Alex turns and, with a speed I should have expected from his lanky frame, sprints off in a direction that I think is south. Realising that there’s nothing I can do to help Ruby, I set off after him, sensing another person on my tail. His long legs make short work of the road, but we run for a long time before slowing to a jog and then more of an amble. I’ve no clue if he knows where he’s going. I give up calling after him to conserve my energy, not knowing how far I’m going to have to go. Our pace has slowed, but he’s still quite far ahead of me. As long as I keep him in view, I’ll not lose him.
By the time I reach him, he’s straddling the barrier on Waterloo Bridge, one leg dangling over the water, the other still safe.
We’re a long way from either the British Museum or our intended destination. That is, intended before two of our party were suddenly and mercilessly wiped out. Life, as has been documented in any number of books, films and historical accounts, is not fair and neither does it make much sense.
‘Alex, get down!’ I approach him with caution, not wanting to scare him any further. It’s a precarious seat, and if he slips…
Peregrina has joined me, red in the face and panting like an Olympic hammer thrower. She puts her hand on my shoulder. Alex doesn’t reply. He turns his neck further so he doesn’t have to look at me.
‘I mean it,’ I plead. ‘Look, come back down, it’s going to be OK.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ he says, his voice as bland as a dry cracker. ‘She’s dead.’
‘But you’re alive, and we need to keep you that way,’ I say. I want to grieve for Ruby, one of my oldest friends, but in this moment, there is something more important at stake. Alex and I may not ever have been great friends, but I like him and, for the sake of Ruby, he needs to stay alive. I don’t think it’s sunk in that she’s dead. ‘We’ve been through a lot of loss, and I know this is worse for you than some, but it’s horrible for me too. For all of us.’
‘It’s not just Ruby,’ he says, his voice spooky when it’s so emotionless. ‘I still loved Annie too, in my own way.’ Of course. I had forgotten they dated, although it had been very brief and many years ago. I couldn’t believe he was still hung up on that. Then again, do we ever completely forget any of the people we love, or if not love, simply care for? We take what we learn from each relationship and channel that knowledge into the next one. He adds, barely any louder than the water hitting the bridge, ‘And Kay, too.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, baffled.
‘I was in love with Kay,’ he says. Any last vestige of emotion has been sapped from his voice and face. He’s beyond our help and beyond any normal human experience, unable to cope with the speed at which everything is happening.
His confession causes a few images and memories to click into place like a jigsaw puzzle I didn’t know I was meant to be making, and I see how we missed the clues over the years about his feelings. I get flashes of him topping up her glass in the bar, or asking after her whenever she was mentioned, and one of our rare poker nights when he was far too happy at having bested Jay, like it proved he was a better person.
‘Did you ever do anything about it?’ I ask, wondering if it matters any more. She’s dead, and so is Ruby. If I can’t talk Alex off the side of the bridge, he will be shortly as well.
‘No, of course not,’ he spits. ‘She’s married and I was always with Ruby. But she was amazing, and I hate that she died not knowing. She should at least have known. Everyone needs to know they are loved.’ I think that Kay probably knew she was loved, by Jay at least, and didn’t need to know about Alex. I decide not to mention that.
‘We’ve all lost loved ones…’ I begin, but I’m cut off.
‘What do you know? Who have you lost that you loved?’ he shouts, spittle flying from his lips. I realise that he has no clue what he’s said or is thinking strictly in the sense of romantic partners – the only love that popular culture seems to consider worth talking about or living for. Anger erupts from my body, my chest and shoulders burning with the grief and pain and horror that I’ve been holding back for the last few days, weeks and years about the people I’ve loved and lost.
‘Everyone!’ I shout back. He stares at me. ‘I have lost everyone! I have no family, so I resorted to being a fucking good friend, and then every single one of them paired up and forgot about me sitting by my fucking self every night until the end of the world, when they may have started to feel a little guilty! I might not fall in love with people, but how blind are you to imagine that I’ve lost no one in my life? I lost everyone before this happened, and I’ve lost everyone else one by one since then!’
He doesn’t respond, but instead turns from me and looks out across the Thames. No boats sail up and down it, probably for the first time in two millennia. Gulls and seabirds scoot across its murky brown surface, attracted to something shimmering on the waves. I continue staring at him, furious, and I batter away the thought that I should push him and hurry things along.
‘Well, you should be used to this,’ he says, swinging his other leg over the bridge.
‘No!’ I shout.
‘Alex, don’t do this!’ cries Peregrina through tears.
‘I’m coming Ruby.’ Alex’s final words are swallowed up by a strong wind.
He leaps.
Twenty-Seven
Journey to the Natural History Museum
He didn’t scream as he fell, I remember. He dropped like a stone. Silent. Accepting. If there was a splash, and I assume there was, my brain has decided not to add it to my memory files. As I sit in my room, I become aware of noises around me. There’s still the gentle thrum beneath me, but occasionally there’s a murine squeak somewhere behind one of the walls, or what sounds like footsteps near where my food bag came in. Was that hours ago? Days? Minutes?
Ruby’s death is the one stamped on my retina most clearly. Of course I miss everyone, and I’m sorry I couldn’t save any of them – though I’ve no idea how I would have even begun to try – but Ruby’s is the one that brings me the most anguish, sadness and horror. They were all violent, yet hers felt a degree worse. More than a degree. It was unthinkable.
So was the thought that our numbers would have increased if we’d kept her alive. I shake my head, trying to get the thought to unglue itself from my brain. Of course, it doesn’t work, so I try and focus on one of the few moments of hope and joy that made itself known during the worst week of our lives.
*
Then there were four.
Well, technically two, as Peregrina and I now have the unenviable task of navigating the dangerous streets of London back to where we think we left the others, who in turn had the even more unenviable task of disposing of Terry and Ruby.
The streets seem unfamiliar. London is not a city that was ever supposed to be empty. It should be full of people doing all manner of things on sliding scales of morality, illegality, usefulness and attractiveness.
Doors stand wide open; abandoned cars, taxis and buses clog up the streets, and there’s the occasional skittering of a dog, cat or pigeon that makes us jump.
The grief hits me like a freight train out of nowhere and I find I’m unable to take a single step more, instead falling against a black taxi and bursting into noisy, unrestrained tears. Peregrina, somehow managing to keep her cool, steps forward and wraps her long, thin arms around me while I empty my body of its salt water. Faces blur across my wet eyes and I cry for Ruby and for Alex, for Terry, for Priti and for Art, for Annie and for Matt, for Iris and for William, for Catsby, for Georgina, for Kay and for Jay, for Lara and for Steve, and for Gavin and for Frederik. And then more tears for everyone else. The sheer emptiness of London highlights how quickly the aliens moved and how unprepared we were. There must have been thousands of them, perhaps many of them still kicking about, mopping us up like we’re stubborn bacteria.
I’ve no idea how long we sit like that, me crying like a child and Peregrina sitting calmly holding me until I stop shaking and regain my
composure. When I do raise my head again and think I’m ready to start moving, it’s clear that she hasn’t been quite so calm and has also been crying, her face streaked with shiny tear tracks. Her glasses look like they need a good clean.
We both stagger to our feet and make headway back into the city to where we think Pete and Shell are. There’s still very little sound in the city.
‘What’s going to happen to us?’ says Peregrina, her voice mournful and quiet.
‘We’re probably going to die.’ My words thud like an anvil falling into mud.
‘But then why don’t we throw ourselves off the bridge like Alex?’
‘Because we might not die.’
‘That’s optimistic of you,’ she says. ‘Don’t see that colour on you very often.’
‘I think I’m beyond pessimism.’ I shrug, trying to reorient myself, reading street names that don’t mean anything to me. A thought that’s been niggling at me comes to the surface. ‘What’s worse is that we never get to properly say goodbye to anyone.’
‘Well, we don’t know when the attack is coming,’ says Peregrina. ‘I mean, we can watch for aliens, but Terry’s killing is enough to tell us that there are plenty of other threats. Survivors are turning mad. And there’s the zoo.’
‘I thought that if there ever was a dystopian future it would take people a lot longer to fall to anarchy.’
‘Me too.’
‘But now we know it takes a matter of days.’ I recognise a street and point down it, leading Peregrina to what I hope is the right place. ‘Maybe humans are more fucked up than we thought.’
‘Our brains are big, and adaptive to change, but not that quickly,’ says Peregrina. ‘Basic survival instincts kick in I suppose, don’t they?’
‘Must do.’
We walk on a little further in silence, double back on ourselves by mistake, take too many right turns but eventually appear back on another familiar street, this one littered with bodies, some single, but most of them merged, although not very well. The stench is unbelievable, and we hurry on through, trying not to step in any entrails that the rats haven’t helped themselves to yet.
By luck more than judgement, we find Shell and Pete again, with lost looks in their eyes. Pete has our weapons poking out of a large rucksack on his back. Shell still looks dumbfounded, her face unable to hide the horrors she’s seen.
‘Where’s Alex?’ asks Pete, but a single look from me to him as I take a sword from his pack tells him all that he needs to know. He nods once, then kisses Peregrina on the cheek as she approaches to take her mace.
Peregrina-and-Pete walk ahead, while I fall back to walk with Shell, but what does one say in these sorts of situations? Gavin would know. I reach my non-sword-bearing arm out to her and waggle my fingers. She looks at my hand like it’s something unusual, but clasps it tight with her own, interlocking her ring-drenched fingers with mine.
‘How much further to the museum?’ she asks.
‘Not far, I think,’ I say, looking around the streets, catching sight of the occasional shadow at a window: the last of London’s survivors. ‘I’m a bit discombobulated by the lack of people. Everything looks weird.’
‘Everything is weird,’ she says, her voice as bland as porridge. ‘Why exactly this museum anyway?’ I sigh.
‘OK, well, it’s pretty nerdy,’ I say, ‘but I’d always drawn up – mentally this is, I don’t have spreadsheets or anything – a plan of where to hide should we get a zombie invasion. I never thought much of it through, like where to get weapons or food, but I read about somewhere I thought would be perfect to hide. You know the big blue whale model in the middle of the museum?’
‘Yeah,’ says Shell, stretching the word out and looking at me like I’m a bit mad which, given what else has happened to us lately, strikes me as somewhat unfair.
‘Well, apparently there’s a trap door in it,’ I explain. ‘Where better to hide than in the belly of the whale?’ She looks at me, incredulous. ‘Maybe it’s an urban legend, but even if it is, there are enough places to hide in either there or the Science Museum.’
‘I can’t believe you,’ says Shell, a half-smile creeping to her lips, almost despite herself. Death and destruction make you able to smile merely an hour or two after disposing of your boyfriend’s body in this new world.
‘Can’t believe I’m quite that sad?’ I say.
‘No,’ she says. ‘I can’t believe you thought that the Natural History Museum would be the best place to hide from zombies, when obviously you need a castle. The Tower of London would be great, due to the weaponry already in place and on display there, but the dream one is somewhere like Bodiam Castle, right? I mean, you’d need to get supplies in first as there’s nothing there, but then you’re set. High walls, functional moat. Safe as houses. We should’ve stayed down south.’ It’s my turn to look incredulous – Shell had never revealed a nerdy side to me before. Maybe it was the one thing we never shared. We change the topic and talk about the old days, trying to not talk about Terry, although he is present behind every word. Shell is holding it together by the flimsiest thread, and I don’t want to risk a breakdown.
‘We’re here,’ calls Peregrina from several yards ahead of us.
The great exterior of the Natural History Museum looms up before us, like a cathedral to science. The exhibits may well be something of wonder, but I’ve yet to meet anyone who isn’t also enchanted by the architecture. Carvings of animals line the walls, staring down onto the desolate emptiness of London. There are lights on here and there throughout the building, suggesting that it still has a functional generator somewhere on the premises.
There aren’t any aliens visible, and I feel emboldened and excited that we made it. I break into a run, holding my sword down so as not to slice my own head off, and hear the footsteps of the others behind me. There are an extra couple of pairs of footsteps, louder even, and I have to grind to a halt again to turn around. The other three stop beside me and we turn to see a lone zebra pound down Cromwell Road and veer up Exhibition Road. Hopefully there isn’t a predator in pursuit, but we don’t stop to find out and climb the stairs two or three at a time to the vast front doors of the museum.
I push on one and it gives under my weight. With joy at having arrived safely, the four of us fall into the main hall and catch our breath, trying not to laugh. The huge blue whale skeleton that dominates the entrance looks down on us graciously, as if bidding us welcome to her domain. I remember her installation. She’s called Hope, and that fact provides a nugget of comfort, no matter how illogical.
I breathe in the slightly musty, sweaty air of the museum, revelling in being in one of my favourite buildings in the world once more, even if the situation isn’t quite perfect for it.
‘Do you think we’re the only ones?’ says Peregrina, but I shake my head.
‘No way, it’s too big,’ I say. ‘The lights were on, so there must be someone here. However, the place that we’re going, I think we’ll be OK.’
‘I’m going to scout the upper floor here and have a look around,’ says Pete, resting the flat edge of his sword over his shoulder. Peregrina nods that she’s going with him and they cross the hall.
‘Meet us in the Large Mammals Room,’ I call after them, and they nod back. Shell and I watch them for a moment longer as they climb the steps and pass the statue of Darwin, still gazing down from his perch, before we move off to the mammals.
We pass through the long hall of mammals where stuffed tigers, bears and weasels stare blank eyed at us from behind their glass prisons, although my heart still does a nervous leap when we pass the lion. Shell and I move into the Large Mammals Room and there, surrounded by rhinos, hippos, deer, elephants and a giraffe hangs the blue whale, a monument to the biggest animal that has ever lived.
There are some dirty-looking clothes on a nearby bench, but no sign of any people. I nudge the clothes with the tip of my sword, and they drop to the floor, revealing underneath them a pastel pap
erback and a torch. Someone has been here, and may still be nearby. Nonetheless, we drop our weapons onto the bench and, grabbing the torch, clamber over the barrier and crawl under the whale to see if the urban legend is true, or whether we’ve been on a wild whale chase.
As I was always promised, a trap door exists, built into the stomach of the enormous model. Curiously, though, someone has already been here, and it’s loose. Shell holds the torch in place as I work at the seams and push the door open. She passes me the torch and I shine it in and onto a bundle of clothes curled up in the darkness.
‘That you back, then?’ says the bundle. ‘That didn’t take long.’ The voice is familiar and I go to comment on it but Shell is tugging my shirt and there’s the sound of footsteps outside the whale, getting nearer.
‘Step away from the whale.’
I duck back out of the trap door, hands held high and am absolutely floored by the sight of the person before me: a lanky, ginger figure with an uneven beard and damp patches across his plaid shirt.
‘Gavin?’
He lowers his rifle.
Twenty-Eight
Belly of the Whale
For what I’m sure is only the second time in our friendship, Gavin initiates a hug with me. One moment he’s standing there with his rifle aimed at my face and the next it has clattered to the ground and he’s run at me, wrapping his thin arms around my shoulders and gulping back air and tears as his face is buried in my neck. It’s the noise of a man who has been trying to be strong for a long, long time, but it has become a painful struggle.
‘Gavin? What the hell?’ I squeeze him back, dumbfounded that he’s alive. We’ve come all this way and here he is. ‘Is that Frederik in there?’
There’s a noise from the trap door. ‘Dexter? Is that you?’ Frederik’s legs appear from the bottom of the whale and he drops carefully onto the floor. Shell approaches him and introduces herself – they’ve only met on a couple of occasions – and guides him across to where Gavin continues to sob into my collar. I reach out and grasp Frederik’s shaking hand. ‘Good to see you.’
The Third Wheel Page 17