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(A/N: this is a rewrite since I obviously went back and wrote in Greer's chapters into part one.)

16. The Warehouse

They scuttled around below him like little black beetles, darting in and out of the shadows. Slivers of scalps underneath unwashed hair shone in the dim LED lights. They dragged in boxes of supplies and crates of food and bags of bedding and arranged their sleeping bags on the floor in rows, one by one, like soldiers. They did what Clem told them to do. 

Greer stood on the mezzanine floor, alone, his palms gripping the paint-chipped metal railings. Sweat ran in small beads across his forehead, but he didn’t wipe it away. He didn’t wipe away the tears that were welling in the ducts of his eyes, either. He just stood there and watched. There were ten of them. Ten. That was about a third of the Shadow’s troops, discounting the girls and the babies. They all wore black, ill-fitting faux-leather jackets and dirty joggers, trying to achieve a uniform look. They looked like they had all just swamped into the depths of a Primark sale and fought for the ugliest pieces they could find. 

Clem, the cleanest of them all, was bossing around a group of boys, telling them exactly where to stack each can of soup on the shelves of the makeshift kitchen. Some of the younger Shadows were shaking their heads in disapproval from where they lounged on their sleeping mats. A card game was happening, but no one had made a move in five minutes, all focused on these strangers taking over their home.

And there was nothing Greer could do about it.

They had driven back in solemn silence. Clem’s people had forced their way inside, and Henry and Mikey had been unable to keep the gates closed without attracting crawlers with the noise, ultimately having to let them in. Without weapons, what could they have done? When Greer and the others had pulled up, there was a mob waiting to accost them, which Clem avoided by taking the stupid transceiver to the location Cry wanted. Maybe if she had taken Bethy and Cal with her, they might have been able to hold fort and force the few others out. But Bethy and Cal, though timid as they were, had remained at the warehouse, and Clem had forced Donnie to come with her. 

He could have refused. But he didn’t. 

‘No! Labels have to be facing outwards,’ Clem said sharply, her shrill voice striking Greer’s ears. He winced a little. ‘And only stack ones that are of the same product, down to the brand. Can you put all the red ones together, and then all the yellow ones? It looks better that way, and it's easier to find what you need. No, don’t open that! That’s my personal suitcase!’

Greer scanned his eyes across the floor again, picking out the new prey like a hawk. There were two boys he did not like the look of. One was huge, nearly six feet tall; a skinhead with acne scars hooked deep into his square face and overgrown peach fuzz growing from his lip like mould on a stone fruit. The other was shorter and leaner, with a shaggy nineties-style haircut and tinted sunglasses that hid most of his face from view, save for his very thin lips. They were mooching about the place, hands deep in their pockets, looking in every corner, spying in kids’ tents and bags and then making rude faces at each other. He hoped that Donnie and the others would hurry up and come back inside.

There was a loud smash, followed by a series of tinny clatters as one of Clem’s kids dropped a crate and the contents spilt out onto the floor. Cans of fruit rolled away, escaping between people's legs and under tables as the brine from a jar of pickled onions began to stink out the room. The smell made Greer’s stomach lurch, and he was about to turn away and go into the office when he spotted a small figure dash in through the doors and duck beneath a table, gathering up as many cans as he could, using the front of his T-shirt as a makeshift bag. Greer recognised the greasy brown mop of hair that hung around the kid's neck and sighed. He quickly trotted down the stairs, ignoring the ruckus to his right and heading straight for the kid, who was slowly sliding out from under the table with his loot. He looked around, reminding Greer of a mouse’s nose twitching in the air, then made a break for the door. 

Greer grabbed the kid by the back of his T-shirt. ‘Busted.’

‘Hey! You made me drop stuff!’ Jasper wriggled out of Greer’s grip, half of the cans thudding to the ground as Greer bundled him out of the door. ‘Get off me!’

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Greer asked, looking down at Jasper’s dirty face, sticky with jam. ‘You know you’re not supposed to come over here. Donnie got a room for you over there, with the other kids!’

‘They’re babies!’ Jasper exclaimed, sticking out his tongue. ‘All they do is cry and smell. And the big girls make me do dumb kiddie things like paint rainbows and sing songs!’ he said, crossing his arms so hard his elbows nearly disappeared into his ribs. I’m not a baby! I have a gun!’

‘You do not have a gun.’

‘I used to have one!’ 

It was kinda sad, really, Greer had to admit. Too young for the Shadows, too old for the babies. No proper place for him now that the other little ones had mostly been shuttled off once the Ident found their siblings or cousins. ‘I’m sorry, it’s not fair, I know.’

‘So let me join!’ he said, jumping upwards, a glint in his blue eyes. ‘I’ll fight, and maybe I can earn my gun back if I do good enough. I’ve already killed like seventeen hundred crawlers with that thing, or maybe even more.’

‘Maybe another day,’ Greer sighed. ‘There’s a bunch of new kids in there who have taken over, in case you couldn’t tell.’

‘Did you let them in?’ Jasper said, tilting his head to the side.

‘Sort of. It’s complicated.’

‘Well, why don’t you just kick them out if you don’t want them here?’ he asked with a confused look. ‘Just shoot them with my gun if I can’t have it back.’

Greer let out a laugh and stared up into the sky, lacing his fingers together and cupping the back of his head. It wasn’t a stupid question, not really. Why didn’t they? ‘We can’t,’ he squeaked, his voice cracking. ‘They just want to help find kids too, as we found you.’

‘I want to help!’

There were still a few tins on the floor, and Greer kicked a Fruit Cocktail over to Jasper. ‘Take that, go back to the girls, and I won’t get you in any trouble with them, alright?’

Jasper sighed heavily, the air lifting his fringe upwards. ‘Fine,’ he said, picking up the tin. ‘I just wanted food for myself. Them girls make me eat baby food. All mashed up and yucky.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Greer said. ‘I’ll talk to them about it, okay?’

Jasper spun on his heels and sulked away. Greer watched until he became a small figure and disappeared inside. He bent down and picked up the remaining tins, collecting them in his arms. When he turned around to take them back inside, there was someone blocking the door.

They towered above him, and when he looked upwards, their face was obscured by the thick cloud of cigarette smoke curling upwards out of their mouth. As it slowly cleared away, the pockmarked face of the large boy he had disliked the look of came into focus. 

‘Alright,’ the boy said, his voice deep and gruff, like an ogre’s. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and handed it out to Greer. ‘You want?’

Greer shook his head feebly, then coughed and wafted his hand to clear away the smoke. ‘Sorry,’ he choked. ‘I don’t smoke.’

‘Bad habit,’ the kid said, shrugging. His lip twitched as he raised the cigarette to it again. ‘Be lucky to find any around here anymore. All gone.’

‘Yeah,’ Greer nodded, awkwardly swinging his left foot around. 

‘Your mate was the one who got killed, right?’ he asked, taking a deep inhale. ‘You saved Clem?’

‘Uh, yeah, that was me,’ he said, nearly dropping a tin of beans. ‘I’m Greer.’

‘Bronson,’ the kid said with a wink. A few dotted scars prickled across his eyelid, like tiny stars. ‘Sorry about your mate. It happens.’

‘I know.’ The words got caught in Greer’s throat, as though his gag reflex had detected them as a threat. They scratched at his tongue as they climbed up. ‘He wasn’t really my friend.’

‘That kid who legged it, that your brother?’

He shook his head. ‘No, no. Just a kid. He stole these,’ he said, holding up the cans.

‘But you’ve got a brother, somewhere. Right?’

‘How do you–’

Bronson tapped his nose. ‘Ask the right questions, get the right answers.’

What the fuck did that mean? Something about Bronson made Greer want to drop the tins, sprint over to the other warehouse and scoop Gage up into a hug. Made him want to push past and hide in the crowd inside. Bronson hadn’t even done anything wrong; it was just something rolling off him, like the stink of smoke mixed with something more sour. ‘Right,’ he managed to say eventually. 

‘You got that look.’ Bronson took another drag, letting the smoke curl out slowly through his nose. ‘The looking-after-someone look. My cousin had that look.’

'Right,' Greer said again, because it seemed safer than asking what happened to the cousin. Bronson kept looking at him, like he expected more. ‘Gage. My brother. He's nearly eighteen months.’

'Where's he at then, little Gage?' Bronson nodded vaguely towards the smaller warehouse, like he already half-knew the answer and just wanted to hear Greer say it out loud. 'That the baby place? With the girls?'

‘Why do you care?’ Greer asked, suddenly snapping back to himself. There was no reason for this giant to give two shits about the babies or the girls. He answered to Clem, and Clem hadn’t given it a second thought. Hadn’t she? She knew about it, of course, but it hadn’t seemed to interest her, because you can’t weaponise babies into troops to rally for some disembodied voice on the radio, right?

‘I don’t,’ Bronson said on an exhale, rolling his shoulders back in a slow, sluggish motion. He flicked grey ash onto the concrete. ‘Just good to know things.’ His eyes slid back to Greer's face. They looked almost colourless in the flat evening light, and there was something unhurried and assessing in the look, like he was weighing Greer up on a scale that only made sense to him. 'Who’s who, what’s what; useful information, that.’

‘Useful for what?’

Bronson laughed. ‘Dunno,’ he said, chucking the end of the cigarette onto the floor. He crushed it under a heavy boot, twisting his sole back and forth, smearing the end dregs into the concrete. He gave an impish grin. ‘Ask me again later.’

Bronson turned and slowly pulled the door open, sinking inside the warehouse until all that was left was the stink of tobacco and the ash sprinkled over the ground. Greer let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in, his head swimming with little fish, each one surfacing just long enough to gulp at him before vanishing back under. The image of Bronson’s huge hands throttling Gage’s neck, flinging him about like a rag doll, crashed down at him, squeezing his lungs. He gasped for air. Why did that boy make him feel so dirty, so creeped out? It was worse than being covered in crawler juice.

‘Oi, Greery-boy,’ came a voice from across the car park. He turned to see Lester, whose green eyes were twinkling mischievously in the setting sun. He had one hand in his pocket; the other rubbing at the back of his head compulsively. His nose was swollen, blooming in tones of blue and purple. ‘Holy moly, man. You look like shit.’

‘No more than you do,’ Greer replied, shaking his head to clear it. ‘I’m just, I don’t know, I’m just thinking.’

‘Well, don’t,’ Lester said with a sniff. ‘It gives you wrinkles.’

‘Is it done?’

Something flickered in Lester’s eyes, there and then gone in a second. ‘Yeah, yeah, he’s all buried,’ he sighed. He had changed into a plain black T-shirt and joggers, but they were still as stained and dirty as their army gear had become. Greer could see the rounded shapes of his biceps moving under the thin fabric as Lester rubbed at his head again. ‘Round the back, under some shrubbery. Man, Donnie won’t stop praying. He’s got the beads out. The whatsit. The Rosemary.’

‘Rosary,’ Greer corrected quietly. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there.’

‘It’s okay.’ Lester rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. ‘We didn’t really know him, did we?’

Neither of them answered that. 

They stood in silence for a few moments as Lester leaned in, his eyes scanning across Greer’s face like they could read his thoughts. Before he could speak, the doors swung open, and Cal strolled out, carrying a black binbag of rubbish. Bethy trailed behind him. Words were tumbling out of her mouth with such speed, like they were hot on her tongue and she had to spit them out.

‘What did Clem say about the points system? Did she like it? I think it could work, maybe.’ She gave a quick nod of acknowledgement as she passed, a near smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. ‘Like, we compete against each other with the training and recruitment and earn weapons and privileges. Like house points, back in school? That way we can feed back to Cry in proper data sets, like he wanted from us.’

Lester caught Greer’s eye and mouthed fuck that. 

Cal stopped and rolled his eyes. ‘She’s gonna figure it all out tomorrow,’ he said, looking over at Greer and Lester. ‘Where should we dump these?’

‘We just throw everything in that big skip over there,’ Lester said, pointing across to the far end of the carpark. Cal thanked them, and the pair moved on.

‘Oh, I forgot,’ Lester said with a grin, his face brightening too fast. ‘I got you something. Saw it in one of their boxes and nicked it for you. I think they’re planning on doing some sort of rationing system, because they were labelling all the food with initials.’

‘What?’ 

‘I know, stupid, right? It should be–’

‘No, what did you get me?’

Lester pulled a purple packet from his pockets and dangled it in front of Greer’s face. Pickled Onion Monster Munch. ‘Your favourite, right?’

His stomach lurched, a vinegary acid rising in his throat. He could see Danny grinning with his mouth full, saying this is the best thing I have eaten in so long. Now that mouthful st undigested in his stomach, six feet underground. Greer pushed Lester’s hand away.

'Greer?' Lester's smile started to slip, confusion creeping in where he'd expected thanks. ‘I thought these were–’

‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Wait!’ Lester shouted, jogging to keep up with him, but Greer waved him off and ran as fast as he could to the cabin and threw himself onto the top bunk.

The night drifted by in a haze. At some point, Lester had stumbled in, fallen asleep on the bottom bunk and was snoring loudly. Much later, Davey and Paul had joined him in a chorus of heavy, steady breathing. Donnie never went to bed. Greer lay half awake, his toes curled upwards against the duvet, thrashing every time the fingers of a dream clasped at him. Gage crying. Danny dying. Bronson smiling. 

***

‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,’ Donnie murmured over the freshly dug lump of earth. His hands were pressed tightly together, tilted to the gently warming sky, the rosary clasped between them. God was the only constant presence in his life, the only thread between the old world and the new. If he didn’t make time to pray early every morning, before the others woke up, nothing would keep him grounded; in which case, he might as well float up into the sky and drift away from the troubles he had to solve. His thumb found the crucifix first, then moved to the large bead just beyond it, pausing there as the words left his lips: ‘Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.’ He let his fingers drift to the next bead, one of the three small ones marking the space before the first decade. 'Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.' 

He rolled the smooth, worn beads between his fingertips, feeling the prayers of generations before him surge through his bones. The rosary had belonged to his Grandmother, a stout Irish Catholic woman who he remembered little of, only her rough hands on his as she taught him how to pray. It had been her grandmother – his great-great-grandmother – who had strung the beads herself, knotting each one by hand into sturdy cord, until the wooden decades wound their way down to a small tin crucifix forged for her by her husband. He had never seen that side of the family much, his mother's side, only at Christmas and the occasional Easter. His father was never invited. This rosary was the only gift he had ever received from them, sent over in a little jade green envelope with his full name inked on the front: Donald Seamus O’Connor. Grandmother had left it to him in her will. 

‘Forgive me,’ he said, looking up to a sky stained pink and raw, the clouds ahead already dulling to grey. His mother used to say, 'Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.’ A storm was coming. ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, and I am always sinning. Forgive me, Father, for my unholy thoughts, for my lust, for my failings,’ he began, his heart hammering against his chest, sweat forming on his brow as he squeezed his eyes shut, expelling every sinful thought he’d ever had back out into the air. He had to say it out loud; he had to, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t admit it. Not to God, not to himself, certainly not to the others. Not now. ‘Guide me,’ he said, his voice cracking into a sob. ‘Guide me, Father, show me the right path to dispel my lust, my feelings, my–’

'Donnie?'

He froze. A girl’s voice broke through the air and pulled him from his prayers. The rosary went slack in his hands as he turned his head around to see her standing there. Clem, close enough that she must have heard at least the last few words. Her leather jacket hung loose and undone over her shoulders, swamping her small frame. She had on a crisp white blouse, like the girls had worn at Catholic school, and a tight black skirt over her pale thighs. Hugged against her chest was a clipboard, cradled like a baby. He looked her in the eyes and felt pathetic. 

‘I couldn’t help but overhear,’ she said with a smile, showing her perfectly straight teeth. He licked his tongue over his crooked ones, averting his gaze back to Danny’s grave. ‘I never took you for one to be struggling with lust,’ she continued, moving closer. ‘But I guess Catholic families did always have a dozen or so kids, right? What were you, one of eight, nine?’

‘Ten,’ he admitted, pocketing the rosary, hiding it away from her prying eyes. ‘Oldest of ten.’

‘Ouch,’ Clem winced, and it sounded sincere. ‘I’m sorry. I was an only child. A lonely childhood made for minimal loss.’

‘I could have guessed,’ he said, his eyes still down and focused on the grave. He pictured Danny underneath it, bloodied and pale and torn up, and hoped he was whole again in Heaven.

Clem made a tutting sound. ‘I am sorry about him, you know,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean for it all to go so wrong. It was the fun of it, I suppose. The race. I truly didn’t know Cry hadn’t told you.’

‘We didn’t even know you existed,’ Donnie growled, in a low, accusatory tone. 

‘Well, that’s not our fault, is it?’ Clem said, mock-offended.

Donnie splayed his right hand out on top of Danny’s grave, pushing the dirt through his fingers. He took a deep breath in. ‘You said all this yesterday, when we dropped the transceiver off. Don’t make me listen to it all again. Not in front of Danny. You got a problem with me? We set up that office upstairs and make it official.’

‘Oh, now you want to make it official? Yesterday you were this close.’ She raised her hands and used her forefinger and thumb to show the space of an inch or two. ‘This close to throttling me in that jeep. Not very Christian of you.’

‘I’m Catholic,’ he said, unmoving.

‘Whatever, same thing. So, what type of lust are you praying about? I’m guessing it’s not about the girls, is it?’ she said, her lips curling into a wicked smile. He said nothing, and her face brightened with the cruel, childish delight of someone who had just figured out a weakness they could use to get their own way. ‘I don’t even need to say it, do I?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, looking up at her. He slowly rose to his feet until he towered above her, and clenched his trembling hands into tight fists. ‘Whatever you’re insinuating, you’re wrong. My prayers are between me and my God, not you.’

Clem smiled down at her clipboard and then wrote something with a theatrical flair. ‘Donnie, your secrets are safe with me,’ she said sweetly. ‘Anyway, I came to find you because you’ve got a mission from Cry, if you want it.’

‘Why would I trust him?’ he seethed. ‘After yesterday? I can’t just go straight back out there on his word.’

‘But people might be in trouble,’ she said with a pout. ‘Apparently, he intercepted a radio broadcast from the hospital. Some kids inside sounded like they were in need of help. Isn’t that what being a Shadow is all about?’

***

By the time Greer awoke, he was heavy with sweat, his curly hair plastered to his forehead in thick clumps. The cabin smelt like stale farts and morning breath, with just a hint of Lynx Africa wafting through, which meant Lester had already gotten up. Greer slipped down the ladder and pulled off his sodden T-shirt, swapping it for his semi-clean vest and camo jacket, then pulled off his boxers and flung them into a far corner to worry about later and pulled on a fresh pair. His last fresh pair. He wriggled into his camo trousers and boots and then sat for a moment on Lester’s bunk, watching the steady rise and fall of Paul’s chest in the bottom bunk beside him. A wet patch marked the pillow where Paul had drooled in the night. 

Outside, the air was crisp, and the gentle, nostalgic coo of pigeons nesting in the trees behind the cabin filled the air. He took a left and went around the back of the warehouse to where they had buried Danny. A fresh lump of earth marked with a small wooden cross was resting beneath a dying oak. He gulped and turned around instantly. 

Inside the warehouse, a large group of kids were stifling yawns as they queued up for breakfast, each holding a plate that had been marked with their initials. The whiteboard that had been collecting dust in the office upstairs had been moved down, and upon it there were four vertical lines, separating the names of everyone there into four groups. Next to each name was a space for a tally. Several kids already had several marks next to their names, including Bronson. Barely any of the Shadows had one. Jesus, Greer thought, scratching his head. Clem had been busy in the few hours that had already passed in the morning. He looked around, peering over everyone’s greasy heads, trying to spot Donnie or Lester, but he couldn’t see either of them. Davey was stuffing his face with a bowl of cornflakes smothered in UHT milk, sitting on one of the fold-out tables acting as counter space.

‘Davey,’ he called, pushing through the kids. ‘The fuck is going on?’

He wolfed down another mouthful. ‘Uhm, breakfast?’

‘Where is everyone?’ Greer let out an annoyed sigh.

‘In the garage,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I don’t care. I wasn’t invited, so…’ He raised another spoonful to his lips and slurped up the milk. ‘I’m just helping myself. Clem came down this morning and said all this crap about a points system.’ He pointed at the board, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

‘I saw,’ Greer said, irritated. ‘So, what are they doing in the garage?’

‘No idea. Seemed real important, though. Is Paul awake yet?’

Greer shook his head. ‘No, he was drooling and snoring when I left.’

Davey put the bowl down. The spoon clinked against the china. He hopped off the table and stretched his arms up with a yawn. ‘Ugh, I’ll go get him up.’

Greer moved back through the crowd, not caring to queue up and get himself breakfast. He turned and headed for the garage, where Lester and a very tense-looking Donnie were getting their gear together. A jeep sat with all four doors open, ready to be loaded with weapons and provisions, and Cal was cleaning the windscreen with a rag and a bucket of soapy water.

‘Ah, Greery-boy,’ Lester’s eye lit up when he saw Greer, and he sauntered over, pulling him into a brotherly hug. ‘You’ve missed out. We’re going on a top-secret deadly suicide mission,’ he said in a sarcastic tone. He leaned in closer, his nose still swollen and purple, and whispered, ‘Vector wants us to steal the pyramid!’

Greer pictured Clem with her sharp black bob with the straight fringe and knew exactly what Lester meant. He let out a laugh. ‘Ah, a secret mission?’

‘Not really secret,’ Lester replied, fiddling with his jacket buttons. ‘But it seemed urgent. Some kid at the hospital radioed in for help, apparently. Was that what she said, Donnie?’

Donnie was cleaning one of Jasper’s uncle’s rifles. His jaw was clenched, teeth grinding back and forth in a way that made his jaw stick out, Habsburg-like. He didn’t look up but said solemnly, ‘Cry intercepted a radio channel, probably from some walkie-talkie, and he reckons it’s from the hospital. So Clem wanted us to check it out.’

‘And we’re doing what Clem says because...??’ Greer narrowed his eyes, sure that Donnie would offer more resistance. ‘Like, Cry is not reliable, as we found out yesterday. How do we know this isn’t just some other stupid set-up?’

‘That’s exactly what I said.’ Lester threw his hands in the air. ‘But oh, no! Donnie here actually thinks it’s a good idea!’

Donnie looked up from his gun. His eyes were red and bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept at all. His hair was fuzzy and sticking up all over the place. ‘If there are kids in danger, we go and save them. That’s our motto.’

‘Yeah, but-’ Lester began.

‘End of!’ Donnie said. ‘We save kids and kill those damn crawlers. End of.’

Greer looked at Lester in shock. Lester’s face was scrunched in confusion. He leant in closely to Greer and whispered, ‘I think Donnie might be a robot, and Clem has rewired him somehow.’

It wasn’t funny. Lester went back to cleaning his own gun, and soon after Paul stumbled in, still half asleep. There was toothpaste smeared across his chin and remnants of milk and cereal splattered down his shirt. He shrugged on a jacket and glanced at the rest of them, eyebrows raised.

‘Alright?’ he said, yawning and turning to Greer. ‘What’s this all about then? You and Davey on the naughty list or something?’

Greer exhaled loudly. ‘Something like that.’

He leant against the door frame with his arms crossed and watched as the four of them got ready. Donnie didn’t speak a word as he opened up the garage door and then climbed into the front of the jeep. Lester climbed in beside him, and Paul and Cal got in the back. The slam of the doors shutting echoed around him as the engine started up, and as they drove off, he gave a sad wave to Lester, who had pressed his nose up against the glass so that he looked like a pug. He closed the garage door behind them, the metal groaning shut with a hollow clang that seemed to swallow the last of the engine noise.

He pulled it back under control – in through the nose, out through the mouth – and turned, unsure what he was even supposed to do with himself now that Clem was running everything.

Suddenly, a child's scream tore through the warehouse, bouncing off the garage doors and right into his ears. It was followed quickly by a surging chorus of shouting and cheering.

Greer was moving before he'd finished thinking the word Jasper.