The Dead

by Charlie Higson

  Once in the alley they retreated towards the lorry, the sickos closing in after them.

  ‘Where’s Frédérique?’ Ed asked.

  ‘They got her,’ said Brooke. ‘They got her.’

  ‘We can’t leave her.’

  ‘I ain’t going back. Are you?’

  Ed said nothing.

  Bam and Jack were sitting on the roof of the cab. They could see the sickos advancing along the alley.

  ‘Hurry up!’ they shouted, waving their arms. ‘For God’s sake, run!’

  41

  Justin and DogNut were inside the cab, struggling to get the engine started. They had the windows wide open but it still stank something rotten in here. DogNut had found a whole packet of pine-tree-shaped air fresheners in the glove box and had ripped them out of their packaging and strewn them about the place. But he didn’t think all the air fresheners in the world would be able to get rid of the smell of a fat dead lorry driver left to rot in his seat.

  Yelling encouragement, Bam and Jack reached out to the girls, ready to drag them up on to the roof. They got Aleisha first, as Courtney started to clamber up the radiator grille by herself. Aleisha was so small she weighed almost nothing. Ed and Brooke waited their turn.

  From inside the cab all Justin could see was a tangle of arms and legs as the girls wriggled up the windscreen. The engine didn’t want to start. Probably because the diesel had got too cold. He was running out of ideas. Every time he turned the key there was a cough and a rumble, then nothing.

  ‘Swear at it,’ said DogNut.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Swear at it. It’s what my dad used to do when his car wouldn’t start. Sometimes worked.’

  ‘OK,’ said Justin. ‘Bastard!’

  ‘That word won’t work,’ DogNut sneered. ‘Try something stronger.’

  ‘Knob-end!’

  ‘No, like this …’

  As Justin turned the key, DogNut let out a filthy obscenity and the next moment the engine jumped into life. They both roared. Then, as Brooke and Ed cleared the windscreen the two boys in the cab finally saw the sickos lumbering towards them, blocking the narrow alleyway, reaching towards them with scabby fingers.

  ‘Bloody hell. We need to get motoring,’ said DogNut. ‘Put her in gear and let’s get out of here.’

  Justin sucked a lungful of air in through his nose, plunged the clutch pedal down with one foot, wrestled the gear lever into place and pressed down with his other foot on the accelerator. It was much harder than the simulation on his computer, but it was basically the same idea.

  He forced the accelerator down further – and further – and further. It was nothing like a car. The engine was a monster and was pulling a monster load. There was no subtlety or delicacy involved. You had to work the pedals with heavy boots.

  He could feel the whole rig shuddering, but it still didn’t want to move. He was beginning to doubt whether he could do this after all. The size and power of the thing terrified him. He eased the clutch up further and gave the engine yet more juice. There was a thump and he looked up.

  The lead sickos had got to the cab and were battering on the windscreen with dirty hands, leaving smears of pus and blood and filth.

  ‘Get a move on, nerd-boy,’ said DogNut nervously, then saw to his horror that one of the sickos had got hold of a lump of concrete and was getting ready to lob it at them. He was a younger guy, a teenager, and showed little sign of the sickness. He looked pretty much like any of the older boys from DogNut’s estate. Like a junkie after a heavy night.

  There was a flash and a bang and the sicko was thrown back against the wall.

  ‘That must be Bam,’ said Justin. ‘We’d be rubbish without him.’

  ‘Can we please get out of here,’ DogNut shouted.

  Two mothers had climbed up on to the front of the cab. One of them was the blonde without a face.

  ‘Jesus, that’s rank,’ said DogNut. ‘I can see right down her throat.’

  Someone on top of the cab knocked the mother off and then took a swipe at the other sicko, catching her in the side of the head but failing to dislodge her.

  The lorry shuddered, jerked forward and then stopped, throwing the mother clear.

  The engine cut out.

  ‘Do you want me to drive?’ said DogNut.

  ‘No,’ said Justin. ‘I’m getting the hang of it. Don’t hassle me. I’m all right.’

  ‘Drive, dork, drive!’

  Justin flushed red. He felt a cold rush of adrenalin wash through him on a rising tide of anger. In his mind he swore at DogNut, using the same words DogNut had used to swear at the lorry, and then told himself it was all OK.

  Don’t panic.

  Engine on. Down with the clutch. Gear into position. Accelerator. Be brave. Do it.

  The lorry just needed to be treated more brutally than a car. It was hard to give it too many revs.

  Clutch up. Right up.

  Now she was straining to move off.

  Stamp on those pedals with all your weight.

  And now they were moving. Inching forward, nudging the rest of the sickos out of the way. They could hear shouts of triumph from the roof.

  ‘You’re doing it, man,’ said DogNut. ‘Oh my days, you’re doing it, you knob-end, you’re doing it!’

  Slowly and steadily the lorry ploughed on. Justin didn’t dare try shifting up a gear so they stayed in first, crawling along, over-revving, fumes from the exhaust filling the alley.

  The sickos limped and stumbled ahead of them, trying to get out of the way. A couple fell over, but the high clearance of the lorry meant that it passed right over them.

  As they broke out into the winter sunlight at the end of the alley they saw someone standing directly in front of them. Justin was about to run them down when he realized it was Frédérique. He slowed and she drifted out of their way in a daze.

  Up on the roof Jack spotted her. He called out her name and climbed down the side of the cab, using the open window as a footrest. He hung on the step for a moment then jumped clear and ran over to Frédérique.

  ‘What happened? Are you all right? I didn’t even realize you hadn’t come back with the others. You must be a better fighter than I thought.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ Frédérique mumbled, and indeed she looked untouched. Jack took her by the wrist.

  ‘Keep moving!’ he shouted to DogNut through the window. ‘Don’t stop. I’ll see you out on the road.’

  He ran ahead of the lorry, pulling Frédérique along behind him.

  *

  Justin was sweating and trying not to panic. Going in a straight line was relatively easy, but turning was a different matter. The steering wheel was huge and you had to force it round and round to make the wheels rotate even a little way. And then there was the immense length of the lorry to deal with, plus the fact that it was jointed and turned in two parts.

  Trying to ease past the garages they smashed into the corner of a wall and demolished it. They scraped along and Justin thought of the scene in Titanic when the ship hits the iceberg.

  DogNut was laughing hysterically and swearing at him.

  ‘If you would just shut up, I could handle this,’ Justin complained.

  ‘No way you could, man,’ said DogNut. ‘You are totally out of control.’

  ‘I can’t concentrate with you yelling at me.’

  ‘Nah, you need someone to light a fire under you, to get you rocking and rolling,’ DogNut laughed. ‘Now go for it, dweeb!’

  ‘Shut up!’

  They trundled out into the road and crushed a car before Justin managed to get the wheel turned far enough, and then he had to spin it all the way back in the other direction to straighten up. He didn’t do it in time, and before he could stop they’d crossed the road and trashed another car.

  ‘This is insane!’ DogNut shouted, but the engine stalled and the lorry at last came to a halt.

  Jack ran over and told Justin to wait until everyone was safely o
ff the roof and then went round to open the back. Ed and Bam and the girls scrambled down and followed him, wide-eyed and excited, as if they’d all just been on the most thrilling theme-park ride in the world. Finding Frédérique unhurt had been the topper. Ed reckoned the sickos must have left her alone to come after the richer pickings in the alley.

  Jack whistled as he saw how much food was inside the lorry and there was an elated party mood as the others piled in to check it out. They were all talking at once, over each other, not listening, laughing, almost crying with joy.

  There was just room for them to squeeze on and once they were all safely on board Jack shouted to Justin to get going and then climbed up the tailgate to join his friends inside. The whole lorry shook as the engine started up again.

  The lorry slowly picked up speed until it was crawling along at a steady pace. Jack looked out at the road as it unspooled behind them. Then he made a quick decision and pulled Ed to one side.

  ‘I’m going,’ he said.

  Ed was still buzzing. He didn’t really take in what Jack had said.

  ‘OK, cool,’ he said, and hugged his friend.

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  Ed shook his head. ‘Not really, no,’ he said, and laughed. ‘Was it important?’

  ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Back to the museum?’

  ‘No, to Clapham, to my old house. Like I always said I would.’

  ‘What?’ Ed stopped laughing instantly, as if someone had chucked a bucket of iced water over him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’re halfway there,’ said Jack. ‘I could be home in less than an hour.’

  ‘Yeah, but I thought finding all this food … it’s changed everything, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I mean, you can’t leave all this.’

  ‘I’ll come back. It’s not far. I’ll get my things and –’

  ‘No, Jack. It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Jack bluntly. ‘I always meant to go home. And now I won’t be leaving you lot in the crap any more. Not now you’ve got all this.’

  ‘Jack –’

  ‘You’re all right, Ed,’ Jack interrupted, shaking Ed by the shoulders. ‘You’ve got food, you’ve got shelter, you’ve got friends, weapons, girls. You don’t need me any more.’

  ‘I do, Jack … you’re my mate.’

  ‘You said it yourself, last night, though, Ed. I’ve been giving you a really hard time lately. I would’ve thought you’d be glad to get shot of me. I’ve been a right pain in the arse, I know that. And that’s why I need to get away. To clear my head. To go home. To get back in touch with how things used to be.’

  ‘And then you’ll come back?’

  ‘Of course I will. I’ll probably be back tonight.’ Jack grinned at Ed.

  ‘What if you don’t come back, though? What if something happens?’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’ Jack slapped his sword. ‘I’ve got this.’

  ‘Jack …’

  ‘You know me, Ed. Stubborn bastard.’

  Bam had been listening in. He leant over and held the shotgun out to Jack.

  ‘Take this, mate,’ he said. ‘With any luck I won’t need it any longer.’

  ‘No, you keep it, Bam. You’re the shotgun king. I’m fine with my sword.’

  ‘Well, then, let me come with you.’

  ‘No way, Bam,’ Jack protested. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else. That’s why I’m going. These kids, they need a dad to look after them, but I’m not ready to be a dad yet. It’s hard work. Worrying about everything, looking after everyone. I used to laugh at my mum for getting anxious if I was out late. But I know what it feels like now, being responsible, being scared, and I don’t like it. I’m going. OK? This is my decision and it doesn’t affect anyone else.’

  ‘And it’s my decision to come with you, mate,’ said Bam. ‘My decision. My choice. My risk. I won’t hold you responsible. You won’t have to worry about me.’

  ‘I don’t need anyone!’ Jack turned away from his friends.

  The lorry was snorting and hissing, shuddering as it started to accelerate. Justin was obviously getting the hang of the controls, risking a gear change. Jack jumped down off the back before it was too late.

  Ed stared helplessly at him, thinking he might never see him again. And then Bam was on his way too. He vaulted over the back, stumbled in the road as he landed then ran after Jack and slapped him on the back. Jack threw up his hands, then Bam said something to him and he laughed.

  As Ed watched the two of them growing smaller Frédérique came and joined him at the tailgate.

  ‘What are they doing?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘Jack just wants to check his old house out,’ Ed explained, trying to play it down and not upset her. Not upset himself either, to be honest. ‘It’s not far from here,’ he added, wanting to believe it. ‘He’ll be back later.’

  His efforts were obviously failing. Frédérique looked terrified.

  ‘He cannot go. He must not leave me.’

  ‘Hey, you’re all right now, Fred. We’re all gonna be all right. There’s plenty of others at the museum who can look out for you until he’s back.’

  ‘He must not go …’

  The lorry was getting faster and faster. Jack and Bam were walking in the opposite direction, already two distant figures. Ed tugged at his hair. How could they be so reckless? So unafraid? Strolling off like that. Who knew what was out there? It was crazy.

  He suddenly felt very alone. Something clicked inside him. He grabbed Frédérique and shoved her at Brooke.

  ‘Make sure Fred’s all right,’ he said to the startled blonde.

  ‘Why, what’s going on?’

  Ed was light-headed, drunk almost. And yet everything suddenly seemed very clear and simple. It was as if he had just woken up and cast off a dark heavy suffocating blanket. He wouldn’t be afraid any more. He wouldn’t be alone. He would be free, and alive. Nothing really mattered and as a result he could do anything he wanted.

  He kissed Brooke and swung out over the tailgate, hanging there for a moment dramatically.

  ‘We’ll be home for tea!’ he shouted. ‘And I expect a decent spread as well.’

  42

  From the shadows of a burnt-out house at the side of the road a figure watched the three boys with red, sore eyes. He’d been following them all morning, waiting for his moment. He’d lost them a while back, but the noise of the lorry had alerted him and now here they were again.

  Close enough to taste.

  Not yet. Not yet. Wait some more. Watch some more. The time would come.

  Shut up! Stop talking! Those voices in his head. Why wouldn’t they just shut up? There was too many of them in there, all talking at once, too many to fit, crammed in, bursting his head. It was going to split open.

  His head was going to split open. Split open. His head. Like a peach.

  Not yet! Not yet!

  Shut up!

  He shook his head violently, a dog with a rat in its jaws. Spraying sweat everywhere.

  He was shivering. Shivering and sweating at the same time. His nose was running, pouring snot down into his mouth. He hardly noticed. He noticed the itch, though, like stinging nettles under the skin. He would scratch his skin off if he could. Skin. Skin a rabbit. Dress it.

  Why would you dress a rabbit? What was a rabbit? He couldn’t remember. Why was it so hard to remember anything? An animal? Yes.

  He rubbed his neck. It was ringed with boils, like a horrible shiny yellow scarf.

  Never mind that.

  The boys were there. The ones he wanted. The boys who had done …

  What had they done? He didn’t remember. He only knew he hated them. He wanted to smash them and crush them like insects. He wanted to tear the flesh from their bones. He would eat them. He would eat them, but first he would make …

  Soap …

  Soup?

  He woul
d make soup of them.

  Soup? What was soup?

  Something.

  Rabbit soup.

  His mind kept spinning away from him. But there was an important thing to pin down, fix there. Superglue. Yeah … The very important thing. The big thing. The thing that they had done wrong to him. To his boy.

  His boy. That was it. His boy. His boy who was … little …? Little boy? He had a name, but the big boys had taken his name, they’d taken his son, they’d taken his son from him. His boy. Lee-am

  His Liam.

  Yes. He grinned. And as his skin tightened it pulled at the sores around his mouth, making them bleed. They’d tried to take Liam from him. But they couldn’t – he was too clever for them. Clever clogs. That was him. Cleverer than them. Yes. He had kept Liam. They didn’t know that, did they? Kept him with him. Kept him safe. Always.

  But he would get the boys. He would do them. He would skin them. He would dress them. He would do it. He knew how to do it. He was a …

  What was the word?

  Pooch?

  Butch?

  Teacher?

  Not a teacher – he hated teachers – a pusher.

  No.

  Come on, clever clogs, think!

  A butcher.

  That was it.

  Mr Clogs the Butcher. And he had the thing to prove it. The tool thing hanging at his belt. He’d had it with him all the time. Clever, see?

  A clever. That was it. No, not a clever. A cleaner. A leaf cutter. A leaver. The thing the butcher used. A cleaver. A clever cleaver.

  Boys … Meet the cleaver.

  A meat cleaver. He was a butcher. He had his cleaver and he would do butcher to them.

  He smiled wider, the blood smeared round his mouth like a clown’s painted smile. The boys were walking away. But he could follow, because the meaty, juicy stink of them hung in the air like something he could see and touch.

  He picked up his bundle, hugged it to his chest and followed.

  43

  ‘Frédérique’s not too happy about you going, you know.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ said Jack. ‘I can’t be responsible for everyone.’ His shoulders were hunched, his head drooping. ‘I can’t look after her. I don’t know how.’