"Just a case of conserving energy and making as little noise as possible. Don’t kill something that you know isn't going to kill you, because it's a waste of time. Plus, killing things at night attracts stalkers. They can smell blood being spilt, even if it's the clotted stuff that leaks out of the infected.”

"So it's not because you think they're still people?"

I almost laughed at the thought. "Fifteen years ago they were people, kid. Those days are long gone."

"I always wondered what it was like to live back then. Moe told me you could get on a plane and visit other countries."

I looked up at the sky and thought about the last time I’d seen something flying up there. It was seven years ago, when I was with Clara, her brother David and the rest of the group. We'd seen a helicopter hover over us for a few seconds, and then it flew away.

"Is Moe your dad?" I asked him.

"Dad's dead." said Justin. His words were automatic and sounded hollow, as though it was an answer he'd been taught.

It made me think of my parents. I wondered what had happened to them, how things had ended. I liked to think that they'd died peacefully, but somehow I doubted it.

"Why did you really want to come with me?" I said. “And don’t give me this ‘seeing the world’ bullshit.”

He took a few seconds to consider the question. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. "It's too confined there. They're just waiting to die, all of them. They never think or plan, they just drink and smoke and fight. One day they're gonna run out of food or someone's gonna leave the gate open and a load of infected will get in. Either way, I had this feeling that if I stayed there, I was gonna die.”

I nodded. “You’re not wrong.”

Justin looked at the ground.  “I had a dream where Moe let one of the infected into my room while I was asleep and it ate me."

I shook my head slowly, though in the darkness I doubt Justin saw it. "It's not much better out here," I said.

I was starting to feel sorry for him. Sorry that he had been born into this world and had never known anything else. At least I'd had something of a life before all this - I had a job, a house, a beautiful wife. I was forty-two now, so I'd already had twenty seven years on earth that I didn't have to spend worrying about being eaten or seeing other people get eaten. This world was all Justin knew, and all he'd ever know. I didn't blame him for wanting to leave town, because I felt the same way as him. But that didn't change anything.

"Justin," I said.

The kid looked up.

I stretched my legs out in front of me. "As soon as we get to the farm, you're still on your own. If it comes down to life and death along the way - between me and you - I choose me every time. Don't ever forget that."

A thick cloud hung above us in the night sky. Slowly rain started to drip down, hitting the leaves of the trees in heavy patters and then falling onto us. It soaked into my clothes and skin, and made me shiver. Despite being cold and wet, I was thankful for the rain, because at least it helped me keep my eyes open.

Chapter 7

"Stop being so stubborn."

Justin stood in front of me and stared. I sat down on a rock and put my head in my hands, ostensibly using the time to think, but really trying to snatch every second of rest that I could. The kid was getting used to our long walks now and we had fewer rest stops. It was amazing what a good night's sleep could do for you.

I didn't know, of course, because I was sleeping only an hour or two a night. My body ached like it was held together by cello tape. I rubbed my head and my skull felt hollow.

"We have to take the motorway, Kyle. I know what you're saying, but just trust me,” said Justin.

The word 'trust' snapped me out of it. I lifted my head. "We don't have to go anywhere except where I say so. The village is quicker."

We were on the top of a grassy hill, high enough for the wind to collect and snap around our heads. The view was spectacular; to our west was the Ribble Valley, a collection of hills that stopped just short of being mountains, but none the less attracted waves of hikers during the summer.

Clara and I had climbed one of the modest peaks once, and I remembered having to stuff my pockets with the contents of her handbag when the handle snapped. I could remember it in minute detail, the smell of the grass as it cooked in the sun, the feeling of the breeze on my freshly-shaved head. It was stupid that this was the stuff I remembered, yet despite being together most of sixteen years Clara's face was fuzzy in my mind. It was strange, the little memories that the brain filed away and marked as relevant while forgetting other stuff. I felt the top of my head and ran my hands through my now-thick hair, messy from months without a cut.

Below us was a metaphorical fork in the road. One track would take us through a village called Blackfoot, and the other route was on the M7C motorway. Given that I’d been here before, I knew something of this place, and I knew which route to take. Justin might have liked being the guide and telling me which direction to go, but today I didn’t need him.

"I really don't want to go through the village," said Justin.

I looked up at him. With the tip of his right foot he scratched the back of his leg. He was still wearing the raincoat that was so big on him in practically reached his knees, and tucked into his belt at the front of his trousers was a hunting knife that he had gotten from a hardware store in Vasey. The silver of the blade was still gleaming. In contrast I looked down at my own, and saw the dirt that collected in the ridges, and a blade so dull that it was more useful for spreading butter that cutting. It would have to do. You could still use it to smash through a skull if you used enough force.

"What’s wrong with Blackfoot?" I asked.

"The GPRS said take the motorway."

I shook my head. "Course it did - they all say that because they assume motorways are quicker. Only this time, I know more than that piece of crap. Going through the village is better. It'll cut a day's travel at least."

Justin scratched the back of his head. "Won’t it be dangerous in down there? Won't there be more of ...them?"

"Nothing we can't handle if you can learn to walk a little quieter."

Justin took a few steps toward me and bent down. His face looked a little white. "Look, Kyle. There's something else. I know this place too."

"How?"

Justin turned round and pointed. I followed his outstretched hand and it led over past the village and to the east, where there was a warehouse building about five miles out. "Down there's a wholesaler’s. Our scouts used to come this way and make runs - the place is still full of stuff. Only, they had to stop."

I strained my eyes and tried to make out more detail on the warehouse – there was a sign on the front, but it was too far away to read. If Justin was right, though, maybe it was worth a look. A wholesaler that was still full of stock was a rare thing indeed, and my mouth watered at the prospect of the things that might be there – food, chocolate, beer, maybe even a whiskey.

"So why did they stop?"

Justin shoved his hand in his pockets. "There's a group that lives in this area. They call themselves a family, but I never heard of a family who did the things they do. They're hunters."

"What’s so bad about that?" I asked. I'd caught and skinned more than a few rabbits in my time in the wilds. You did what you could, and you ate what you could to survive.