime air-raid shelter and part of a bombed-out London street. Ed had visited it once a couple of years ago. He remembered sound effects of planes going over and air-raid sirens and falling bombs and explosions, with radio announcements and cheesy recorded cockney voices taking you through it all. None of that would be working now. It would be dark and silent in there with no power for its lights and sounds.