19. The Warehouse

A ring of boys had formed in the middle of the warehouse floor. They were cheering and shouting and clapping, and someone whistled loudly, reminding Greer of the awful football matches his dad had taken him to. The sleeping bags and tables had been kicked aside, and nearly all the lights had been turned off, save for one, singular strip, still humming above their heads. Pushing his way through the crowd, Greer saw that two dirty gym mats had been dragged out from the corner of the room and pushed together, and the four corners had been marked out with old, dusty cones from the store room. He squeezed between two of Clem’s lads and saw what everyone was cheering at: two boys wrestling.

Well, could you really call it wrestling if one person was just beating up the other? 

One boy was much bigger, and had the smaller boy in a headlock with his left arm, and was punching him quite hard in the stomach with his right. It took a moment for Greer to react, because illuminated under the dim light was the square battlefield of Bronson’s face, a cigarette clamped between his lips, still lit and dropping ash all over the mat. It snowed down and landed on the smaller kid’s hair as he struggled to escape, bashing at Bronson’s tree trunk forearms with all his might.

Greer had been right.

It was Jasper.

‘Stop that!’ he shouted with as much authority as he could muster, but his voice still came out with a frightened crack. ‘Stop that right now!’

The boys in the crowd slowly pulled apart, and a few disjointed voices began to murmur apologies and say that they had tried to stop it. Greer ignored them and stepped onto the mat, reaching out to separate the two.

Bronson slowly released Jasper, uncurling his arm with a laugh and shrug. Jasper dropped to the mat and curled up into a ball, wheezing. He was crying, his shoulders heaving up and down, but he didn’t get up. His arm outstretched just enough to grab a grubby rag of a teddy that had been lying abandoned by the side of the mat and snatched it into his chest.

Bronson took a drag of the cigarette and wiggled his eyebrows at Greer. ‘Don’t look at me, he got what he wanted.’

Greer dropped to his knees and shook Jasper gently. ‘Jasper, Jasper?’ he said, trying to unpeel him from himself. He looked up at Bronson. ‘He’s nine-years-old, for fuck’s sake! What did he do to piss you off that bad?’

‘No,’ Bronson said, casually flicking more ash onto the ground. ‘He wanted a fight. Ask them.’ He gestured to the other boys.

There was a grumble of grunts and groans in response, and someone said ‘It’s true.’

‘Jasper?’ Greer asked, finally pulling him up. ‘Is that true, you wanted to fight Bronson? He didn’t attack you?’

Jasper wiped his wet eyes with the grubby sleeve of the over-sized grey sweater he was wearing. ‘Yeah,’ he sniffed. ‘I said I wanted to learn how to fight.’ There was a wobble in Jasper’s voice as he spoke, and he was blinking fervently, trying to stop the tears. ‘I said I'd give him this if he taught me.’

He pulled out a crumpled and now flattened box of cigarettes and handed it to Greer. Greer flipped it open, and it was half full.

‘Where did you get this?’ he asked, shaking it in front of Jasper’s face.

‘From one of the big girl’s lockers,’ Jasper cried, hiccuping through the words. ‘I took it when she wasn’t looking.’

Greer turned to Bronson again. ‘You beat up a little kid for ten cigarettes?’ He looked closer at the box, checking for the brand name. The decaying set of teeth with bloody gums that served as a warning on the packet stared back at him, a weird feeling creeping across his own mouth. ‘For half a pack of Benson and Hedges?’

He didn’t really know if they were a good brand or not, but he tried to sound like he knew what he was talking about. His dad had refused to smoke anything but Marlboro Reds. He could feel everybody’s eyes on him. How had they let this happen? Had no one else thought to step in, stop the large ape-shaped hunk of a boy from pummeling the small, defiant child? The majority of the boys here were Shadows; they should know better. He jumped up and pulled Jasper along with him, clutching his tiny hand.

Bronson finished his cigarette and flicked it onto the mat, where for a second the ember was still lit, burning through the top protective layer until he stomped on it. The smell of burning rubber filled Greer’s nostrils.

‘Like gold-dust, these days,’ Bronson grunted, holding out his hand and motioning for the packet. 

‘You’re not serious?’ Greer snarled, holding them against his chest. ‘You think you’ve earnt these?’

Bronson shrugged and nodded at the same time. ‘Kid wanted to learn how to fight. I showed him how to win. They’re mine.’ His hand was still there, as if to say gimme the prize. Like it was all a game to him. Greer glared. His entire body was buzzing in anger. One look at Jasper’s weeping face made him want to punch Bronson right where it hurt. But he couldn’t. Bronson was bigger than him, and more importantly, on Clem’s side. 

He huffed and slammed the packet into Bronson’s hand. ‘There. Next time you want something, you come ask someone your own size.’

A smile curled at Bronson’s lips and he pulled a cigarette from the pack and slotted it between his lips. As he raised the lighter he said ‘See ya later, Greery-boy,’ before sparking it up and sauntering off outside. The other boys were still restless, jumping up and down and challenging each other to fights. He realised that with all this fuss, there hadn’t been any training sessions, and no one had put the CryCast on, and no one had chosen a film to watch, all the usual little things they did to make time pass when they weren’t on missions. He also hadn’t seen Gage today, and he was missing him like crazy. And now his friends were on a mission without him, and he alone was seemingly in charge of all of these boys. He found himself staring at Clem’s whiteboard with all the names and tally marks. He raised his hand and wiped Bronson’s tally clean with his finger. The ink piled up in little threads under his nail. It was a petty move, but it was just one small act of rebellion he could take without having to physically fight the giant. He wanted to wipe the entire board clean and get rid of the stupid system, but part of him felt he should at least hear Clem out. No, he thought, fuck her and her stupid fucking ideas. He swiped across the board with the sleeve of his jacket until all the writing was gone.

‘Greer?’ Jasper sniffed, still hanging at his side. His arm was still firmly around the teddy. 

He looked down at him. ‘What?’

‘My tummy really hurts.’ He pulled up his sweater and revealed his bruised torso. Some were new and blooming, but some were older and faded. His entire stomach was covered in a mottled patchwork of purple, yellow, and green, flowering outwards and trailing off at the bottom of his ribs.

‘Shit,’ he said, kneeling down. ‘I’ll fucking kill him.’

Jasper shook his head. ‘It wasn’t all him. Just today.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, pulling the shirt back down. ‘You were asking other boys to fight you?’

Jasper nodded. Greer didn’t wait for any more of an answer. He grabbed hold of Jasper’s hand again and dragged him upstairs to the mezzanine floor. His heavy boots landed with a series of hollow thuds across the metal, and when he got to the office door, he kicked it open. Jasper hid timidly behind him. Inside, a high-backed leather chair faced the far wall, and Greer could just about see the back of a short, black bob poking over the top. 

‘This shit ain’t working,’ he said as he approached the large wooden desk that sat opposite the door. There were several neatly ordered piles of papers, a plastic cup holding an assortment of coloured Sharpies, a framed photograph of a tabby cat and a battered walkie-talkie. She had set this all up rather quickly. Donnie had never needed a desk. He was always the first one out the door when they had a mission. Greer slammed his hand down, knocking the photo over. ‘Clem? Are you listening to me?’

Clem swivelled the chair around slowly, revealing her sly, pointed face, her plucked brows arched into a disapproving look behind her rectangular glasses. She propped the photo back up and stroked the cat’s face, not looking at Greer directly before saying, sternly, ‘Didn’t your mother teach you how to knock?’

Greer huffed, turned around, went back outside the office, knocked loudly on the door four times, then let himself back in. ‘There, is that good enough for you?’

‘I suppose so,’ Clem said, pushing the frames of her glasses up her nose. ‘And to what do I owe the pleasure, Greer?’ She peered around him. ‘Oh, hello, you must be Jasper. I’ve heard ever so much about you.’

He hated the way she spoke; all posh and proper. She was wearing a smart black blazer that had her school emblem sewn onto the top pocket and a white blouse, with a little metal badge pinned to the lapel that said PREFECT in all capitals. Oh, she was definitely the type of girl to have been a prefect, for sure. Though Greer couldn’t see her legs, he was sure she’d be wearing a pleated skirt and long, white stockings too. Her signature leather jacket was hung up in the corner.

Jasper was sucking on his thumb and didn’t answer. 

‘Oh, I have a few points to raise,’ Greer said, raising his eyebrows at her. He pulled up Jasper’s sweater. ‘Look what your boys have been doing to him!’ 

Clem didn’t bat an eyelid as she scanned Jasper’s bruises. ‘Is this what all that noise was about down there? You know what they say Greer, boys will be boys.’ 

‘He stole cigarettes from the girls and promised them to Bronson if he taught him how to fight. But Bronson took that to mean he could just beat him up in front of everybody else! He said he’d been paying multiple different boys to do this to him. I have no doubt that it’s all your lot.’ He was seething, his hands shaking. ‘You can’t think that’s right. That never happened with Donnie in charge. Never!’

‘Well,’ Clem shrugged. ‘You did used to fight each other, so I’m told.’

‘Yeah. For training! We had structured training sessions! It kept everyone calmer the rest of the time. And we wouldn’t fight; it was combat! So we could kill crawlers and save kids!’ He dropped Jasper’s sweater back down and turned around, head in his hands. ‘It’s like a fight club down there, now. That Bronson, he-’ but he suddenly didn’t know what to say.

Clem was staring at him, tapping her fingers together menacingly. ‘Bronson is what?’

The words clawed at his throat again, and he looked back at Jasper. ‘Come on, Clem. He took the first opportunity he could to beat up a little kid.’

‘I asked him,’ Jasper mumbled. ‘It’s my fault.’

‘See?' Clem said, spreading her hands like the matter was settled. 'Consenting participants. Nothing for either of us to lose sleep over. You won't do it again, will you Jasper?’

Jasper shook his head fervently.

‘Good kid,’ she smiled. 

‘No!’ Greer shouted, flouncing his arms. ‘A nine-year-old should not be taking responsibility for an ogre like that beating him up, even if he did ask for it. I don’t trust him. Why was he asking me about the babies, about my brother?’

Clem laughed. ‘I asked him to get me that information. Bronson he’s–’ she stopped for a moment, smiling to herself, blushing a little. ‘He’s useful. People will give out all sorts of information if you send a big guy like him over. You’re right, though, Greer. He shouldn’t have hurt Jasper. I’ll have a word with him about it, alright?’

Greer was too stunned to speak for a second. ‘You will?’

‘Yep. So long as Jasper promises not to ask for fights anymore. Sorting out the training is the next thing on my list, and we could put on sessions especially for the younger kids, so stuff like this doesn’t happen. You live with the girls, don’t you Jasper?’

‘Yeah,’ he nodded, still sucking his thumb.

‘Well, why don’t you go get your things and move back in here, if that’s what you want. But you have to promise. No more fights. No more stealing. And you’re definitely not handling a gun. Not yet. But Greer will teach you combat. Alright?’

A grin spread across his cheeks. ‘Alright!’

‘Off you go, then. Good lad.’

Jasper pulled open the door and left, slowly and a little unsurely. Greer watched him go and then hung his head low and stared at the floor for a moment. That was weirdly, well, nice of Clem, wasn’t it? It sounded just a tad more like something Donnie would have said to diffuse the tension. 

‘Donnie was the one who sent Jasper to live with the girls,’ Greer said suddenly, though he wasn’t sure where he was going with it. ‘Shit, we haven’t even put him on the Ident yet. He said he had some cousins.’

‘Leave that with me,’ Clem smiled. ‘I’ll get Cry to put one out immediately.’

She didn’t grab her walkie-talkie immediately, which is what Greer wanted her to do. She gestured to the corner of the room, where there was a stack of chairs, the blue plastic kind they used to have in school. Greer took the top one and put it down opposite Clem. They were eye to eye now, over the desk. She leant forward and dropped her shoulders, looking a little anxious. ‘Do you think I’m doing a good job?’

‘Uhh.’ He hesitated, taken aback by the question. Her face had softened, and she looked again like the girl he had saved. 

‘Like, for instance,’ Clem said, waving a hand. ‘Do you like the things I’ve implemented? A lot have been Cry’s ideas, but I have no idea if I’m doing them well enough. We had a very specific system before, and it’s harder to integrate it with all your boys. Don’t look at me like that, I’m asking you because I want your opinion! Do you think it’ll work out?’

 ‘No,’ he shook his head immediately. ‘I mean, I don’t know.’

‘Don’t hold back,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I can take it.’

‘All these rules and regulations won’t stick. The points system and the whiteboard and the rationing and the queues and all that. I mean, we had rules, but mainly we trusted eachother. Took it day by day. It’s the goddamn apocalypse, Clem,’ he said, a laugh escaping his mouth. ‘You can’t boss around the goddamn apocalypse!’

‘Look, Greer,’ she said, leaning forward a little. She looked a little hurt. ‘The points system is something I implemented back in our old base, and after a while it worked. Have you ever heard of the term panopticon?’

He shook his head.

‘It’s basically this experiment where they build a circular prison with a guard tower in the middle so that prisoners can always be seen, and they start to govern themselves, even if no guard is actually there. It’s the thought that the guard is there. People start to self govern. You with me?’

‘I guess,’ Greer said, shifting in his seat. What did this have to do with anything?

‘Well, I found that if you put a big board up and dish out points, the kids start to get competitive. And if you take away points for things, they start acting in line. Especially if points equal rewards. Positive reinforcements. I was doing a GCSE in sociology,’ she clarified, looking very smug. ‘And especially if you don’t announce these things clearly, the kids start doing things right even when no one’s around, because they’ll wake up and see points added and not know what for, and think I must have spies keeping tally. You think that’s clever, right?’

Greer laughed, shaking his head and messing compulsively with his hair. He felt like he was in the headmistress’ office. ‘No, I think it’s stupid as hell.’

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, her throat making a small gargling sound like she truly had expected him to shower her in praise. She looked away and furrowed her brow, deep in thought for a moment. He thought she looked like she might explode. ‘I see,’ she said finally, looking back at him. ‘I appreciate the honesty, Greer. Really. I like you. I mean, I respect you. So I will think about what you said. If you want to help come up with a better system, be my guest.’ She gazed at the picture of her cat for a moment, her eyes softening before snapping back to him. ‘You saved my life. I’ll never forget that.’

‘I’d save anyone’s life,’ he said, crossing his legs. Did she really mean all that? About respecting him? He doubted it. She was just fishing for information, for reassurance she was doing something right. He wasn’t going to give her what she wanted, no way. ‘That’s what being a shadow is about. You’re not special.’

‘No?’ she asked, trying to hide the hurt. ‘Well, I’m still thankful. Do you think Donnie or Lester would have done the same?’

Greer cocked his head and tensed his brows. What was she trying to get at? He felt very uneasy – not as bad as when he was near Bronson, but it was certainly a similar sense of dread. She was trying to split them up, turn them against each other. ‘Uh, yeah. Of course they would. What do you mean?’

Clem let out a deep breath. ‘I mean, I respect you, Greer. You saved me, and you came to talk to me when you didn’t like how things were going. That’s more than can be said for Donnie or Lester. I mean, trust me, I have tried to get a clearer picture of Lester, but it’s like he’s deliberately… I don’t know how to put it. He’s charming and goofy and boyish, but it doesn’t go much deeper, does it?’

‘You’re just trying to get information out of me,’ Greer said, looking away from her.

Clem huffed. ‘No, no. I just want to know who I’m working with. You, I understand, Greer. You have a little brother. You want to protect him. That’s why you care about Jasper, why you care about helping other kids. It’s admirable. I’ll be honest; we only helped kids because we needed more people to fortify and protect our base, and most of them drifted off after a while. The fact these boys have stayed, well, that’s special,’ she said, drumming her fingers on the desk. ‘Lester, I know nothing about. Nothing concrete, you see what I mean?’

He did see what she meant, but it also meant nothing to him. Lester was a friend, a good friend, and they always had a laugh. That was the nature of their relationship. Boyish banter. What did it matter if he didn’t ever talk about himself, or his past? Everyone had experienced traumatic things, things they didn’t want to talk about. Even Greer had never touched upon his parents’ deaths with anyone here. ‘No,’ he answered finally, and a little uncomfortably. It dawned on him that Clem was very interested in what made people tick. He wasn’t going to just give that away. ‘No, I don’t see. If you don’t know Lester, try actually talking to him instead of just bossing him around.’

‘Okay, well, maybe Donnie is a better example,’ Clem said with a light smile. ‘He prays a lot. Have you noticed?’

‘He’s a Catholic,’ Greer stated. ‘Of course he prays a lot.’

‘Yes, but it’s what he prays about that’s really interesting,’ she said slowly, pulling each syllable of interesting apart. Greer imagined her pulling it out like a piece of gum, stretching it between her fingers. He shuddered. ‘Donnie has put up a front. I get it. He’s been through tough, testing times; but Greer, I ask you, how well do you really know him?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he insisted, looking away. ‘Can I go? Don’t we both have something better to be doing?’

‘All I’m saying is, he was mumbling about lust. And I don’t think he’s lusting after one of those babysitting girls, is he?’ She smiled again, totally fake, her cheeks bunching upwards like a chipmunk’s. 

Greer jogged his legs up and down, avoiding Clem’s eyes. Was she trying to insinuate that Donnie wasn’t straight? He didn’t understand why this was supposed to perturb him. There was no way Clem could know that he was the one worried about Donnie knowing he was – he couldn’t even bring himself to think the word. But he could bring himself to think of the word bitch.

‘I can tell you’re not ready to parlay with me just yet, but out of everybody, Greer, I trust you the most,’ she was saying, though Greer had stopped listening. ‘I want to make you my right-hand–’

‘MAYDAY, MAYDAY!’ came a sudden crackle through the walkie-talkie. ‘We have a serious problem! I repeat, we have a serious problem. Is anyone there?’

‘That’s Lester!’ Greer said in a panic, grabbing for the walkie-talkie, but Clem snatched it away before he could get his hands on it. 

‘Scout-Two, this is Tabbycat. Report Location. Over,’ Clem said into the device in far too casual a tone.

Lester’s reply was instant. ‘City centre. North entrance of West Quay, over.’

‘Scout-Two, report the problem, over.’

‘Our jeep–’ he started, but the walkie-talkie began to crackle and his voice was breaking up into small, sharp fragments. ‘The tyre– outside– too many– over!’

‘Scout-Two, repeat the problem, over,’ Clem said again, but there was no response. ‘Scout-Two?’ 

Unable to just sit there and listen, Greer reached over and pulled the device from Clem’s cold hands. ‘Lester, it’s Greer. What’s wrong?’

‘They’ve slashed the tyres; we can’t drive!’ came back a garbled reply. ‘Oh shit, oh shit!’

There was a series of loud bangs, and then static. 

Greer held down the button. ‘Lester? Lester?’ He looked up at Clem. ‘I gotta get over to him. Give me the keys to the other jeep.’

Clem yanked open the drawer and threw them at him. 'Take Bronson. And Bethy.' 

'There's no time!' Greer was already moving, already at the door. 'I'm going alone!' 

'You're not.' Her voice cut flat through his. 'Bethy's a good shot. Bronson's stronger than he looks. You go alone, you're no use to anyone except the crawlers as food!' 

He practically growled. ‘Fine!’ 

Greer stormed out of the room, thinking about how he could just go, get in the jeep and drive off without any of Clem’s people. But Clem was right. He might need backup. Lester wouldn’t make a mayday call unless someone was truly in danger. He couldn’t let them die. Not like Danny.

He leant over the railing of the mezzanine floor and barked out the two names. ‘Bronson, Bethy! Get yourself to the garage, now!’

Bronson was already by the garage door, leaning against the wall, an unlit cigarette balanced behind his ear. He’d clearly only just got in from smoking his last one. Bethy peeled herself away from the floor in a far corner where she had been curled up with a book. Greer turned to run down the stairs and knocked straight into Jasper, who was crouched against the railings, also peering down.

‘Out of the way!’ Greer shouted as Jasper stumbled back.

‘Wait!’ the kid called, but Greer didn’t look back. He raced past Bronson and pushed open the doors to the garage, immediately heading to the weapons rack and pulling off his tomahawk. Bronson came up behind him and selected a large rifle. 

‘What we got?’ he asked, leaning against the hood of the jeep as he inspected the gun. 

‘The group that went out earlier is in trouble out by West Quay,’ he said, opening up the driver’s side door and putting the tomahawk inside whilst he gathered more weapons. Bethy burst into the room, huffing and red faced, even though she’d only ran a few yards. She grabbed a rifle too, and a knife, and then opened up the boot and chucked them in.

‘Trouble?’ she asked, looking between Greer and Bronson. ‘The group Cal’s with?’

They both nodded. Bethy was fiddling with her rifle and knocked over a tower of ammo boxes, sending dozens of rounds scattering across the floor. Bronson grunted and leered closer to Bethy.

‘Been a while since we worked together,’ Bronson said, and Greer saw her face flinch, like she found him just as creepy. She blinked back whatever she wanted to say and forced a smile.

‘Yes,’ she replied through gritted teeth. ‘I wonder why?’

Greer was glad he wasn’t the only one who could sense that something was off about Bronson, and if the ogre hadn’t been standing right there, he would have asked Bethy what the hell she meant. Had he done something to her before, or another member of the group? Clem’s group did seem quite small. His mind flipped through scenarios, like Bronson killing anyone who got in his way or throwing his comrades to the crawlers to save his own hide. Why did these images come to easily to him, when Bronson had never actually done anything wrong? He walked around them briskly and opened up the garage door, throwing his tomahawk into the back of the jeep without looking. He slammed the boot shut whilst watching Bronson light his next cigarette and then jumped into the driver's seat. Bronson got into the passenger seat and Bethy waited so she could shut the garage door behind them. The car slowly filled with the smell of tobacco.

Greer put the keys in the ignition, twisted them, and revved up the jeep. It was still new to him. Lester had taught him to drive only two months ago, and Donnie had never let him drive on a mission since, only around the carpark. The first time he got behind the wheel, he crashed into a wall and was lucky to have survived. He was also lucky because he’d taken out five crawlers during the crash and hadn’t noticed until afterwards. He pulled out the walkie-talkie that was kept in the car, turned it to the correct frequency, and spoke into it with one hand whilst he reversed out of the garage.

‘Lester, it’s Greer. We’re on our way, over,’ he said, pulling up outside beside the gate. Bethy shut the garage door and ran over to the car, climbing into the back seat. He looked at her in the rear view mirror. Her face was pale. Henry and Mikey were still manning the gate, and slid the metal sheets open just enough for him to drive through, then quickly shut it as they drove away. ‘You there, Lester? Over.’

There was a crackle. ‘We got a man down! I repeat, we got a man down!’

Greer punched the steering wheel as he swerved around the body of an invader rotting in the road. ‘Shit!’ he yelled, then tried to speak calmly into the walkie again. ‘What happened? Who was it? Over.’

‘Paul, over. He– the window–’ Lester began to break up again. Greer sped around the corner. He knew the city like the back of his hand now. West Quay was two miles away, right by the hospital. If he went straight over the roundabout and down the street by the cinema, he could cut across the green playing field and get to West Quay in under five minutes. Lester came back through, loud and clear this time. ‘They’re gonna get in!’

‘Hang in there!’ he said, and tossed the walkie-talkie back to Bethy. ‘Keep me updated,!’

With his foot down on the pedal, Greer flew around the corner that led him to the roundabout. Although they had cleared most of the cars from the road, there were still some he had to swerve around, feeling like he was playing GTA. The buildings in Southampton had always been dreary and grey, but since the invasion they seemed more so. He sped past smashed windows, artless graffiti, bins shredded open and their contents strewn across the streets. What had once been his home city was now home to no one except fat black rats and crawlers. He went straight over the roundabout, keeping an eye out for any crawlers that might run into the road. They seemed to be getting sparser, sticking more in groups and heading underground, or to the countryside. That was what Cry had said on the CryCast, anyway. Who cared what that dickhead thought anymore. His stomach was churning, thinking about Paul. He hoped by man down that Lester meant he was injured. He looked at the sky as he swerved around another dead crawler and prayed as hard as he could for the first time in his life. Dear God, my friends better be okay. You better fucking protect my friends. I am sorry if I haven’t been perfect. Please–

Past the cinema now, he took a sharp right and launched the jeep onto the pavement, narrowly missing a park bench as he took the shortcut across the playing fields. ‘Anything?’ he shouted back to Bethy, looking in the rearview mirror. 

Bethy held down the button. ‘Report your status, over.’

There was a gentle hum of static, but no answer.

‘Try again,’ Greer said, skidding on the grass. 

‘Hello, anybody there? Report your status. We are en route. Over,’ Bethy asked, but again, there was no reply.

Greer turned the jeep left and then instantly slammed the brakes on. Bronson slammed forward, knocking his knees into the dashboard and bracing himself with his arms. He hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt. He steadied himself up with a grunt and then leant forward, peering through the windscreen. Bethy leaned forward too, pushing herself into the gap between the driver’s seat and the passenger’s. 

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Greer breathed, leaning forward on the wheel and peering at the scene playing out before them. It seemed to be in slow motion. ‘So that’s where all the fuckers are.’

There must have been three or four dozen crawlers, maybe even more; he couldn’t tell. They were moving too fast to count. The jeep could barely be seen beneath the heap of writhing bodies, swarming around it. Three were on the roof, ripping at the sunroof with their claws, and at least ten surrounded the doors, trying to smash at the windows. On the bonnet of the jeep stood a particularly large crawler, not as skinny as the others. In fact, its stomach seemed to be bulging out at uneven angles, the skin around it pulled tight. It was like it had eaten something all in one go without much ripping or chewing. Greer had killed hundreds of these fuckers, but had never seen one look like that. He turned and grabbed the walkie-talkie from Bethy and tried it once again.

‘Lester, man, let me know you’re alive!’

‘It–’ crackled a warped response. ‘Paul!’

‘What about Paul?’

‘It ate Paul!’ 

The response was loud and clear for the first time. Greer felt sick. ‘What the fuck happened?’

‘They swarmed us. They slashed the fucking tyres. Paul tried to get out the sunroof to clear the area with his gun, but there were just too many of them. I tried to pull him back in, I tried to save him, man!’ came Lester’s sobs. Greer had never heard him cry before.

Greer pressed the walkie close to his lips. ‘We’ll get you out of there, okay? You have my word. Sit tight.’

He looked sideways to Bronson, who had an excited look in his eyes like he was staring up at a cinema screen during an action movie. Bethy looked a little more worried, but also angrier, like she couldn’t wait to get out there and get revenge on the creature. Or, more likely, she wanted to save Cal, who was trapped in the back of the jeep too.

‘What the fuck do we do?’ Greer said, pulling a sharp pocket of air into his lungs, trying to calm himself down. Crawlers were starting to notice their jeep now, turning their grey heads and moving with a slow, quiet precision that gave Greer the chills the same way the one he had seen just standing there on Jasper’s road had. Bronson was already opening his door, quickly running to the boot of the jeep and opening it up to grab his weapons.

‘Looks like we’ve got a stowaway,’ Bronson said, letting out a low, almost delighted chuckle. 'Little psycho's already tooled up.'

'What?' Greer sprinted over, grabbing for his tomahawk. 'Jesus—' He didn't finish. Crouched in the boot, wedged between the ammo boxes and the spare tyre, was Jasper. He shoved Bethy her weapons without looking at her, eyes locked on the crawlers closing in. 'Jasper. What the hell are you doing here?' 

‘I’ve come to help!’ Jasper insisted, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. His tiny hands were curled around a neat-looking slingshot, his knuckles smooth and white under his skin. His rabbit was tucked between his knees, and Greer noticed for the first time that it only had one eye.