18. The Middle of Nowhere

‘You want this one?’ Gunner said with a sigh, pulling her sword off her back and handing it to Rev. The novelty never got old. He saw his smile in the glint of the blade as he held it up to the sun. The crawler was in front of them, standing on its legs and getting ready to pounce. There were more and more of them now. Since they passed through Cymystwyth two miles back, they’d had to kill at least a dozen. The crawlers seemed to travel alone in these parts, following the same path they were on, and it meant the trio couldn’t stop. Not for long, anyway. Slaying one that they spotted ahead was easy enough; they didn’t want to be caught out from behind. 

‘You betcha,’ Rev replied, jogging forward with the sword. The crawler was standing underneath a tall, stone archway that rose out of the forests that lined the road. There were two large cobblestone pillars that met in a pointed arch in the middle. It was like the forest had sprouted a doorway to another world for them. ‘Come on, come to Rev,’ he teased, making a clicking sound with his tongue, as you might entice a stray cat over to you. ‘Come on, that’s a good crawler!’

The creature bent down, back onto all fours, and started sprinting towards him. It bared its set of decaying teeth and snapped viciously at the air, hunching low, gathering itself to spring onto its prey. Rev slipped to the side as it pounced, swinging the sword at its elongated neck. He shielded himself with his other hand as blood sprayed outwards and the sword sliced the head clean off. Vegas and Gunner whooped and laughed as the head went flying back down the road, rolling to a stop underneath the arch. It stared back at them with unblinking, milky white eyes. The body fell limp at Rev’s feet, and he gave it a good kick before handing the sword back. Fucker. 

‘I wish I had my knife,’ Vegas moaned, watching as Gunner slipped the sword back into its sheath. ‘I haven’t had a kill in ages! It’s not fair. I’m like the Doctor without his sonic!’

‘Oh, shut up about the Doctor,’ Gunner snapped as they passed under the arch. Rev rolled his eyes at Gunner. It had been the fiftieth time Vegas had said something about Doctor Who in the nearly fourteen hours they had been walking since they left the barn. Rev had almost caved and revealed his secret love for the show, but found it funnier to let the two argue over it. ‘And anyway, you’re more like Mickey, or Rory, if anyone.’

‘Hey! I am not a sidekick!’ Vegas cried out. He looked down at the crawler head, and then shuddered. ‘Eugh, I swear its mouth just twitched.’

‘Kick it,’ Rev suggested with a shrug, looking up at the arch. He couldn’t help but feel as though he had seen this arch somewhere before. In a history book, or on television or something. Passing underneath it made a chill run down his spine. ‘Anyone else feel a weird chill just then?’

Vegas took a run-up and thwacked the side of his right foot into the decapitated crawler's head. It rolled a few metres up the road and into a pothole, leaving a trail of its grey skin across the road. ‘Ouch, my foot!’ Vegas was hopping around, cradling one foot in his hands. 

Gunner shook her head, though Rev wasn’t sure if it was in answer to him, or at Vegas. He stuck his hands in his pockets and swaggered gently down the road, trying to ignore the blisters and the ache in his legs that had only been getting worse. They could have been miles ahead by now, if the Chuckle Brothers behind him hadn’t insisted on doubling back on themselves every half a mile to explore every inch of the landscape, in case Tommy was hiding in a hole or a small creek. He wouldn’t be surprised if Gunner and Vegas started overturning pebbles and cowpats, checking he wasn’t squashed underneath. Tommy felt less like a missing teenager and more like a distant myth. A ghost who haunted the Welsh countryside.

‘Tommy could kill a crawler with one shot,’ Vegas mimed shooting a gun, clicking and aiming his fingers at Rev’s head. 

He swiped Vegas’ hand away. ‘I know, you’ve told me like a million times,’ he sighed, wincing as a cramp shot up his calf. ‘What happened to Tommy’s gun? We could have done with that back in Cymystwyth.’

‘Gunner ha– ow!’ Gunner stamped on Vegas’ foot to shut him up. He yelped and hopped around like he had done before, now on the other foot. ‘Why did you do that!’

Rev looked at Gunner. ‘You’ve got Tommy’s gun?’ he asked, madder than he meant. ‘This whole time, we’ve been defending ourselves with one sword and a few heavy rocks, and now you’re telling me you’ve got a pistol?’

She scowled and dropped her backpack to the ground. She unzipped it, stuck her hand right to the bottom and pulled out a bundle of blue cloth. She unravelled it to reveal a classic British Army service revolver. ‘Not very helpful without bullets, is it?’

‘But we could have been looking for bullets!’ Rev protested, carefully taking the pistol into his hands. It had a hefty weight to it. He flicked it open and inspected the empty chamber. ‘How the hell did Tommy get his hands on this? I thought it was some old shotgun you were banging on about.’

‘It was his grandad’s,’ she said, taking it back and wrapping it up again. ‘It’s his most prized possession in the world, and you didn’t know him.’ She zipped the bag up and slung it back onto her back. ‘So, sorry if I didn't think I could trust you with it.’

There was a little pang in Rev’s chest. He clasped his hands inwards dramatically, acting as though he had been shot. ‘You don’t trust me?’

‘Not entirely. Nothing personal. It’s just, Tommy, Vegas and me – we’re a trio. Like family. You’re just…’ She paused to think for a moment. ‘Rev.’

‘Just Rev,’ he repeated, slowly. It was sour in his mouth. 

They walked for another mile or two, with Rev a dozen paces ahead, deep in thought. He was thinking about the kids he used to run around with back in Birmingham, before the invasion. Just Rev, he thought, still offended. There used to be a gang of kids who waited to hang out with him every morning, queuing up by the fire-exit stairs at the back of his block. Mainly because he knew where to score weed, but also because he was fun. There had been a core group that claimed those stairs. Stephen Miller, who lived above him, and little Sammy Carter, who lived in the shelter down the road, and Olga. He couldn’t remember her surname, but it was Polish. It had been Olga he liked the most, because she was two years older than him and had a vast knowledge of music. She would bring him back to her sister’s flat and show him a new record every week. There was a song he loved so much that she had given the album to him as a present, wrapped in brown paper and delivered with a kiss– his first kiss. Certamente by Madreblu. 

She also had a real, proper butterfly knife that she flipped around like it was nothing, and he could watch her in awe for hours as she practised her tricks. She had been one of the first to die when they fled the blocks. She had gone back for the knife. He’d let her go back. He shook the image out of his head, but it kept shaping into something new, like his mind was a magic 8-ball. Yes, it was your fault. No, it wasn’t. Maybe? Who knows! Ask again later. 

‘Hey! Slow down!’ called Vegas, running up behind him. Rev spun around on his heel and saw that Vegas was red in the face and wheezing. ‘Dude, you walk way too fast! Gunner found something back there!’

He pointed back down the road where Gunner was climbing through a bush into the dense brush of trees beyond. 

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Rev groaned, running a hand through his hair. ‘If Tommy had come this way, I doubt he was crawling around in the bushes. This path actually seems to be leading somewhere, for once!’

‘You don’t know what Tommy would do,’ Vegas blinked. ‘You didn’t know him.’

‘Well, I sure as hell feel like I know him, the amount you two have bloody droned on and on. Tommy this, Tommy that. Jesus, he must be very fucking important to have you two scouring the shitty countryside like this, searching for his body.’ 

‘Body?’ Vegas’s voice cracked on the word.

Rev scoffed. ‘You don’t seriously think he’s still alive, do you?’ Rev heard how it sounded the second it left his mouth. He looked at Vegas's face and wished he could take it back. Why, why, why had he said that? He hadn’t even meant it, which was the worst thing. He was grumpy, yes, but he was also trying to be funny. Edgy. It became a bit. A performance. Something he was in control of, instead of something that was happening to him. And it was the reason he was just Rev to Gunner. He didn't let people get any deeper than that.

‘I don’t think he’s alive. I hope that he’s alive,’ Vegas sniffed, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve. ‘I let her in. Did you know that?’

‘Let who in?’ 

‘The girl. The girl that stole his gun and my knife and crashed and maybe killed him.’ The words were coming faster now. ‘I let her in our warehouse. I let her in, and then she betrayed us, and now maybe Tommy is dead and-’

Vegas stopped himself, jaw clenched, fighting it back. It was the first crack Rev had seen in his persona. The performance was gone, and underneath it, Vegas was just a kid. Rev looked guiltily down at his boots, and his mind turned to Olga again, and how he had stood there and let her go back for that stupid knife. How he hadn’t felt comfortable telling her what to do, even though he knew they were running out of time. And here he was, getting angry at someone for making a similar mistake. ‘It’s not your fault, Vegas,’ was all he could think to say, because it was what he had needed to hear back then. 

Vegas sniffed hard, staring at the ground. 'You don't know that. You don’t know that, like you don’t know what Tommy would do, and you don’t know that he’s dead.’

'No,' Rev admitted, trying to smile. 'But I know you only let her in because you wanted to help someone in need. The same way I risked my life to save her from the crawlers that chased me into your path. I only snapped because I’m angry at myself for not caring about my friends as much as you care about yours.’

Vegas nodded and wiped his face properly this time. ‘Just don’t take it out on Tommy.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Rev felt his heavy chest lighten a little. The apology seemed to satisfy Vegas for now, and he trudged off after Gunner into the bushes. 

Rev sighed and followed him, though he couldn’t help but believe sticking to the path was the better choice. That archway was firm in his mind. He had seen it somewhere before; he just needed to bring back his old memories of life before the invasion, and he would remember. Would it be important? He didn’t know.

Vegas held back a branch for Rev to squeeze through the small opening that Gunner had found. There was a small muddy desire path breaking through the bushes and into a small forest. As he stepped onto it, Vegas let go of the branch, and it smacked him in the face. He let out a yelp. He deserved that. He risked his life to save a girl he didn’t know, so who was he to judge these two for looking for a friend? He shook his head again, not feeling much like himself anymore.

Tall pines loomed above them like ragged wooden giants. Were they pines? Rev didn’t actually know. Multiple branches of the tree sprouted the further up the trunk he looked. He stopped and traced a finger down the ridges, feeling the roughness under his fingertips. The trees on his block back in Birmingham were more like public toilets for degenerates than something to be observed and admired. 

‘It’s an Ash tree,’ Gunner said, joining him. ‘You see this?’ She crouched down and pointed at the bark. ‘You see how the bark has fissured here? It looks kinda diamond-shaped?’

He looked closer and saw the zig-zagging pattern that danced around the tree. ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’

‘That means it’s an old tree. The younger ones are smoother,’ she explained, looking upwards. ‘And you see how the branches are paired on each side?’

He looked up and saw what she meant. Where a branch had grown on the left, there was one on the right, a few inches above. Like twins. ‘Yeah, I see. So that’s how you tell it’s an Ash?’

‘And the leaves too,’ she said, pulling one down and showing him. There were six elegant leaflets, tapering downwards in pairs, and then a single one at the end. He took it from her hands and felt the smooth coolness in his palms, running a finger over the veins.

‘How do you know this stuff?’ he asked, letting the leaf drop to the ground.

‘Tommy taught me,’ she replied, turning back around. ‘And that’s why I know he would have come this way, because he didn’t follow roads or maps; he followed nature. He would have seen that gap in the hedges and known this path would lead somewhere.’ She continued walking, her eyes glued to the ground, searching for clues or tracks. Rev trailed behind, keeping an eye on the trees, like they might come alive. ‘He liked trees. He would have wanted bark and leaf samples.’

‘Why?’ Rev questioned.

Gunner shrugged. ‘He collected them. I don’t know. A little research project. He would always write about the crawlers, too.’

‘Speaking of the devil,’ Rev sighed, nodding ahead in the path where a crawler crouched against a tree, waiting for them. ‘You want a turn? Or should we let Vegas?’

Gunner gritted her teeth and started to say, 'He's not touching my sw—' She cut herself off, studying the creature on the path. 'Why isn't it moving?'

She was right; the creature was still, too still. They usually studied you for a few seconds before pouncing, honing in on your scent and the blood pumping through your veins. This one didn’t even seem to be looking at them, but at the ground; its head lolled forward. Rev motioned for Gunner to pass him the sword, but she ignored him and went ahead first, slowly creeping up to it. When she was less than a foot away, she let out a sigh of relief and turned around.

‘It’s dead,’ she called out. Then she crouched beside it and used her sword to tilt its head up. There was a jagged gash across its throat, as though it had been cut with a sharp stone or something, but that wasn’t the only injury. As Rev neared, he could see a gaping cavity where the chest had been, filled with flowers of all different colours, but a large bunch of daffodils filled most of the space. The crawler’s mouth was hanging open, and someone had shoved a fistful of black stones into its mouth. He joined Gunner’s side as she slowly pulled a flower from the chest. ‘Who would do something like this?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, unsettled. There was a foul stench coming from the creature that made him gag and move backwards. ‘Why not just kill it and move on?’

A faint rustle approached behind them, making him jump, but it was just Vegas, dusting himself off. ‘Sorry guys, nature called, and I had to answer– oh shit!’ 

‘Yeah, spooky, right?’ Rev raised an eyebrow at him. 

Gunner inspected the flower she was holding. It was small and pink, and she twirled it around in her fingers. ‘This is a Bog Rosemary, I think,’ she said, ‘But it’s fresh. Fresher than the body.’

‘Tommy always said go for the neck, didn’t he?’ Vegas said. ‘Rule four of combat.’

‘But Tommy wouldn’t have done this, with the flowers.’ Gunner stood up, still holding the Bog Rosemary. ‘This is weirdly, uh,’ she searched for the right term.

‘Culty?’ Rev suggested.

‘Yeah. Like, ritualistic,’ Gunner agreed. ‘If Tommy killed this bastard, someone else came back and, like, honoured them.’

‘That means he was alive,’ Vegas perked up. ‘Recently!’

The three of them took a moment of silence, watching over the corpse, before they continued on. Rev didn’t like the feeling that was creeping up inside of him, the same thing he had felt under the archway. The feeling that they weren’t alone.

Ten minutes down the path, they came across a clearing in the trees that led them through a rickety gate into an overgrown garden. There was a small dwelling; not so much a house as a shed. It had four windows and a door, and an old wooden rocking chair rotting out the front. There were several plots of earth where vegetables had once grown. A watercan sat rusted beside one of them, and beside that an abandoned trowel, still stuck in the ground. The paint on the handle had all but flaked off. 

Rev scanned the area for any sign of life. ‘You think Tommy would have found this?’

Gunner nodded. ‘Oh, for sure. Look,’ she pointed out a smudge on the door handle as they approached the back of the house. Something Rev never would have seen. He would have just tried to open it straight away. There was a tiny smudge of red smeared across the dull brass. Blood. 

Vegas peered through the dusty windows and turned his head to Gunner. ‘There’s something in there, on the floor.’ 

‘Move over.’ Gunner elbowed him out of the way and pressed her nose to the glass. ‘Shit. That’s Tommy’s jacket.’

Rev yanked the door open and ducked inside. There was indeed a jacket lying in the corner of the room, still open, inside out, like someone had backed against the wall and struggled out of it. It was a dark brown deer-hunting jacket, torn leather with a heavily lined fleece interior. He crouched beside it, his own long trench coat resting against the dirty floorboards as he did. Tommy had good taste, it seemed. He liked the company of people in cool coats. 

‘He loved that jacket,’ Vegas sniffed, reaching out and touching it. ‘He never would have left it, not on purpose, would he, Gunner?’

‘No,’ she said, leaning over them and picking it up. She shook it out and inspected it, like she was in a clothes shop and intending to buy it. ‘There’s no blood on this, though. So he can’t have been too injured.’ She rifled through the pockets until she found what she was apparently searching for. A small, A5-sized pocket book, with a battered leather cover. She handed it to Rev. ‘He would not have left this unless there was a reason.’

‘What is it?’ he asked, flipping it open, but his question was quickly answered. It was a journal, but not a sappy, emotional ‘what I did today’ one. It was short, detailed explanations of the invasion. Observations on crawlers; where they nested in Southampton, where they congregated, how many of them he had seen whilst heading west. There were sketches of them, dead and alive, in neat graphite strokes. Logs of bird flights and pressed tree leaves and a track of the lunar cycles. When he had gotten to the end of the notebook, his chest tightened. He held the open pages up with one hand for Gunner and Vegas to see. ‘I think he was expecting you.’

In sloppy, scrawled writing, read a short message:

THEY ARE WATCHING YOU.

Gunner pursed her lips and breathed out of her nose, not saying anything.

‘Does he mean the crawlers?’ Vegas said, hushed and anxious. Rev heard something crack outside - a twig or a branch - and snapped his head to the window they had peered in from a few moments ago. There was a blur of colour pressed against the window, and a small, dirty face stared back at him for a fraction of a second, and then ducked away. 

‘No, I don’t think he does,’ he gulped, and somehow that didn’t make him feel better.

***

The birds had been acting weird.

‘You can tell a lot from birds, Tommy,’ Nana had told him when he was a kid. ‘They can feel a storm coming before we do. That's why they hush right before the sky turns.’

Tommy had been trying to keep track of their behaviour. Two days ago, he had spotted the Buzzards, circling for too long until they tired and dropped out of the sky, crashing to the ground. When he found where they had fallen, there was more blood than there should have been, like they had started bleeding while still in the sky. Yesterday, when he’d been hiding from the crawlers, it was the Starlings. The murmurations became more and more disoriented, birds crashing into each other until it descended in one, bloody attack. Their rattling shrills had pulsed throughout the countryside, the same way that Tommy’s pain pulsed throughout his body. When he had stumbled upon the old house, there were two dead Robins on the doorstep, their beaks buried in each other’s chests. There had been no time to note this down in his pocketbook, and terrified of forgetting, he played the scenes over and over in his head. It had to have something to do with the crawlers. It was the only thing that made sense. The colourful blur that had haunted his peripheral vision through the trees was another issue, one he was running out of time to understand. 

Tommy writhed in pain as he eased himself into an upright position from where he had been lying on the floor. He still couldn’t put any pressure on his right hand, and the wound in his abdomen wasn’t getting any better either. The bleeding had stopped, which was good, but there wasn’t anything in the carriage to disinfect it with, other than the small amount of water he had left in his flask. He knew better than to waste that before he had no other choice. He tried to pull himself up using the plush red seats on either side of him, but he couldn’t. It hurt too much. He dropped back down to the floor and went slack, giving up on moving on. If this was where he died, so be it. At least the crawlers could not get in. 

For now.

However, Tommy knew with a rising sickness that crawlers were not the main threat here. He had seen them, back at the house, peeping through the windows at him. Before that, he had heard them, giggling and leaping through the woods, their impossibly colourful faces a blur between the leaves and branches. They had stalked him closely, and whenever he had turned and tried to grab one, they had dispersed, disappearing in all directions. There was no telling how many there were. His vision had been doubling, tripling, quadrupling as he stumbled through the forest. They had seemed, to Tommy in his haze, like dainty little fairies, spinning through the breeze. Killing that crawler had taken all the energy out of him, and he’d fallen asleep in the dilapidated house until the sun woke him with its gentle arms reaching through the windows. He had needed more time to recuperate, to assess his wounds, but the faces had returned with their dirty mitts banging at the windows. So, with a painfully empty stomach, he had pressed on forwards through the woods, searching for a blackberry bush or wild mushrooms he could eat.

The tracks had told him where he was. He should have realised it much earlier, because he had been here before, on a school trip back when he was still at the Prep school. Before Dad had died. That was how he categorised his life now: before Dad died, or after the apocalypse. But the trees and the shape of the hills in the distance meant nothing to him. The tracks, rust-red and half-swallowed by grass – they had given him a path to follow. One that meant more than chasing after a girl who had tried to kill him.

He only remembered fleeting moments of his school visit, but the steam engine was the one thing he had never forgotten. It reminded him of Dad at the time, as every train did. Finding it here, waiting to swallow him, felt like a part of the same bright, glittering dream the fairies had come from. He had stood face to face with it, unsure it was real. The narrow-gauge tank engine was barely taller than he was, its brass fittings gone dull and greenish with neglect. Its number plate was still legible if he squinted: 8. He remembered that number. The train’s name was Llywelyn. His tutor had read that off a laminated fact sheet as thirty ten-year-olds in dull grey blazers and flat caps fidgeted in the visitor centre, bored of the lecture and looking longingly at the train. 

Once he’d gotten safely inside one of the carriages and hidden out of sight, he had passed out, partly from hunger and partly from pain. It was like that bitch had known exactly where to put the knife. Not deep enough to kill quickly, but deep enough to make sure he had time to think about it. He had dreamt of his dad, dying alone out in the Middle East. There was sand instead of moss, heat instead of this creeping Welsh damp, but alone all the same. Tommy’s dad had abandoned his squad and crossed a dangerous territory, and died from a bullet to the thigh. He bled out before anyone could reach him. But he had been trying to save someone, and had acted before he had time to think. Unauthorised, under investigation – those were the bureaucratic words to describe it, but Tommy did not care for them. It was noble. He winced, squeezing his eyes shut to try and drive the pain away. 

There was nothing noble about dying of an infected stab wound in the carriage of an abandoned steam train.  

He patted his top pocket for the one hundredth time, making sure the bullets were safe. They were. Six, sleek little bugs, snug against his chest. No use without the Webley, of course, but if Gunner and Vegas had found the crash site, and found his gun stashed away in the glovebox – the one he had stupidly forgotten in the slick, bloody haze – the old revolver could be back in action again. He missed it. Heavy rocks and sharpened sticks were not the same. 

He just hoped Gunner and Vegas were looking for him. Whatever they were, running around the village and the forest, they were getting closer. He could hear them laughing. But louder than the laughter were the loud, screeching cries of a murder of crows, circling the train.

***

‘What the fuck was that?’ Rev said, running to the window. There was nothing there. ‘That wasn’t a crawler. Did you guys see that?’

He was sure that the face had been human, but around it had been something colourful, like the bright feathers of an exotic bird. Was he just going crazy? 

‘I didn’t see!’ Vegas whined, itching at his face in frustration. ‘What did it look like?’

‘Like, a kid. A face, looking in at us,’ Rev replied, staring out at the garden, keeping an eye on the treeline. ‘But there was something weird. I didn’t get a good look. Like it was wearing a headdress or a hat or something.’

Gunner scrunched up her face, trying not to laugh. ‘You got spooked by a kid in a hat?’

‘Tommy got spooked by them too!’ he snapped, holding up the note again. ‘That had to be what he was referring to! There’s someone, or something, out there that scared him out of his favourite coat.’

Gunner advanced towards the front of the house, where a wooden door was shut, the chain hanging loose, unbolted. She studied something on the floor. ‘He left out this way; that’s his boot print,’ she said, but Rev had already stepped on top of it, bustling out of the front door. The front garden was penned in by a small, white picket fence; something straight out of the American dream. It was pulled back to its Welshness by the ragged Welsh flag that was flapping around in the wind above them, the red dragon flying high over the house.

He looked left and then right. The road was small, only just big enough for one car to drive on at a time, and sloped downwards. Up to the right, he could see another small house. Down to the left, he could see a bigger road, and a crossing that seemed to lead to a car park.

‘Let’s go this way,’ he urged, constantly looking around him for any trace of the face he had seen. Every little crack and rustle from the trees made him tense up. 

Gunner marched ahead and inspected the view. ‘I don’t think Tommy would have gone this way,’ she said, turning to the forest. ‘He would have stuck to the cover of the trees. Look, there’s blackberry bushes. He’d be hungry, and looking for cover. He’d have gone that way.’

‘Then we can loop back around and go through the trees after we see what’s down there,’ Rev urged, feeling even weirder now. Something was drawing him down the path, clawing at his memory, screaming, think, Rev! Think! You’ve been here before! 

Gunner grumbled and turned away. ‘Well, you can go that way if you want, but I’m going this way.’

‘Don’t be childish!’ Rev tried to persuade her. ‘Come on, Gunner. I can’t explain it, but I have this weird feeling, and it’s pulling me this way!’

‘And my feeling is pulling me this way!’ She stormed towards the treeline, and then turned back. ‘You didn’t know Tommy. And you barely know us. I got us here by following Tommy’s instincts like they were my own, so that’s what I’m going to continue to do!’

‘You’ve got the only weapon!’

‘Then come with me then!’ she called, disappearing into the trees.

‘Wait for me!’ Vegas called, running from the house. Neither had realised he was still inside. He had put Tommy’s jacket on, and it swamped him. He looked like a kid in his dad’s clothes. Vegas looked around like a lost child and narrowed his eyes. ‘Where’s Gunner?’

‘That way,’ Rev pointed at the forest. ‘She’s gone without us.’

‘What?’ he asked. ‘Why? We never split up. That’s rule number three!’

‘Never mind, we’ll go this way and find her afterwards,’ Rev said, pointing down the road. ‘She’s in a mood with me, I think.’

‘She’s always in a mood with everyone. Even Tommy,’ Vegas groaned. ‘Wait, she’s got the sword!’

Rev sighed and pulled a fence post out of the ground and handed it to Vegas. ‘Here.’

Rev pressed onwards quickly, Vegas jogging behind him, and the path spilt out onto the main road through a small village. Rev swivelled around, still sure that he had been here before. Then he stopped. The building beside them, on the left of the main road, was a rustic-looking cabin with a big sign reading:

THE CHOCOLATE SHOP.

‘Oh my God,’ he jumped, with an embarrassing amount of glee. ‘I know where we are!’

‘Where?’ Vegas said, staring up at the chocolate shop. His smile lit up. ‘Do you think there is still chocolate in there?’

‘We’re at Devil's Bridge!’ Rev whooped, pulling Vegas into a brotherly hug. ‘I’ve been here before; I knew it! On a school trip, back in year six. They didn’t let us buy any chocolate!’ He laughed, spinning around, his coat billowing out behind him. ‘There are three old bridges stacked on top of each other, and a waterfall, but the coolest thing is this old steam train you can ride on, and it takes you to Aberystwyth! We can follow the tracks from here; it’ll take us a day of walking tops, less if we’re quick!’

‘Tommy likes trains!’ Vegas said, waving the fence post around. ‘His dad was in the army. Proper important, high up, apparently. He sent Tommy to this boarding school and would take him up on the train every term, and that was the only time he ever got to spend with him before he died.’

‘So, you think he would try and find the train? Or just the station, or the tracks if the train isn’t here?’ Rev asked. ‘He would have been following Macey’s trail, wouldn’t he? He knew she was headed to Aberystwyth, but he must be heavily injured and worn out by now. So maybe he sees the train tracks and follows them, not only because they lead to Aberystwyth, but also because he wants to feel close to his dad, in possibly his last moments?’

‘I think you’re right,’ Vegas nodded, too eagerly. ‘You know, I think you and Tommy will get on.’

‘Then we better hurry up,’ Rev said. ‘He could already be dead. Luckily, I think I remember the way. It’s just through this carpark, I’m sure.’

‘Can’t we go to the chocolate shop first?’ Vegas asked, jogging to catch up as Rev and Gunner strode across the road towards the carpark, which was still overflowing with abandoned cars. ‘I’ll be really quick! Please! I’m starving!’

Rev felt the familiar gurgle of starvation surge in his own stomach. Chocolate did sound good right now. ‘Let's find Tommy first. Gunner said if we beat her to him, you can take all the chocolate you want.’

‘Did she?’

‘No, but I’m sure she will when we find him!’ Rev laughed. ‘Come on.’

The car park was like a graveyard. Grass and moss had grown up around the cars, and weeds were forcing their way through the cracks in the concrete. It seemed as though people had driven here and abandoned their cars in hope of catching the train, perhaps believing that travelling west towards the Cardigan coast was safer, the same as he had when he left Birmingham. The driver’s side door to a little blue Sedan was open, and when Rev peered in, the seats had been ripped up and were splattered with blood. As he stood, staring at the last few seconds of his life, he heard something move in the back of the car. A rustle, like someone was hiding under a blanket and shifting positions to stay comfortable. He leapt back and slammed the door shut, making Vegas jump and turn to him.

Before he could say anything, something ran behind him, ducking behind a rusty truck and rolling underneath. Something else clambered across the hood of a Mini Cooper, disappearing in a blur of red and blue and yellow as it sprang behind an SUV. Rev whipped himself around and around, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was. He made a break for it and caught back up with Vegas. Vegas held out his fence post, and they stood back to back, circling around and trying to see whatever it was that was circling them.

‘There!’ Vegas cried out, pointing towards a green seven-seater car that was blocking the entrance to the station. The same grubby and colourful face was smiling at them through the window, waving a mucky palm before once again ducking out of view. Its cheeks were painted in a splodge of red and blue stars, and there was a bright green streak across the forehead. Before Rev could make a run for the car to try and grab whatever - or whoever - it was, something came whizzing towards him.

He ducked just in time, pulling Vegas down with him. Whatever it was smashed open a car window behind them. Vegas turned to look, and something else flew out at him from a different angle and grazed his cheek, just missing him. He clasped a hand to his face and crouched down.

‘Behind that car!’ Rev hissed and pulled the two of them behind a Yellow Toyota to their left. They crouched with their backs against the door, breathing heavily.

‘What the fuck,’ Rev said, pushing his fingers through his curls in a panic.

‘We’ve entered into enemy territory!’ Vegas said. Another object smashed through the window of the Toyota, making them jump. It landed in front of Vegas, and he picked it up, his fingers blackening upon first touch. 

He held it out. ‘Coal?’

Rev twisted around and popped his head up, looking through the window of the Toyota. He could see someone on the roof of a car opposite, crouched, pulling something back with his hands. They had no clothes on and appeared to be adorned with feathers in their long, crazy hair. 

‘It’s just kids,’ he said, but this was no relief. ‘We could make a run for it, over there,’ he nodded towards the entrance to the station. ‘Much harder to hit a moving target.’

‘Then what are we gonna do?’ Vegas hissed back, still holding the piece of coal in his hands. ‘Tommy said the second rule of combat is never attack a fortified position without knowing what's inside it.’ 

‘What was rule one?’ Rev asked hurriedly, peering up again through the window. He couldn’t see anyone now, which was a bad sign.

‘Don’t die!’ 

‘Oh great, thanks Tommy!’ he said, peeking up again.

Another piece of coal flew towards them, smashing into the wing mirror of the car. They froze, still, listening. There was a strange clicking noise, followed by a hushed jumble of words that sounded almost half English, half Welsh, but made no sense. There was the sound of feet padding against the concrete, gaining momentum, getting closer to the.. They’re just kids, he told himself with a half-convincing chuckle. If I can escape a horde of crawlers, I can escape a bunch of feral kids. 

‘I’m gonna run, okay? You follow behind me, on three.’

Vegas nodded. ‘On three.’

‘One,’ he said quietly, positioning himself so he could take off quickly. ‘Two.’ He took a deep breath in. ‘Three!”

He broke from cover and ran, legs pounding towards the gate. The same dizzying, heroic feeling he had when he’d saved Macey swelled in his chest, and a grin spread across his face. Tommy might be somewhere in that station. He had been alive not long ago; that would be a second person to add to his saved list. And heck, if it earned him some more brownie points with Gunner, that would also be a bonus. Not that he was thinking about this selfishly, no, he was just--

Something spun towards him. A large chunk of coal tunnelled from the side and caught him directly in the forehead, jerking his neck backwards and dropping him onto the tarmac.

Everything was swimming, the sun wobbling into bright, white waves in his eyes. He blinked, trying to clear it, but the faces were upon him. Several of them, feral with painted faces and bright hair, growling down at him, grabbing at his trench coat, holding him down and laughing. 

Their small, narrowing eyes looked hungry.