Coldbrook(134)

And now he wanted Vic.

Vic kicked out at Chaney, knocking aside one grasping hand. Chaney hooted. It was an absurd sound coming from him, a man Vic had only known for a matter of hours but who was already large in his memory, and he looked so pathetic trapped here. Vic dodged left, and realised there was no way he could make it down into the gap without Chaney grabbing him.

He heard the noises from above and knew that none of them could hope to survive down here. The zombies were coming through, and in moments they’d fall upon him, and then he would become one of them.

If only he had a gun, he would take that pain away from Lucy and Olivia.

Chaney jerked forward, then grew still. Something sharp and wet projected from his left eye.

Vic shone the torch into the narrow gap leading around the damper. He thought it might be the first time he had ever seen a crossbow for real.

‘Lucy.’

His wife was shaking, but her strength was clear to see. ‘Hurry,’ she said, and as she struggled back out of sight and the next body came down Vic followed her.

They worked their way quickly to the ground and went through the main duct into the plant room. There was no time to seal it from there: they could already hear the thuds of falling bodies. In the garage Holly was already revving the Hummer. Vic slammed the door and waved, and she reversed the big vehicle against the door, blocking it shut.

She pulled hard on the parking brake. They all heard it creak. So much depended on that.

Olivia ran to them, and Vic hugged Lucy and her as though he’d been away for ever. He heard children crying and talking, and one or two of them even laughed at something Vic couldn’t see. Their voices were music to his ears.





16


Now what? someone said. Jayne wasn’t sure who. There were new voices here, and she wasn’t sure she recognised them. Or perhaps her pain was distorting the voices of those who had saved her, and making them strangers.

Now we find a cure.

Or try, Marc said, and there was an emptiness in his tone that Jayne could hear clearly, even with sight taken from her. She wondered if she would ever see again. The churu was playing with her, and each game was a fresh agony.

She’s really immune, a new voice said, full of wonder. It had a strange accent that she could not place, which gave it a sense of distance.

Just like your Mannan.

‘Who’s Mannan?’ Jayne whispered. She recognised her own voice – even felt her jaw and mouth and tongue moving as she spoke – but the words came from a very long way off.

‘Jayne?’ Sean said. ‘You’re awake. Can you move? Can you open your eyes?’

‘Nnnn,’ she said, because she could do nothing. It had her in its grasp.

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘A disease,’ Sean said. ‘Churu. It affects her joints and bones. She can usually massage it away, but—’

‘Does Mannan have the same disease?’ Marc asked.

‘No,’ said the stranger. ‘But this looks like chero-blight. My wife would have known for sure.’

An awkward silence. Jayne breathed deeply, felt hands on her that she knew were Sean’s. They gently massaged her shoulders and neck. She opened her eyes to find that, mercifully, her vision had cleared.

‘It was a common disease in our world,’ the man said. ‘Paloma would have known how to cure it. But we have books, a medical room, herbs, chemicals. We make do.’

‘Then Mannan’s immune for another reason!’ Marc said, and he sounded alive for the first time since Gary’s crash.

Jayne gazed around the room. It was quite large, functional, with tables and chairs and a handful of comfortable sofas. One sofa was bloodstained, and some of the tables and chairs had been overturned. Air conditioning hummed. She felt the weight of the rock and soil around and above them. But she did not feel safe.

The people she had come to know during the past few days were assembled around her – dear Sean, Vic and his family, Marc looking thoughtful – and there were also some whom she did not recognise. One was a pale woman, leaning against a chair and pressing a hand to her side. Then there was the tall man dressed in strange clothes, a strong-looking black woman standing beside him, and several others. Beyond her field of vision she could hear adults and children talking, and smell cooking food, rich wine.

Jayne looked up at Sean, and his smile warmed her. ‘What did I miss?’ she asked.





17


Jonah had been too amazed at what he was seeing to consider what he might see. And from the moment when he had voiced his acceptance to the Inquisitor he had placed himself in that strange being’s hands, and in his own hand lay the certainty of the Inquisitor’s demise. Warm and flexible, the small trigger sat in Jonah’s palm. When he rolled it, he felt a linked sensation in his chest, a twisting knot against his heart that took his breath away. There was such potential there. But not yet.

‘Time to leave these unclean worlds,’ the Inquisitor said, and held out his hand. Jonah looked close, and was shocked to see the clearly defined lifeline on his palm, hairs on his arm, and dirt ground into his creased fingertips. It looked far too human.

‘How do you speak English?’ Jonah asked. ‘How do you know so much?’ But the Inquisitor did not answer. Jonah took the proffered hand and saw the smudged tattoo on the inner arm again, its shape ambiguous, its edges bled and faded. And then he recognised it, and the shock struck him numb.