‘We don’t need girls,’ said Jordan Hordern.
‘Whoa-whoa-whoa, wait a minute,’ said DogNut, dancing on the spot and dropping his blanket. Underneath it he was wearing a brown leather American flying jacket, a screaming eagle painted on its back. ‘Let’s not be too hasty here. She does have a point, Jordan.’
‘No, she doesn’t. We’re not taking in any more. Now get them out of here so we can finish our game.’
Jack exploded with rage. He barged his way over to Jordan and leant over him, jabbing a finger in his face.
‘You’re worse than the bloody grown-ups. You know that? At least they don’t know what they’re doing. You’re just cold. We’ve got little kids with us – eight, nine years old – you gonna smash their brains out, are you? You gonna cut us all up? Well, you can bloody try. We’ve climbed a mountain of crap in the last two days and we’re not gonna go down without a fight. We’re not asking to come and live with you forever in your precious bloody museum. We just need shelter until we can get ourselves sorted.’
‘Don’t point at me,’ said Jordan. ‘I don’t like people pointing at me.’
‘Oh, don’t you? So why don’t you get one of your little soldier boys to hack my finger off? Cos I don’t think you’ve got the balls to do it yourself, have you?’
At that, Jordan threw off his blankets and stood up. He was wearing a smart black officer’s uniform, complete with gold braid and medals. He was taller than Jack and moved like an athlete. Before Jack could react Jordan had grabbed his wrist and was twisting it to the side.
Jack winced, evidently in a lot of pain. Jordan kept on turning his wrist, forcing Jack to the ground. Jack tried to pull away but Jordan held him with an iron grip. Once Jack was on his knees Jordan spoke, his voice low and quiet.
‘I don’t care what you say to me, I don’t care what you think about me, but don’t ever point at me again. All right?’
‘All right, all right, you can stop now. I’ve got the general idea.’
Jordan squeezed harder. Jack yelped.
Now Ed spoke out. ‘I think this has got a bit out of hand,’ he said. ‘We should all calm down and talk about it.’
Jordan looked round at Ed without letting go of Jack.
Ed went on. ‘Jack’s right. All we need is somewhere to stay until we’ve worked out what we’re going to do. Maybe only for one night. Maybe not even that. OK? You don’t need to give us any food if you don’t want. We’re not trying to take over or anything. We all just ran in here after a fight to get away. There’s still sickos out there.’
Jack gasped. He was kneeling on the tiles, his lips pulled back in a grimace of pain.
‘Can we at least just talk about this sensibly?’ Ed pleaded.
Jordan let go of Jack, who rolled away and sat down against a tank, rubbing his arm.
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Jordan. ‘We’ll finish our game, then we’ll talk. You can have some water, but no food. Sort yourselves out and I’ll listen to what you’ve got to say. I’m only going to talk to one of you, though. Who’s in charge?’
‘Nobody,’ said Ed.
‘Then I’m appointing you.’ Jordan turned back to his game and started straightening the troops that had got knocked over.
30
‘Let’s get this out in the open.’ Ed banged his hands on a tabletop. ‘And then I don’t want to hear any more about it. Not from you, Bam, not from Jack, not from anyone.’ Ed looked around, daring the other kids to catch his eye.
They were all in the museum café, off to the side of the atrium, spread out among the tables. The place had been ransacked and no one at the museum had bothered to tidy up; there was litter everywhere.
The Brains Trust was sitting shivering at one table – Justin the nerd, Jibber-jabber, Wiki, Zohra and Froggie. Mad Matt was with Archie Bishop and the other kids from the chapel. There was an ugly black and red scab across Matt’s forehead where Greg’s ring had raked his skin. Brooke, Courtney and Aleisha sat in one corner, in a cloud of perfume and attitude. Chris Marker was by himself. He had inevitably gone back to reading his book, but the others viewed him differently after what he’d done to Greg on the bus. He wasn’t totally useless. Jack, Ed and Frédérique were at another table with Bam. Bam was the only one of the rugby players still alive, and he’d obviously been hit hard by Piers’ death. This was the first time anyone had seen him down and lacking his cheery optimism. Kwanele sat by himself, straight-backed and defiant.
While they’d been waiting in here Bam had been on at Ed and Kwanele non-stop about leaving Piers behind, and Ed had had enough.
‘Have any of you ever tried to carry someone who was unconscious?’ he asked. ‘People are heavy. Piers was heavy. Greg came after us and Piers’ body got caught on something. If I’d stayed any longer, Greg would have got me, and then the other sickos outside would have made it on to the bus and that would have been that. And why? Because you lot had all scarpered and left me to it. Thanks.’
Kwanele obviously thought Ed was referring to him.
‘Piers was badly wounded,’ he protested. ‘He probably would not have lived anyway, not without proper medicine, and doctors and things like that.’
‘So that’s it, is it?’ said Bam. ‘Like DogNut or whatever his name is out there said, look out for number one. If you’re hurt, forget it.’
‘It wasn’t just Kwanele,’ Ed shouted. ‘You all left me behind.’
‘We were fighting off sickos,’ said Bam. ‘I was trying to get everyone to safety.’
‘Exactly,’ said Ed. ‘We’ve all got excuses.’
There was a long silence before Bam spoke.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Maybe we were all to blame. It happened too fast.’
‘It’s basic survival now,’ said Ed. ‘Getting from one day to another. This place is well defended, standing alone, with open ground all around, and it’s stuffed full of weapons. It would be a perfect place to set up camp. But someone else got here first and we can’t expect them to look after us.’
‘I don’t want to stay here anyway,’ said Jack. ‘I want to get home.’
‘Then why the hell were you arguing so much with Jordan bloody Hordern?’
‘He wound me up,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t like anyone talking to me like that.’
‘I don’t want to stay here, either,’ said Matt. ‘I need to carry on to St Paul’s. It’s been ordained that –’
‘Give it a rest, Matt,’ said Ed. ‘We’re fed up of hearing about your bloody made-up religion.’
‘It’s not made up.’
‘Yes it is. Nothing has been ordained. It’s all come out of your head.’
‘And what about this, then?’ said Matt, angrily tapping his forehead.
‘What about what?’
‘The mark of the Lamb.’
‘It’s a scab, Matt.’
‘It’s the mark of the Lamb.’
Ed laughed harshly, using his laughter like a weapon.
‘It doesn’t matter whether you believe us, anyway,’ said Archie Bishop. ‘We want to carry on to St Paul’s. With or without you lot – it doesn’t make any difference.’
‘Doesn’t make any difference?’ Ed scoffed. ‘You’ll be murdered out there by yourselves.’
‘The Lamb will protect us.’
There were groans from the other tables and people started throwing things at Matt. Old discarded coffee cups, screwed-up paper, empty cigarette packets.
Matt tried not to react, as if he was above it all, but they could tell he was getting riled.
‘What does anyone else want to do?’ Ed asked when things had calmed down a little.
‘We want to stay with you,’ said Wiki. ‘We’ll go wherever you say you want to go. If we keep together, it’ll be safer. Like when fish form into shoals. Even though they’re a bigger target, individually they’re safer, and harder for predators to focus on. The chances of being picked out from a big swirling mass are less than if they’re sw
imming alone.’
‘Thank you, David Attenborough,’ said Jack, trying to cut him off.
‘We could find another building to shelter in,’ said Jibber-jabber. ‘There’s loads of places near the museum, I came here once with my dad, we had to park miles away and walk, there’s all sorts of houses, I bet if we explored we could find something great, we don’t need to stay here, I don’t like Jordan Hordern or any of them, actually, although I liked the look of that game they were playing, I like toy soldiers, at home I’ve got hundreds, and now we’ve got our own gun and maybe they’ll let us have some weapons from the museum, we could be like a commando squad, you’re good fighters and –’
‘Not all of us,’ said Bam darkly, looking at Kwanele.
‘I never said I was a fighter,’ Kwanele protested.
‘I thought we weren’t going to go on about that.’ Ed sounded tired and fed up.
‘Sorry.’ Bam bowed his head.
Frédérique suddenly let out a sob and collapsed face down on the tabletop, crying. Jack and Ed both put a hand on her, trying to comfort her. She was tugging at her hair, hysterical.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ said Brooke snottily, and Aleisha jabbed her with an elbow.
‘What?’ said Brooke. ‘I only asked what was the matter.’
‘What do you think?’ said Ed. ‘If we weren’t all trying so hard to act tough, we’d all be face down on the table crying like babies. Because that’s all we are. Just babies. This is all too much for any of us to handle.’
‘I ain’t crying,’ said Brooke. ‘I ain’t giving up.’
Jack clapped sarcastically. ‘Well done, you.’
‘It’s stupid,’ said Frédérique. ‘We are all going to die. What’s the point of all this talking? Why must we argue?’ She raised her head. Her face was blotchy and streaked with tears. ‘Why do we need to find somewhere safe? Why do we need to do anything? We are all going to die. I thought there was some hope. Greg was not ill. I thought if just one adult was not ill there was hope for us. But he is ill, and there is no hope …’
Frédérique was crying so much she started to choke, and she crumpled down again, weeping, choking, coughing and spluttering.
‘Cheery soul, ain’t she?’ said Brooke, and Aleisha elbowed her again.
The big glass door opened and DogNut came in.
‘OK, listen up,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘Jordan Hordern’s made a decision.’ He pointed at Ed. ‘You, wossyourname …’
‘Ed.’
‘OK, Ed my man, you go and talk to the general. He’s waiting for you. Chop-chop. The rest of you, chillax.’
31
Ed and Jordan Hordern were sitting side by side in the front seats of a Second World War Jeep, looking out across the atrium. It was cold and the thin winter light that made its way through the massive arched glass ceiling did little to lift the gloom. Jordan had given Ed a furry blanket that he’d wrapped tightly about his body.
‘You mustn’t take any of this personally,’ Jordan was saying, staring straight ahead without looking at Ed.
‘I don’t,’ Ed replied. ‘I know where you’re coming from.’
‘Good. I don’t hate any of you. But I have to look after my people.’
‘It’s cool. So you’re booting us out?’
‘Not necessarily. Like I said, we don’t have enough food here to support any more people. But there’s a simple answer. I’ll let you take any weapons you want. There’s way too many for us to use. And I’ll let you stay here …’
‘Thanks.’
‘I ain’t finished.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘As I was saying. You can sleep here tonight. No conditions. I’ll put you in the 1940s house.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Special exhibit, complete wartime house with all the stuff in it. Beds and everything. I figure the little kids you got with you will feel more at home in there. Less freaked out.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Then, after that, you can stay here as long as you want, so long as you can feed yourselves.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I say. Don’t worry about water, there’s plenty in the tanks here, but if you want to eat you gonna have to go out and find it.’
‘That sounds fair, I guess,’ said Ed. ‘I’ll see what the others think about it. Can you let us have any food to keep us going?’
‘Nope. I’ve given you my offer. I won’t change it. They’re pretty good guys, the guys here. You stick with us, we’ll be strong. But you got to swing your weight.’
Ed was thinking through how this arrangement might work. ‘Do you think there’s food out there?’ he asked.
‘Don’t see why not,’ said Jordan. ‘Take it from me, though, you won’t find nothing fresh: no bread, no eggs, no milk, no fresh vegetables and fruit, nothing like that.’
‘Have you got any of that stuff?’
‘Nope. We got cans and packets of dry stuff. It ain’t exactly healthy but it keeps us alive.’
‘Where’d you get it all from?’
‘We wasn’t the only ones who had the idea to hole up in here. Some guys was here first. Men. Real nasty. They was tooled up, and must have brought a load of kit in with them, boxes and cans and whatever. I think maybe they’d robbed a supermarket or something. They killed off the guards looking after the place and was settled in for a siege, but like everybody else they found out real quick that the enemy was inside, not outside. The sickness. Already eating away at them.’ Jordan paused, ran his fingers round the rim of the steering wheel.
‘What happened to them?’ Ed asked.
‘Tore each other to pieces. The ones who was slower to get sick whacking the ones who got sick first. When we turned up, there was only five of them left. We got rid of them, but they took out a bunch of us. It was pretty heavy duty. Which is why we figure we earned the right to what’s here.’
‘So there were more of you to start with?’
‘Twenty-two. Five died in the attack. One died after of an infected wound. Two more got sick later on – turned out they was older than we knew – broke out in spots; we ejected them quick. Then four more left to try their luck elsewhere.’
‘What were you, all at the same school?’
‘We’re a mix. Family, friends, school, we all just sort of come together out on the streets, moving from place to place until we washed up here about five weeks ago.’
‘OK.’ Ed sighed and got out of the Jeep. His muscles felt stiff and sore from being tensed for so long. ‘I can see why you want to look after what you’ve got,’ he said. ‘I’ll go talk to the others. You sure you can’t give us any food, though? They’re all pretty hungry.’
‘You want to eat, you got to go shopping.’
Ed was overcome with tiredness. Everything seemed such a struggle. He rubbed his face with his hands. ‘I just don’t know where to start,’ he said.
‘Can I make a suggestion?’
‘Sure.’
‘What was you eating before you got here?’
‘There was stuff on the bus.’
‘What I thought.’
Ed looked at Jordan Hordern. His glasses were glinting in the half-light.
‘So what’s your suggestion?’ he asked.
‘Go back to the bus,’ said Jordan. ‘See if there’s any of it left.’
Ed nodded. ‘Sounds like a good plan.’
‘But first,’ said Jordan, ‘you need to get yourselves some serious weapons.’
32
The main exhibition gallery of the museum was on the next floor down, underground. Ed remembered coming here with the school. It was a big, dimly lit, windowless area filled with display cases and divided into various sections. There were exhibits covering the two world wars, and another covering conflicts since 1945. There were also a couple of special sections like the Blitz Experience. The rows of glass cases were filled with dummies in uniform and hundreds of guns, grenades,
knives, small artillery pieces, maps, banners, personal items and equipment.
Six boys were coming down the stairs, their torch beams showing the way. Jack, Ed, Bam and Jordan were at the front followed by Matt and Archie Bishop. Ed’s torch wasn’t working properly; the beam kept cutting out. He rattled it, then banged it against his palm and swore.
‘Not scared of the dark, are you?’ Jordan asked.
‘Not the dark,’ said Ed. ‘Only what hides in it.’
As he said it, Ed’s torch came back on. It landed on a face and he jumped. The others laughed.
‘Only a dummy,’ said Bam.
Ed didn’t like it down here. Everywhere he turned there was another dummy. He was surrounded by perfect, clean-faced young men, frozen to attention, or holding their guns ready for action. They looked very different from the men who now roamed London’s streets with their bloated faces and ruined flesh, but they still gave him the creeps.
His heart was thumping. He felt like a silly little kid. Frightened of ghosts. But he couldn’t shrug the feeling off. He’d been strung out for so long, scared for so long, not sleeping, not eating properly, it was no wonder he was on edge.
And what if there were sickos down here? What if one had got in and was hiding in the dark? Waiting to jump him? What if …?
He told himself not to be an idiot, but stayed close to the others all the same.
‘Most of this stuff’s no use to you,’ said Jordan. ‘Mostly guns without ammo, and you’d need a manual to work out how to use them. There’s some gear through this way you might like, though.’
He led them into the First World War section and shone his torch into a trench warfare cabinet whose glass had been kicked in.
‘I’d suggest you take a rifle or two,’ he said. ‘No bullets for these, but they got straps to carry over your shoulder, and if you stick them bayonets on the end you can use them like spears. I recommend the British Lee-Enfield. It’s a good solid gun.’
Ed reached in and took a rifle from the display, then found a bayonet that fitted it.
‘There’s a load more weapons in the armoury downstairs,’ Jordan explained. ‘And ammo too, but I’m keeping the best stuff for my boys, you understand.’
Young Bond, The Dead Page 16