The journey to the next station was a repeat of his journey from Camden to Euston, except that at one point he came to a junction with two tunnels leading off it. He chose one at random and carried on, hoping to blind luck.

After a little way, however, he found the tunnel was blocked by a big pile of what he at first thought was sticks. As he passed his torch beam over it, however, he realized that it was bones. Human bones, some still wrapped in clothing. Not bleached and white like skeletons in films, but a dirty yellowish grey. There were hands and legs and arms and ribs and skulls, all jumbled up on top of each other, stretching away down the tunnel. Maybe someone had piled dead bodies down here out of the way, or maybe the grown-ups had crawled down here to die. Whatever the reason, he could go no further in this direction, so he backtracked and went down the other tunnel.

He’d sometimes wondered where all the dead grown-ups had gone. At first the streets of London had stank. A horrible rotting smell that made you cover your mouth and nose with your shirt, but slowly it had faded away.

He shuddered. What other secrets were buried down here in the tunnels?

He soldiered on, going as fast as he could. Time ticked past and he got tireder and tireder and hungrier and hungrier. He took sips of water, which helped. Every time he put his bottle back, though, the level was lower. Soon it would all be gone.

He almost didn’t realize when he got to the next station. He was stumbling along in a daze and as he shone his torch to the side, there was a platform. Pitch-dark like the tunnel he had just emerged from.

Good. If it was dark it meant that there was nobody around. He pulled himself up off the tracks and sat on one of the metal benches along the wall. He would wait here until he got his strength back.

Where was he?

He flashed his torch over a sign.

King’s Cross.

Was that good? Or had he taken the wrong branch after Euston? He wasn’t sure. If he could only get up the stairs and back into sunlight he could find his way. He was pretty sure that King’s Cross was a normal overground station as well. That meant there would be maps.

Yes.

He remembered now. Didn’t the Eurostar to Paris go from here?

Maybe he should go there. Get right out of London. Maybe everything was all right in France. He could go to Disneyland.

He laughed.

Imagine having Disneyland all to yourself.

No. He had to find his sister, and his friends. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to be with them. Well, soon he would be. He’d made it this far, hadn’t he?

Cheered by thoughts of sunlight and escape, he stood up and walked along to the foot tunnel. His torch beam dimmed with each step, until it died altogether.

He stopped and pumped the handle, feeling the dynamo spin in his hand.

He pumped and pumped and pumped until he was sure he had a good charge then flicked on the beam.

It shone into the white faces of a group of grown-ups. They were packed into the foot tunnel, filling its width, standing there, waiting, their broken teeth showing yellow against their grey, papery skin.

Sam was nearly sick with shock. The blood drained out of his head and he swayed on his feet, struggling not to pass out. And then a mother made a move, darting at him, and he turned and bolted. Sprinted along the platform, his torch beam dancing madly ahead of him. Leapt down on to the tracks. Fell and hurt his leg. He was up in an instant and he limped on. Behind him he could hear the grown-ups, jumping and slithering on to the tracks.

He charged into the train tunnel and something took hold of him from the side. He yelled and struggled, but a strong arm in a heavy overcoat was holding him still. A hand clamped over his mouth.

‘Don’t move,’ said a soft voice.

A kid then? Grown-ups couldn’t speak.

But the body connected to the arm felt huge and strong. Too big, surely, to be a kid.

Sam was turned round so that he was facing back the way he had come.

‘Shine your torch back that way,’ the voice commanded, and he did as he was told.

The grown-ups were hobbling and capering along the tracks.

The big figure raised its other arm. Sam caught sight of a sawn-off shotgun, just like he’d seen in GTA.

The shotgun blasted once, sending out a bright flash and harsh boom, then a second time.

The front ranks of the grown-ups fell away. The rest turned and fled.

‘Come on,’ said the voice. ‘Time we were leaving, kiddo.’

27

The kids woke at first light. Those that had slept. Many had simply lain on the grass or sat huddled together, too scared to sleep. They had spent the night in a fenced-off public garden at the top of Portland Place. It was semicircular and surrounded by roads, like one half of a giant roundabout. There was grass and shrubs and large trees, but nothing could get close without being seen because of the road. The fence was black iron with a spearhead at the tip of each post. The kids had figured that it would be a safe place to spend the night. They had been too tired and scared and demoralized to carry on any further after escaping from the park. Who knew what fresh horrors awaited them in the dark? So they had climbed the fence, lit a fire and posted guards. There were small buildings in the corners, little more than fancy huts, but tall enough for the kids to climb on the roofs and keep look-out. It was the best they could do, and thankfully nothing else happened in the night.

Now the sun was rising over London, sending the sky first purple then pink then grey. Soon it would be a vivid blue. It looked like it was going to be another sunny day. The kids stretched and yawned and hugged each other, glad to be alive.

Maxie had taken first watch, then swapped with Ollie and settled down under a bush in her sleeping-bag. Too numb to feel frightened. She had instantly fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep, as if she had been knocked cold.

Now she felt sluggish and heavy, fighting to wake up properly. She hauled herself up into a seated position. Every muscle in her body was stiff. She ran her fingers through her short curly hair to try to untangle some knots, but it was a lost cause. She filled her lungs with clean fresh air. That was one small benefit from the disaster. No more cars pumping out poisonous fumes. No more factories and offices polluting the atmosphere. London couldn’t have smelt this pure for at least two hundred years.

She saw Blue sitting talking quietly to Jester by the remains of the fire. She stood up and went over to them, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

‘Hi.’

‘Morning,’ said Jester. ‘Did you sleep?’

‘Think so,’ said Maxie.

‘Good. Today should be a lot easier.’

‘We need to sort ourselves out,’ said Maxie, looking round at the kids sprawled everywhere. In the chaos of the previous evening they had arrived at the enclosure in an unruly rabble. Maxie had no idea how many kids had made it.

‘Whitney’s taking our register,’ said Blue.

‘I’ll find Josh,’ said Maxie. ‘I expect he’s already done ours. He’s always first up.’

‘Maxie…’

Maxie looked at Blue. He was trying to tell her something. But she was too tired and dazed to be able to work it out. Her brain wasn’t really awake yet.

‘What?’

‘Josh never made it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He was helping some little kids when four of them things, them apes, got him cornered. He went down fighting. He was a brave kid. Nothing scared him.’

‘No,’ said Maxie, shaking her head. ‘You’re wrong. He’s here somewhere. I know he is.’