Текст книги "The Dead"

Автор книги: Charlie Higson

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

26

It was dark on the coach, very dark and very quiet. Except for when the silence was interrupted by distant shouts, or the sound of something smashing. And then there were the other noises, harder to identify, that could have been made by animals or by humans.

Hell, thought Ed, some of the sounds were so weird they could have been made by aliens. That wouldn’t have surprised him one bit. Nothing could surprise him any more. If strange green lights appeared in the sky and the next thing bug-eyed freaks with ray guns strolled down the street he wouldn’t think twice about it. For all he knew the sickness had come from outer space. It was the first wave of an attack by an alien assault force. Soften everyone up, remove the military threat and enslave the remaining young population.

It made about as much sense as Matt’s ideas about the Holy Lamb.

Ed was walking slowly down the aisle checking everyone was all right. It was the least he could do. He still felt guilty that he had escaped from the attack at The Fez and that good friends had been left behind.

Jack was sitting midway down the coach.

‘It’s rubbish,’ he said when Ed drew level with him.

‘What is?’

‘What Greg was saying. About survival. Just total bullshit.’

‘How d’you mean? In what way?’

‘Well, it’s random, isn’t it? Really? Who lives and who dies.’

‘Is it?’ Ed checked to make sure there was no way that Greg could listen in on their conversation and sat down next to Jack.

‘Of course it is,’ said Jack. ‘It’s luck, that’s all. Makes no difference one way or the other what skills you’ve got, what training you’ve had, what school you went to. It’s like in the First World War, when the soldiers were ordered to go over the top and march towards the German trenches – what difference did their training make? Would a professional soldier with ten years’ experience be any less likely to be shot than someone whose first day it was at the front? No. It was pure chance whether you got killed or not. When a bomb goes off, it doesn’t choose who it blows up. Do you think any of the survivors thought, yeah, look at me, I’m great, I’ve survived because I was better than the man standing next to me? I don’t know, some of them probably thought God had played a part in it, but from what I’ve read in history most of the soldiers felt terrible; they felt they didn’t deserve to live while so many of their friends had died.’

‘That’s how I feel,’ said Ed. ‘Guilty.’

Jack turned away. ‘I didn’t mean anything by what I was saying, Ed.’

‘I know you think I’ve been a coward, and maybe I have but …’

‘I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it.’

‘Yes, you did. And I understand why you said it. But … I can’t fight, Jack. I can do everything else but I can’t fight. In a way Greg’s right. Nothing in my life has made me ready for all this.’

‘But that’s exactly what I’m saying.’ Jack was trying not to raise his voice. ‘Nothing you did could have prepared you for this. You could have left school at sixteen like Greg did and trained as an, I don’t know, a plumber, or an electrician, what difference would it have made? Look at the Sullivan brothers – they were big tough guys. They were both boxers. They both did a shed-load of sports and now they’re both dead. But two little wimps like Wiki and Jibber-jabber both made it through. What skills do they have that the Sullivans didn’t? None. They were just luckier. That’s all.’

At the front of the bus Greg was struggling into his coat. He zipped it up, pulled a torch from the pocket and went over to Liam, who was sitting with the Brains Trust.

‘I’m just going outside to have a fag and give the bus a once-over. Check the tyres and that.’

‘Dad …’

‘It’s all right, Liam.’ Greg smiled. ‘Nothing’s gonna happen.’

He winked at Liam and climbed down off the bus into the rain.

‘He’s wrong, you know,’ Justin the nerd said to Liam and the other younger kids when Greg was gone. He’d obviously come to the same conclusion as Jack. ‘It’s not all about trapping rabbits and skinning cats. You don’t just need fighters. You need people like us, people who know things, people who know about chemistry and biology and all that kind of thing, people who can make machines work.’

‘But we do still need fighters,’ said Froggie.

‘Yes, of course we do,’ Justin went on. ‘But you can’t just have a society of warriors. What are they going to eat? Where are they going to live? What clothes are they going to wear? You need some fighters for protection, yes, but it’ll be like any functioning society, you’ll also need farmers to grow food, scientists and engineers and doctors to make things and to keep you healthy, you’re going to need artists, musicians and actors to entertain people.’

‘Jugglers,’ said Jibber-jabber.

‘Jugglers? We won’t need jugglers.’

‘But they’re entertaining. I like jugglers.’

‘Well, learn to juggle, then,’ said Justin, ‘and you can entertain us all.’

‘Maybe I will.’

‘What about clowns?’ said Froggie. ‘Will we need clowns?’

‘We’ll certainly need people to make us laugh,’ said Justin. ‘Now more than ever. But the thing is, we need lots of different people with lots of different skills. That’s how we can survive, and why we’ll defeat the sickos, because we’re cleverer than they are, and we can build a society, but they can’t. They will eventually die out. They must, because they can never be anything more than dumb animals. That’s mankind’s greatest weapon – our brains. There are cannibal tribes – there were cannibal tribes – that believed that if you ate the brains of your enemy you’d gain their wisdom and power.’

‘Lots of cannibals in Papua New Guinea were wiped out by eating human brains,’ said Wiki. ‘They all caught mad cow disease, well, the human form, CJD.’

Liam was staring at Wiki with wide eyes. ‘Is it safe to eat other bits of humans?’ he asked quietly.

‘Well, it’s not a very good idea,’ said Wiki. ‘We’re full of diseases. Most farm animals are given injections and drugs and they’re specially bred to be healthy. Most humans are really unhealthy. We’re walking bags of disease and germs. Compared to the average cow, anyway.’

‘But could you die if you ate someone?’

‘Probably not. I don’t really know. You’d have to avoid the brains to be sure.’

‘The sickos eat people,’ said Jibber-jabber. ‘And look at them. They’re in a terrible state.’

‘But they were in a terrible state already,’ said Justin. ‘They were already sick, that’s why they eat people, not the other way round.’

‘Why are you so interested, anyway?’ Jibber-jabber asked Liam. ‘Are you thinking of eating someone?’

‘No. I never would. That’s why …’

‘That’s why what?’

‘Nothing. But, Dad, you see … I don’t know for sure … But the smoked meat …’

‘Are you trying to say your dad’s eaten someone?’ said Jibber-jabber in a whisper. ‘That’s gross.’

‘No. I don’t know. I hope not. But … The adults and the older kids, on the farm, they all got sick … but Little Paul, he …’

Liam stopped as Greg got back on to the bus and took off his soggy coat. They could feel heat radiating off him, and he smelt ripe and meaty. They none of them smelt great, but Greg was the worst. He put the coat on the back of his seat and joined the boys. He seemed to fill all the space around them, a featureless black shape.

‘You lot need to settle down and go to sleep,’ he said. ‘Stop your yacking. You’re disturbing everyone else.’

‘Sorry,’ said Wiki.

‘And, Liam?’

‘Yes, Dad?’

‘You come and sit with me, son, back here. You need to get a proper night’s rest. You was always the same when you had a sleepover. The other kids’d keep you up and you’d be useless the next day.’

Liam didn’t like to point out that his dad had only ever let him have one sleepover.

‘OK,’ he said, and got up out of his seat.

The others all said goodnight and he went with his dad to a quieter section of the coach where they snuggled down next to each other. Greg tucked a blanket round Liam and slipped an arm across his shoulders, giving him a squeeze.

‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ he said, and started to cough, bent over, his whole body shaking, still holding Liam tight.

‘Are you all right, Dad?’

‘Course I’m all right. It’s the dry air on this bus. I wish we didn’t have to have the heater on all the time. It dries me throat out, but if I turn it down the girls get cold. No, I’m fine.’

‘Good. I don’t want you to get ill, Dad.’

‘Hey, hey, hey, that’s enough of that. I’m the one supposed to be looking after you, remember. Not the other way round. Now, that’s enough chat. You just need to get some sleep.’

‘I don’t know if I can, Dad. I’m scared.’

‘Don’t be scared. Nothing’s gonna happen to you so long as I’m around.’ Greg coughed again and Liam heard him swallow a mouthful of phlegm.

‘But what’s going to happen to us, Dad? When we get to Islington? I’ve always just been thinking “let’s get home”, but what then? What are we going to do?’

Greg was about to say something when he was gripped by another attack of coughing. Afterwards he held Liam even tighter. His body felt hot and damp and he was sweating buckets.

Greg had always told him that there wasn’t a god, but Liam prayed now.

Please let him be all right …

At the back of the bus Courtney and Aleisha were asleep, but Brooke was wide awake. Staring out at a London that lay black and mysterious under the starless sky. She felt like she’d been on this coach forever, and she never wanted to leave it. She could live on here quite happily till the end of her life, eating crisps and sweets. Safe. They had a loo. They had water. They could be like gypsies.

Except they’d grow fat and stinky, the water would run out, the loo would overflow, they’d fight over the last packet of crisps …

Stop it, Brooke. Don’t think like that.

She wished she could sleep. She didn’t like it when she was left alone like this. She needed the constant noise and distraction of her friends. She didn’t want to think about anything.

She loved her friends. As long as they were all together they were invincible. Too invincible sometimes. When she felt untouchable, she often went too far. She wished she didn’t say such harsh things all over the place. But she didn’t like anyone to get too close. She kept intruders out with sarcasm and insults and ragging. She wished she didn’t do it, didn’t try to own everyone she met. She did it without thinking, without really meaning to, even if she liked someone. Like the boys they’d picked up. Some of them seemed OK. All right, they were a bit posh, but you couldn’t be too picky these days. Ed was nice, fit-looking, Jack was OK – if he didn’t have that butters red thing on his face she could have quite fancied him. For sure he was a bit moody, but she quite liked that in a boy. Sometimes the easy happy ones could be well boring. Maybe Ed was boring? She didn’t know; she’d kept him away with her big mouth. She’d kept them both away.

As usual.

Well done, Brooke.

She told herself she’d make an effort tomorrow. Especially as it now looked like they were all going to be staying together. She’d never held out much hope for Willesden. She didn’t really care if she never saw the dump again. There was nothing for her there, after all.

She looked across at the sleeping bodies of her friends, slumped against each other. Not a care in the world. What did they know about anything? Brooke had had to get used to sickness and death long before they ever did.

There it was. Every night she came back to this place. Thinking about her mum.

Missing her mum.

She’d been sixteen when she’d had Brooke. She was still at school, though she left soon after. Brooke had never met her dad, and Mum never talked about him, just referred to him as ‘the tosser’. Brooke and her mum had been very close, sharing everything, having a laugh, the two of them against the world. She was more of a sister than a mother. She’d been very pretty, always a new boyfriend on the go, with a flashier car than the last one, more money to throw around. They couldn’t ever believe that Brooke was her daughter. One had even tried it on with her, but Brooke had told her mum and she’d never seen him again.

Mum was like that. She looked after Brooke, always took her side, always believed her. Not like some of her friends’ mums. They could be right cows. Mum had been tough and funny and kind and clever, all the things a mum should be, but what difference had any of that made when she’d got the cancer in one of her breasts?

People said she was very brave. But it didn’t help. She had surgery and every kind of treatment the National Health could throw at her.

And eight months later she was dead.

Nothing had been right since then.

What use was all that love when the person wasn’t there no more? It just went bad. Brooke had turned hard and mean and nasty, not caring what she said to anyone. Not caring what anyone thought of her. Except her friends. They were a kind of family now, the three of them. Brooke was the dad. Aleisha the mum, always fussing over them, too nice for her own good. And Courtney was the grumpy teenager, moody and moaning about everything.

She didn’t love them the way she’d loved her mum, though. She didn’t think she’d ever love anyone ever again, not like that. She was never going to let anyone get that close to her, because people died, and there was nothing you could do to bring them back.

She missed her mum so bad. All that Brooke really wanted in the world was for someone to wrap her up inside their love. She’d cried when she saw Greg settle down with Liam.

Some people were just luckier than others, she supposed.

Greg was still holding Liam tight, and murmuring into his ear, his voice low and soft, the voice he used to tell Liam bedtime stories. He always made them up himself, didn’t really like story books. He was good at it; he made the stories really exciting, doing all the voices and sound effects. A lot of the stories were based on the war films they’d watched together, but he also told Liam about history: Nelson and Wellington, the British Empire, the Charge of the Light Brigade, battles won and lost, about brave soldiers, about Iraq and Afghanistan and somewhere called Wootton Bassett. Liam didn’t care what the stories were about; it was just nice being alone with his dad in the cosy darkness, and having him all to himself.

Greg wasn’t telling a story tonight, though. He was trying to make Liam feel safe and unafraid. Dad would have made a good soldier, a brave captain or a general, looking after his men.

It felt good, hearing his voice, the same as all those nights for as long as he could remember. ‘I love you, Liam,’ he was saying. ‘I wouldn’t never let anyone hurt you. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘You’re mine, see? My boy. And out there. Out in the world, there are people who want to hurt you. But they can’t as long as you’re with me. Nothing can ever hurt you. I’m your dad, Liam. That means a lot – a boy and his dad. Haven’t I always done well for you, looked out for you? Haven’t we always had a laugh together, eh? Going to the Arsenal, sitting side by side. Wish I could have taken you back when it was standing. What a crowd that was!’

‘I’d like to have seen that, Dad.’

‘Yeah. I remember going with my dad. The two of us, squashed in, but I always knew I’d be OK, ’cause he was with me, watching over me. That’s where a son should be, Liam, by his dad’s side. That’s why you had to stay with me when your mum walked out on us. She would never have known how to look after you, bring you up proper, bring you up to be a proper man like your dad.’

‘No.’

‘Only dads know how to bring up boys.’

Greg coughed, and as he did so his arm tightened about Liam’s neck.

‘It’s my job as a dad,’ he said when he’d recovered, ‘to make sure that nobody can ever hurt you.’

‘Yeah … actually, Dad, you’re hurting me a bit now.’ Liam gave a little laugh. But he was serious. Dad’s arm was choking him.

‘Nah. I ain’t hurting you, Liam, you silly sod,’ Greg said, and he too chuckled. ‘I’m holding you. That’s all.’

‘Yeah …’

‘Everything’s all right. See? I’m just holding you by my side. Where you belong. You’ll always be by my side. A boy and his dad. You and me, eh, Liam?’

Greg groaned and dropped his head between his knees. He was shivering, although he felt almost too hot to touch. Liam was sweating himself where his dad’s body was pressed against him.

‘Are you sure you’re all right, Dad?’ Liam asked quietly, the words falling heavily.

‘I’ve got a real bastard of a headache, son. Feels like my head’s splitting open. Makes it hard to think what’s the right thing to do, but I’m OK. I always do the right thing, don’t I? Always do the right thing. Always look after you. My little whassname … whassname … God. Forgot your name for a moment there, son. Silly old fart. Losing my memory in my old age. Losing my marbles. Cuh, there’s words in there, son, slippery as eels. I’m just trying to catch them. Eel Pie Island. Yeah …’

Greg fell silent and Liam didn’t know what to say. Dad was acting strangely, not making sense. His arm felt heavy as lead across his shoulders. For a long while Greg said nothing and didn’t move, just sat there, breathing heavily. Liam wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

He tried to move his dad’s arm away.

‘Leave it,’ Dad mumbled. ‘I’m protecting you, Liam … See! I know your name. Lee Am. I need to keep my arm round you, so’s you’re safe. Nobody is ever going to hurt you as long as I’ve got a breath in my body. The world was always a bad place and it ain’t getting any better, but at least it’s getting simpler. There’s not so much to understand, just kill or be killed, survival of the fittest, eat or die. Meat Is Life. You know that, don’t you? It’s written on the front of my, whassname, ship.’

‘Your shop?’

‘Yeah. We don’t have to worry no more about taxes and laws and the congestion charge and Newsnight and Question Time, you won’t never have to learn French at school or maths – I’ve always been good at maths; you have to be if you’re a shopkeeper – and inflation, that don’t exist no more, or the credit crunch or sub-prime mortgages or nucular war. You don’t have to worry about books and instructions and how to upgrade your phone and all that rubbish, none of it means nothing no more, just be strong and eat to live. I’ll be strong for you, Liam. I know you find it hard to be tough, to be a little man, and maybe if we’d kept up with the footie training you’d have got good at it, but none of that matters no more now. All that matters is … What’s the matter? What’s the, er … Yeah, what matters is that you can’t be hurt no more, you can’t be scared no more. You can just lie there asleep in my arms, Liam, where you’ll always be safe …’

‘Please, Dad, I can’t breathe, you’re hurting me, you’re squashing my neck.’

‘Shh, shh, don’t talk no more. Just go to sleep, Liam. As long as you’re asleep nothing can hurt you …’

‘Dad …’

Greg put his hand across Liam’s mouth, silencing him. ‘There, that’s better. Quiet now,’ he said, and whimpered softly, like an animal. ‘I can feel fingers inside my head, Liam, tearing it all away. And if I ain’t here to look after you …’

Liam made a muffled noise, ‘D’d …’

‘Go to sleep, my darling boy.’

27

It was still raining when they woke up, stiff and cold, wrapped in an assortment of coats and blankets, sleeping bags, duvets and whatever else they’d been able to find to keep warm under. Jack groaned and rocked his head on his neck, trying to ease out a knotted muscle. By habit he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, then sighed. He showed it to Ed who was coughing and sniffing at his side.

‘Look at that,’ he said, holding up the blank, dead screen. ‘I’m so used to telling the time by my phone. Used to do everything on it. My whole life was on here. My photos, my music, all my contacts. Don’t even know why I hang on to it. It’s never going to come back to life, is it? I sometimes think about all those satellites up there, floating about uselessly, cut off from Earth. What do you suppose’ll happen to them? Will they fall down? I never could get my head round satellites, how they stay in orbit.’

‘They’ll stay up there.’ Ed coughed again, clearing phlegm from his sore throat. ‘Once you’re in orbit you stay in orbit. They’ll be dead, though, just like your phone. I chucked mine out ages ago.’

‘Yeah, it’s just a sort of comfort thing, I guess,’ said Jack, turning his battered old phone in his hands. ‘Like Floppy Dog.’

‘You’ve lost me. What are you talking about?’

‘Floppy Dog.’

‘You say that like I’m supposed to know what it means.’

‘Come on!’ Jack laughed. ‘I must have told you about Floppy Dog.’

‘Nope. Not that I can remember.’

‘It was this stupid stuffed toy dog I used to have when I was a kid. It had these long black fluffy ears that were kind of like silky. I used to stroke one of the ears, at night, in bed. It was very reassuring, the feel of it, the softness, the smoothness.’ Jack closed his eyes and smiled. ‘I can still feel it now. I rubbed its right ear smooth, rubbed it half away by the end. I couldn’t live without him. It was a major alert if Floppy Dog ever went missing. National emergency.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘In the end, it was weird, one day … I don’t know how it happened … I went to bed without him, without even thinking. And that was that. Spell broken. I’m not gonna tell you how old I was, but after that – no more Floppy Dog.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Ed, ‘your secret’s safe with me.’

‘It better be.’ Jack tossed his phone up and caught it neatly. ‘What time do you make it, anyway?’ he said.

Ed looked at his watch. ‘Nearly six o’clock,’ he said. They were all used to going to sleep and waking up at different hours these days, tuned to the rhythm of light and dark. So six o’clock didn’t seem as barbaric as it once would have.

Jack looked out of the windows. They were parked in the middle of the road on a faceless backstreet. What a miserable day. Rain was dripping off everything and splashing into the puddles that ran along the side of the pavement. There was no one to unblock the drains any more. The water just lay there.

‘What are you going to do, Ed?’ he asked.

‘How d’you mean?’

‘You going to Islington with everyone else?’

‘Suppose so. Best to stick together. Aren’t you?’

Jack tapped on the window. ‘We’re in south London, Ed. Haven’t got across the river yet. Now’s my chance. Clapham’s just a few miles west of here. Wouldn’t take me long to walk it.’

‘But you can’t go there by yourself,’ said Ed. ‘I thought after what happened …’

‘I haven’t changed my mind.’ Jack sounded very sure of himself. ‘But I don’t have to go it alone. You could come with me, you and Bam. Why’s it going to be any different in north London? You’ve just got it into your head that it’s safe on the coach and you don’t want to get off it.’

‘I know …’ Ed ran his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. ‘I suppose I hadn’t really thought beyond trying to stay as a gang. You really are a stubborn git, aren’t you?’

‘Quite frankly,’ said Jack, lowering his voice and leaning in towards Ed, ‘the sooner I get away from Lord Greg Almighty the better.’

‘I know what you mean.’

‘So, come with me, eh?’

‘I thought you didn’t want me around, Jack. You reckon I can’t fight. You think I’m a coward. Why would you want me along?’

‘Look, I said some stupid things yesterday, Ed. I was tired. You know what it’s like. The thing is, I do want you around. You’re my mate.’

‘But I’m not any good in a fight,’ said Ed. ‘I’m just not.’

Jack stood up. ‘You’ll learn,’ he said.

‘I’ll need to talk to Bam,’ said Ed.

‘We’ll be OK, Ed.’ Jack squeezed past Ed. ‘The three of us. We won’t have the smaller kids and the nerds to look after.’

‘What about Piers? He won’t get far with that head injury, and I don’t think Bam would leave him behind.’

Jack stopped. Swore. ‘I forgot about him. Maybe the girls could look after him?’

Ed laughed. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, sort it out with Bam. Make a decision of some sort. I’m going to go and talk to his lordship up front.’

Jack yawned and made his way to the front of the coach. He had to step over Liam who was lying in the aisle wrapped in a blanket, Greg’s jacket under his head for a pillow.

Greg was sitting in the driver’s seat with his shotgun in his lap, staring straight ahead through the rain-streaked windscreen. He was still as a statue, but as Jack got close he suddenly burst into a wild coughing fit that ended with him spitting into the stairwell.

Jack stopped and took a deep breath. It wasn’t good when an adult coughed like that. It usually meant only one thing. He let his breath out slowly and stepped closer.

‘Do you know exactly where we are?’ he asked, hoping for the best.

Greg ignored him. Just sat there.

‘Is this, like, Borough, or somewhere?’ Jack pressed on.

Nothing.

‘Greg?’

Just the rain, tapping on the roof.

‘Are you all right?’

There was a sound somewhere between a shriek and a sob. Jack turned round. Zohra was with Liam, trying to wake him.

‘There’s something the matter with him,’ she said. ‘He won’t wake up.’

‘What?’ Jack felt very cold suddenly.

‘What’s happened to him? Why won’t he wake up?’

‘Get some water, splash his face maybe.’

‘He won’t move.’

‘Put him in the recovery position.’

‘LEAVE HIM ALONE!’

Greg’s voice sounded uncomfortably loud in the cramped confines of the bus. Everyone fell silent.

Still Greg wouldn’t turn round.

Jack went over to Liam and knelt down. He shook him. He felt frozen. Jack lifted his face. His lips were blue, his eyes wide open and staring, slightly bulging. There were red marks and bruising round his neck.

‘He’s dead,’ he said to nobody in particular.

‘I said leave him alone!’ Greg snarled. ‘Don’t touch him. Don’t go anywhere near him. I’m looking after him. You’re none of you fit to be anywhere near him.’

‘He’s dead,’ Jack repeated.

‘He’s all right.’

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing happened.’

‘You were with him last night,’ said Jack accusingly. ‘What happened to him?’

‘HE’S ALL RIGHT!’

At last Greg turned round and stood up. His face was greasy with sweat, his eyes and nostrils red-rimmed. There were white spots around his mouth. But the thing Jack found most disturbing was that he was wearing Liam’s wire-rimmed glasses.

‘Why are you wearing them?’ he asked.

Greg put his hand to his face.

‘The sun was too bright,’ he said, blinking. ‘I needed to put me dark glasses on.’

Jack was gripped by a cold, hard fury. ‘You’re sick,’ he said accusingly. ‘You’ve got the disease. You’re just like all the rest.’

‘I ain’t sick. I’m fine.’

‘Look at yourself, Greg. Look in the mirror. You’ve got the disease.’ Now Jack pointed to Liam’s lifeless body. He was shaking with rage, his finger waving. He knew Greg was dangerous. He knew he should be careful, be clever like Ed, but he couldn’t stop himself.

‘Did you do this?’ he asked. ‘To Liam? Did you?’

‘I was protecting him,’ Greg croaked. ‘So nobody can ever hurt him. If I ain’t around to look after him what was he gonna do? He was always gentle, my little Liam, never a tough nut like me. Couldn’t look after himself. He would have got hurt. He was the sweetest, kindest boy. And now he always will be.’

‘Greg …’

‘Shut up! Sit down and shut up. I said I was going to get us all to Islington and I will. I’m taking Liam home.’

He aimed his shotgun at Jack, who backed into a seat, shaking worse than ever.

‘That’s better,’ said Greg, showing both barrels to everyone on the bus. ‘Now, all of you, stay where you are, sitting down. Don’t talk to the driver when the bus is in motion, or the driver will shoot you. Got that?’

Greg returned to his seat and started the engine. A spray of rain rattled down the side of the coach, which rocked as a blast of wind rolled over it. Jack realized with dismay that Greg would virtually be driving blind.

As the coach eased forward Ed nipped up the aisle and tucked in next to Jack.

‘He’s lost it,’ he said quietly.

‘Big time.’

‘What are we going to do?’ Ed asked.

‘Just sit tight and wait for our moment. He’s not gonna get far like this.’

‘He killed Liam?’

‘Looks like it. And he’ll probably kill the rest of us if we don’t stop him somehow.’

Greg moved the bus up through the gears, so that they were soon thundering along through the cluttered streets of south London. Too fast. Greg was completely out of control.

There was a thump and a grinding crunch as they hit something on one side, but Greg just speeded up. Someone screamed, and Zohra started wailing. They were all being thrown about in their seats. Jack pressed his face to the side window and tried to get his bearings.

‘Where’s he taking us?’ Ed asked. ‘Can you tell?’

‘Not sure. We’re somewhere near London Bridge, I think. But I reckon we’re heading south, away from the river. It’s so hard to tell around here. None of the roads go in a straight line.’

There was another terrific bang and the coach lurched sideways across the road. Greg wrestled with the wheel.

‘This is crazy,’ Jack said, standing up and climbing over Ed.

‘Jack, no …’

Jack fought his way to the front, rocking from side to side, stumbling into the seats.

‘Stop the bus!’ he yelled. By way of a reply Greg flung an arm back and fired off a round from his gun. It went wild, peppering the ceiling with shot, but Jack threw himself to the ground and lay pressed against the carpeted floor.

‘Sit down!’ Greg yelled, still waving the gun around.

Jack stayed there, hoping that Greg might at least slow down. It was clear, though, that nothing short of a major accident was going to stop him.

Jack made a decision.

If the bus hit something head on, he’d be thrown forward head first along the aisle like a torpedo.

He started to crawl. Inch by inch along the floor. Hoping that Greg wouldn’t notice him in the big convex mirror that gave the driver a view of the entire bus interior. He passed Liam’s body, tried not to think about what Greg had done to him, carried on.

The bus went way too fast over an obstacle, a speed bump maybe, and Jack was flipped up into the air and landed with a thud. He heard something scraping all the way along the underside. Still he crept forward, his eyes fixed on the shotgun that Greg was waving blindly in the air.