Read Through a Tangled Wood Page 15

A slew of bullets rained down on the heads of Bode and her comrades, and it was looking to be a long, bright night. Bode tried to block out the booming sounds of gunfire around her, and then a bullet spattered the wall of mud right next to her face. She flinched, and smashed her nose into a rock. Her eyes watered as she clutched her nose. A series of images flickered past her eyelids – it was her face, in the mirror.

  Her nose was too short. That was it. Her nose was too short and her eyes were too big and that was why all the other kids had made fun. That, and the fact that she didn’t have a tail. But then again, there were others without tails, just not many. And they hid. In caves. In hospitals. In tunnels.

  Of course, all that didn’t matter at the moment.

  “Bode!” a voice called.

  She turned, opening her eyes and blinking the tears away. The rays of the sun shot jaggedly into the trench, illuminating one soldier dragging another soldier through the mud.

  “It’s McCarth! She’s been hit.”

  Patton was breathing heavily, and tripping on nearly every rock in the way. As he got closer, Bode could see tears hovering at the edge of his eyelids.

  She darted forward and placed her fingers on McCarth’s neck. McCarth’s jacket was soaked in blood. There was no heartbeat. “She’s dead, Patton. We gotta go. The Grayds are closing in fast. They’re gonna have this position before you can sing the Captain’s Mourn.”

  “I can’t,” Patton whispered, reaching out to touch McCarth’s cheek.

  “Patton, now!” Bode commanded. She bent down, grabbed Patton by the arm, and began to drag him down the trench.

  “But she’ll be alone,” Patton said desperately, gazing behind them at the corpse lying in the muddy ditch.

  At that moment, Bode noticed something – silence. Silence was never good. Any second now they would be dropping into the trench in hordes.

  “Come on!” she hissed. “Run! Run for your life!”

  Then, without waiting, she took off at a dead sprint. Hopefully Patton would have the sense to follow.

  A loud whistle pierced the eerie silence of the battlefield. She looked up.

  “Bode, out!” Johnson lay on his stomach peering down into the trench. He dropped a rope ladder down. “The Grayds have taken the southeast trench. They’re crawling their way over – Beason’s picking them off from the trees down yonder, but he can’t see too good with all this sun. We got to see if we can hold out until daytime. It’s just too damn bright. Looks like most of the Grayds are having trouble seeing too, at least we got that. Except some of them have these helmet things over their eyes – moving faster than usual.”

  “I can help out Beason,” Bode said. “You know I got the best night vision of anybody round here.”

  Patton came gasping up behind Bode. “You can’t,” he said. “You ain’t got clearance to do snipe work. You’re a tailless greck without a chip – remember?”

  “Who cares about the chip when we’re being eaten alive and spit right back out again?” Bode demanded. “I can be Beason’s eyes. Point out where the Grayds are so he can shoot them. We’re all gonna die, and I’d like to think I can at least help.”

  “Alright then, Corporal. You get on over there. I’ll get Patton out of here. And you keep your tail down!” Johnson ordered.

  “I ain’t got no tail!” Bode called over her shoulder as she crawled through the grass as fast as she could.

  Mud was everywhere, sneakily infiltrating her clothing by separating into little bits and sliding through the miniscule spaces between the threads in the fabric of her pants and elbows. It was heavy, dark, wet mud – similar to the grass behind the old school. The last time she had gone out behind the school alone was a few weeks before graduation and Geb and his cronies had cornered her.

  “Hey, no-tail!” he exclaimed. His friends laughed. “Whatcha doing out here all alone? Lookin’ for some other weirdo friends? Well, go look down at Goodie’s Insane Asylum – I betcha could find some there!”

  “Go away, Geb,” she had said, hoping he would leave her alone.

  But the next moment found her lying face down in the mud, with grass in her hair and her books and papers scattered all over the ground.

  “Tail-less! Tail-less!” Geb and his friends chanted. She felt his foot in the small of her back. “Aw, look at the poor, helpless, baby greck!” he jeered. “You better not get up, or else I’ll have to put you back down!”

  His friends laughed even harder at this, but the next moment they were gone, no doubt on a mission to appear as perfect as angels to the teachers. That was the last time she really cried.

  Bode pulled herself up out of the mud and into the tree. Beason was squinting in the sunlight, making an admirable attempt to actually hit enemy soldiers.

  “What’re you doing here?” he asked.

  “Johnson told me to come help,” she said. “I got good eyes.”

  “I don’t need your eyes,” Beason said. He scowled at her and then took a few more shots randomly into the blinding brightness of the field. He didn’t hit anything, but Bode could see a few splashes of mud where the bullets blasted into the ground.

  “I can help,” Bode protested. “For example, if you aim towards the B6 Trench, the—”

  “Shut up!” Beason interrupted. “You think you’re better than us, just ‘cause you ain’t got no tail. Truth is, you’re just a freak. Now if Johnson told you to come over here, so be it. I ain’t one to tell another soldier to disobey her orders. But he didn’t give me none, and so I ain’t goin’ to listen to you. Shoot if you’d like – I doubt you could hit anything anyway.”

  Bode looked out over the battlefield. The trenches looked like scars gouged in the dark brown soil. Soldiers of both sides crawled in the mud as quickly as possible, advancing and retreating, back and forth and back and forth, trying to reach and overtake trench after trench. The problem was, in the confusion and mud and flying bullets and sunshine and chaos – none of the soldiers on the ground seemed to know who was winning.

  If it hadn’t been such a campground for bloody corpses, the massive plains might actually have been quite beautiful.

  The simple rifle weighed in Bode’s hand. It was the old style – no bio sensors – and it was the only type she could shoot. She hoisted it to her shoulder. If Beason wouldn’t listen, the only option was to start taking the enemy down by herself. The gun had a short range of only about 500 meters, but it should do for now. Bode took aim, and smiled a bit. Shooting in the dark – that’s where she always failed. But shooting in the night – she could beat any soldier that tried to say otherwise.

  She pulled the trigger. The sound of the gun was muffled by Krepta bugs – little insects that fed on earwax, but expanded when they sensed sounds above ninety decibels, acting as a type of ear protector. She kept tally in her head: one down, two down, three-four-five… and Beason was still blindly shooting at the dirt.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Beason muttered next to her. “Doesn’t the sun blind you? I can’t wait until it’s daytime.”

  “They attack at night because they know it blinds you,” she replied.

  “Yeah, but it blinds them too!” Beason retorted. “Doesn’t make any damn sense.”

  Bode picked off another three, then missed twice, then hit a fourth.

  “Bode!” a voice called from below. It was Johnson. “I thought I told you to be Beason’s eyes. He’s got a bigger gun. Anyway, I want you on radio. Sparks, Jacks, and Freeman have all set up Krep 1600s, so I want you directing fire on radio.”

  “Yessir!” Bode replied.

  Johnson’s radio buzzed and his voice became muffled as he lowered it to speak.

  “Trench 16b,” Bode said to Beason. “There’s a whole pile of them just peeking their heads, about to start crawling. And…” she paused. “They’re up on the grass. Go!”

  “Beason! Bode!” Johnson called from below. Beason didn’t shoot. Bode watched as they slowly began to crawl forward. “W
e have a problem. The enemy seems to have some sort of device that they put over their eyes to make it easier to see in the sunlight. We have one – Patton picked it up off a dead Grayd. Don’t know where they got the things, but that doesn’t matter right now. Bode, look for Grayds whose faces have a big black stripe across them. And I want to you grab a radio, and take Patton out at the front and radio back positions for the snipers to aim at. Get down here.”

  “Yessir!” Bode replied. She squinted at the field in front of her as Beason’s gun began to rapidly fire bullets at the muddy field.

  “Good work!” Bode yelled over the sound of the gun, as she began to climb down the ladder. “You just snagged three.”

  Patton was waiting, crouched in the grass at the bottom of the tree. A thin black material stretched from one of his ears all the way around the front of his face to his other ear.

  “This is the thing that protects your eyes,” he said. A grin stretched across his face. “It’s amazing! I can see right through it, and the light doesn’t hurt my eyes at all!”

  “Can I try?” Bode asked.

  Patton reached up and carefully removed it. “It just wraps around your ears,” he said.

  Bode put it on. “Wow. It makes everything look dark, just like it was the middle of the day!” She took it off and handed it back. “But I can see fine without it.”

  The two soldiers began to crawl as quickly as they could towards the trenches. Every so often, Bode peaked her head up a little higher to see where the enemy soldiers were moving and began to mutter their positions into the radio. Patton followed a short length behind her.

  Then he yelled.

  Bode made an awkward and sudden twist in his direction. He had veered off from her path slightly and come face to face with an enemy soldier. The two were frozen staring one another in the face. Bode pulled the pre-chip Meakant pistol from her waistband, aimed, gritted her teeth, and pulled the trigger. She squeezed her eyes shut, but not quickly enough.

  A moment later she felt Patton’s hand on her arm.

  “Come on, Bode,” he whispered. “We gotta keep going.”

  She opened her eyes. His face was grave, his brow furrowed. Blood was spattered all over his face and helmet. Bode took a deep breath, swallowed, and turned back towards the trenches, trying desperately not to look towards the other soldier’s corpse. Killing never got easier.

  “Let me take the radio for a bit,” Patton said. “You get my back.”

  Bode nodded. She watched as Patton raised his head and gazed out through the strange eye-gear to look over the battlefield, and then looked up at the vivid blue sky. The ring of white around the sun reminded her of the ring of light around the light they put over her in the hospital. Although she had only been eleven, the memory stuck.

  Mom and Dad were in the waiting room and she was surrounded by nurses. The bio chip was about to be implanted in two spots – the base of her neck and the wrist. She was terrified.

  “Lie back, honey,” the nurse said, pushing gently on her shoulder.

  As she lay back, the light shining down on her looked like it had a halo, like the lady did in the pictures at church.

  The nurse took Bode’s little hand and stuck it in a machine that looked a little like a giant stapler.

  “Take a deep breath,” said the nurse, and Bode had. Then the machine started beeping, and the nurses started gasping, and her Mom and Dad came running in… then the light got smaller and smaller until it disappeared into darkness.

  Later they told her that her body had rejected the bio chip. She’d had such a violent reaction that it knocked her unconscious. After she woke up again, she had a rash up her arm for weeks, and had to take medicine to keep her eyes from itching.

  That’s why she couldn’t shoot a gun. Not a new one anyway. She looked down at the old Meakant pistol in her hand. Any enemy soldier could take this from her, but she couldn’t take any guns from the enemy or from her friends. It was hardly fair.

  Patton had started to move forward again; so Bode hurried to catch up. He turned to look at her and began to gesture for her to hurry.

  “Look at that!” he whispered rapidly, pointing up over the grass.

  Bode slowly raised her head, looking in all directions for enemy soldiers. A few yards ahead of them was a trench. On the opposite side of the trench, four enemy soldiers with eye protection were peering down into the trench. One of them looked up and right into her eyes. His weapon rose.

  “Patton!” Bode hissed, dropping into the grass.

  He didn’t move quickly enough. The next moment he lay groaning in the dirt, the sound of the gunshot still echoing in their ears. “I can’t…” he gasped clutching his abdomen. His shirt had already turned blood red. “Get the… sun blockers…”

  Anger poured through Bode. She grabbed Patton’s face. “You look here,” she demanded.

  “I can’t…” he whispered as his eyes fluttered closed.

  Without thinking, Bode leaped to her feet – the perfect target for any enemy that bothered to look up. She raised her weapon and pulled the trigger.

  One… two… three… four… and the soldiers fell.

  She strode forward and looked down into the trench. It was empty. She leaped down and then hauled herself up the other side, digging her feet into the muddy walls of the trench. Looking back, she wasn’t quite sure how she made it all the way over, but she did, and she took the sun blockers and made her way back to Patton. She bent over and lifted him across her back, the way the firemen back at home did it, and blinking back the tears that blinded her, stumbled away from the trenches and back towards the trees.

  At some point other soldiers came and unburdened her of Patton’s body. Johnson appeared and guided her through the trees to the encampment beyond where she was placed in a med tent and looked over by a nurse.

  It was much quieter and at some point she drifted into a doze and she saw herself. She looked much younger: her eyes were too wide and too far apart, her lashes were too long and dark, her nose was too short, and her chin stuck out too far. She would never be as pretty as the other girls, or as smart even. Just the odd one out.

  She turned to see her Dad peeking through the door.

  “Hey there, sweetheart,” he said. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m so ugly,” she said.

  “That’s not true!” he said. “You’re quite beautiful. Just because you look different doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful.”

  Bode frowned up at him, pouting and scowling. “They say I’m weird. A pig-nose greckle.”

  “Well, that’s not nice, is it? And it’s not true, either.”

  Sighing, Bode threw herself onto her bed. “Why can’t I look normal, Dad?”

  “Because you’re special,” he said. “You do know you’re special, don’t you?”

  Her scowl deepened. “You always say that.” She held up the mirror again and looked at her face. Her dad leaned over her shoulder and looked in the mirror too.

  Back and forth, her eyes flicked – from her eyes to his; from her nose to his; from her chin to his.

  “Why do I look different than you?” she asked suddenly. “You’re my dad. Shouldn’t I look like you?”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Well, sweetie, I guess it’s about time I told you.”

  “Tell me what?” she turned and looked at him.

  Swallowing, he took her face in his hands, looked her in the eyes, and said: “Sweetie, you’re adopted.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Adopted?”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Adopted?” she repeated. “So… I’m not… I might… how?”

  “We found you wandering in the woods, lost. We think you may have wandered off from another tribe. They probably think you’re dead.” Her dad shrugged apologetically. “And we were never happier than the day we brought you home. We love you.”

  Bode didn’t know what to say. She just kept opening and closing her mouth like a
half-dead fish.

  “Bode?” her father said. “Bode…”

  “Bode…” the voice didn’t sound like her father anymore. “Bode, wake up this instant before I demote you!”

  Opening her eyes was hard. She just wanted to sleep. She reached up a hand to swat at whoever was hovering over her.

  “Open your eyes before I dump this water in your face,” the voice said.

  She squinted. It was Johnson. She groaned.

  “As your squad leader, I command you to open both your eyes.”

  Groaning, she pulled her other eye open.

  “Good. Now, you should know that Patton is alive. And he’ll be fine. You got him to the medics just in time. Second, you should know that we’re winning. Or rather, they’ve retreated. So, we’ve won. We have a team over there now, negotiating the terms.”

  Bode shook her head.

  “How long was I asleep?” she asked.

  “Too long.”

  “How… why did we… we won?”

  “Yes. You know those devices they had over their eyes?”

  “Mhmm.” Bode closed her eyes again.

  “They’re called sunglasses. And their entire plan was based on the men that had them. Apparently they got them from an alien ship that landed a few weeks ago to trade. Then you had to go be bloody stupid, make a living target out of yourself, and shoot the special ops team that was ordered to carry out their winning move – to capture Sergeant Major Jakes and Dreal’s communication stones.”

  “How would…”

  “Because then they would know and be able to counter our every move? Does behaving stupidly kill brain cells or something?”

  Bode groaned.

  “So you need to wake up. We’re packing up. Nurse! Can we have some sort of stimulant over here?”

  When Bode got up, the first thing she did was go see Patton. He was asleep, but breathing. She let out a deep sigh of relief. The sun was setting, and as day broke, it became harder and harder to see, but she went back outside anyway and began to join in the preparations to leave. After the wagons were packed, they didn’t stop to rest. The troops lined up and began to march. It was only a five-hour trek, after all, and everyone was anxious to see their families.

  The troops arrived in town on target, but the town was eerily silent. No one awaited their arrival; the streets were empty, the lights were out. Every soldier reached for his weapon, waiting for orders. As they neared the town center, they noted that the flag was at half-mast.

  A solemn stillness fell over the soldiers. Bode felt a shiver run up her spine. They waited.

  A few teams were sent in various directions. The rest of the troops waited tensely.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Then the doors to the town hall opened. A rustle moved along the soldiers.

  Sergeant Major Jakes stood at the top of the steps. He lifted a megaphone.

  “Bode Aft.” His voice rang over the crowd. “Please step forward.”

  An aisle formed in front of her as her fellow soldiers moved out of the way. She took a deep breath and then stepped forward, oblivious to the eyes that stared after her. Each step felt as though she had a brick tied to her boots.

  In much too short a period of time she found herself standing in front of Sergeant Major Jakes.

  “This way, soldier,” he said, leading her into the building.

  They didn’t go very far.

  In front of her stood two… well, they weren’t grecks. They stood straight. Like her. And they had no tails.

  She tilted her head.

  “This is her?” the woman said in a strange accent. Her eyes filled with tears. “So… grown up. And a soldier.”

  The man reached out his hand to shake hers. “Hello, daughter.”

  Bode tilted her head farther. “Daughter?” She looked around in a panic. Her Mom and Dad were standing to the side, watching with wide eyes.

  “You don’t remember us?” The woman was crying.

  The man reached out and put his arm around her. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

  Bode looked back at her real… adopted parents. Dad stepped forward. “Remember what I told you? About finding you in the woods?”

  She nodded.

  He glanced at her… other dad.

  She closed her eyes and memories began to flash across her eyelids. The woods, the dark, the fear… a shining light and loud roaring noise…

  “We were doing research,” the man said. “You ran off, like kids do. We left, not realizing you weren’t there. We turned around as soon as we realized what happened… but you know how time works at the speed of light…”

  Bode covered her mouth, stunned.

  “But… but I just…” She looked around wildly, meeting Sergeant Major Jakes’ eyes. He looked at her compassionately.

  “It’s why you can see during the night,” he said, nodding. “It’s why you have no tail. It’s why the bio chip didn’t work.”

  “I… I…” Bode sat down. She took a deep breath. And another. And another.

  “So what you’re saying is that I am an alien,” she stated.

  “Yes,” Dad said.

  “And my nose is not too short.”

  “That is correct,” Dad said. “But I’ve been telling you that for years anyway.”

  “And I’m not supposed to have a tail. And I’m supposed to see at night. And I’m only different because I’m on the wrong planet.” She looked up at her four parents and the Sergeant Major.

  They were nodding, and all but Sergeant Major Jakes had a worried expression.

  “But I just killed… Grayds. I killed them. They weren’t my enemies. They were… your enemies.” She pointed at the Sergeant Major. “I joined the military because… because I thought it would make me more like you.” She turned to face her parent. “I thought it would make me a Greck for real – I thought I would be accepted…” Turning back to the Sergeant Major, her eyes grew large; she felt wounded. “I risked my life for you, for Patton, for everyone… and now you’re telling me that I will never, never, be one of you!”

  Her birth mom began to sob.

  “You are a soldier.” Sergeant Major reached down to help her stand up. “You did your duty.”

  “But I’m not even a greck! Weren’t you listening? I’ll never be part of you because I’m… I’m a…” she turned towards her birth parents. “What am I?”

  “A human,” her mother replied. “Human.”

  “I’m a human.” The word felt strange on her tongue. She looked at Dad, then Mom, and then each of her birth parents. Continuing to turn, she stared out the doors behind her into the darkness. Her feet began to move forward, through the doors, out into the day, past the rows of soldiers that still stood, waiting. She walked slowly, carefully, past row after row after row after row of soldiers until she reached the center of town. There, she gazed up at the massive statue of General Blakes, the first leader in the history of her village that had defeated the Grayds. And she remembered…

  She remembered the bullying, and the hitting, and the cruel words; she remembered her first friend, the kind art teacher, the things she had learned; she remembered the doctors, not knowing what to do with her flawed DNA; she remembered the sweets, the soup, and the warm bath she got whenever she was sick; she remembered her face; she remembered her home; she remembered the pain; she remembered the love; she remembered her mother and father; she remembered the Grayd she had shot face to face, the Grayd that lay dead in the field because of her alien abilities, the dead special ops team sent with the sunglasses to ruin her side’s chances at winning; and she remembered Patton…

  As she headed for the med center, she noticed that they had already unloaded the wounded, though the dead still lay on the wagon. She moved forward into the clean, sterile building and up the stairs to the floor reserved for the military. She walked through the beds, glancing at the face of each soldier, and saluting. She stopped
at a bed near the end of the room.

  Patton was awake.

  “Patton,” she said. “I’m a human.”

  “A what?” he said. His eyelids fluttered slightly; the painkillers were affecting him.

  “A human. An alien.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Always knew there was something a little off about you.”

  “I’m an alien,” she repeated.

  “You said that already. Now what the hell are you doing here? They said your real parents are in town. Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, talking to them or something?”

  “Patton,” she looked down at his bandaged body. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Mhmm.”

  She paused as the words fluttered through her head – will you be my partner? Marry me? Come with me? And then images replaced the words – of being pushed in the mud, slandered and insulted, of being hated and ridiculed. The hospital, the school, the mirror…

  …and then she looked at his face: the long elegant nose, the high cheekbones and grey-pigmented stripes, the wide eyes with vertical pupils. His tail. She was different than him. Always and forever different.

  Taking a deep breath, Bode stated, “I was just wondering if you’ll miss me.”

  Patton gave her a sad smile. “Of course I will,” he said.

  He reached up and their fingers touched, and Bode memorized every line in his face before she slowly turned and took her first, confident step towards her new beginning and end.

  About Ariele Sieling

  Ariele Sieling has been a writer for her entire life, writing her first book as an eleven-year-old, called The Mystery House. Since then, she has pursued the art of writing in a variety of forms, from short stories and essays, to newspaper articles, newsletters, classroom curriculum, and novels.

  Sieling writes science fiction, and works to blend the potential for human capacity and future technology with a little bit of humor. She is author of The Clock Winked, and will be releasing The Lonely Whelk next spring. She lives in New Hampshire with her two cats, Goblin and Rowan.

  Website

  Facebook

  Twitter

  I Am the Maid

  Sarah Dalton

  2025 10 years since patient zero

  Nottingham

  Marian

  When it rains you can smell the Infected for miles around. The stench drifts downwind of the river, mingling with the earthy mud reek.

  It smells like death. Sickness and death.

  The rain drums down on the metal roof. It reminds me of long ago holidays by the sea; the many hours spent inside a tin caravan listening to the downpour. I look down at the camp below with its small patches of crops and greenhouses. There are even a few farm animals. The people are as tiny as ants from my seat in the stands.

  We’ve grown since the beginning. We’re a community now. Outlaws, even. Nancy calls us Wolfheads, like the outlaws in another time.

  Wind whistles through the stadium, rattling the plastic seats. My ears and eyes strain for any indication of movement. With the noisy rain it’s hard to tell, and it has been two weeks since the last infiltration by the Infected, enough time to make us complacent.

  I flex my fingers and grip the handle of my Katana. For now it remains sheathed by my hip. Guns are banned in Nottingham. The Sheriff’s men are permitted to carry them, but their weapons have been fitted with expensive silencers. It’s one of the few laws I abide by. Guns are messy, unpredictable, and they make too much noise. You kill one Infected with a gun and a hundred come running. You behead it with a Katana and move on, alive.

  I run through the procedures in my mind: the trip wires at each entrance, the look-outs on every stand, the small land-mines on the Trent side, and the hidden pit on the city side. We’ve blocked off every turnstile in the grounds. But the place is so vast there are rooms we haven’t even cleared yet, old offices and café suites where once the managers of the club sat and wrote huge cheques. Barely a decade ago the stadium shook with the chants and songs of the crowd as they spurred on the players. But in 2015 the world went into a state of emergency. Since then the only sport played at Nottingham Forest football ground is a brain eating contest.

  “Marian?”

  I’m pulled out of my reverie so abruptly that my muscles tense and I grip my sword harder. I lift the receiver to my lips. “Yes, Stafford?”

  “There’s an infiltration in the East stand. You need to come now, over.”

  “On my way, over and out.”

  I’m on my feet and moving fast, sidestepping plastic seats and skipping down the steps. My hand grips the Katana. I reach the East stand and slow to a predatory crawl, every part of my body on high alert, my years of training beneath the surface—waiting to be employed.

  My lungs burn as I climb the steep steps. Up above I can hear the grunts and moans of the Infected and the breathlessness of Stafford and Miles fighting them back. I unsheathe my sword, ready.

  They must have come from the overhanging roof because there are splatters of blood on the steps, probably from where our barbed wire ripped into their skin.

  Stafford fights two on his own, attacking in a haphazard manner with his sword. But he’s strong and surprisingly swift for a big man. Miles has more technique but is weaker. An Infected has hold of Miles’ shirt and is dragging him closer and closer to his open, drooling mouth. I help him first, swinging my Katana high enough to behead the Crawler. Its head rolls down the steps, softly thudding as it goes; a frozen expression on its face. Miles pushes the body away and nods in thanks. His glasses are askew and his hair is ruffled. He’s not made for the apocalypse, but he tries his best. That’s the thing about the end of the world—it creates soldiers out of anyone, even primary school teachers.

  I let Miles deal with the un-dead, overweight woman with yellow coloured skin. I move on to Stafford’s aid, kicking back a Crawler with puffed out bloated cheeks and a gashed forehead. You can tell he used to be an attractive guy before the Infection. Shame really, we’re lacking some fit guys since the Crawlers took over. I let out a disappointed sigh whilst removing his head from his body.

  That’s the other thing about the end of the world—death doesn’t bother you anymore. The sight of blood doesn’t bother you. I can’t remember much before patient zero. It doesn’t seem real somehow. Watching a decapitated head roll down the steps of a football stadium… that’s real to me. That’s life.

  Stafford finishes his off. “See you in hell, Crawler.”

  “How very Christian of you, Friar,” I remark.

  Stafford wipes his sword with a dirty rag. “Yes, but it sounds cool. It makes one almost believe one is in a zombie movie, rather than a zombie world.”

  Stafford saying the word ‘cool’ is pretty traumatic, but I get where he’s coming from. Pretending we’re in some virtual reality is a good coping strategy.

  After Miles wipes sweat from his brow and catches his breath, we perform a sweep of the stadium, checking the various traps around the stands. All clear. It seems to be an isolated incident, but you can never be sure. Crawlers are dumb. They don’t attack like humans. They don’t plan or use their guile. Instead, they run at you over and over until you hack them into little bits, or they get their teeth and nails in your flesh, whichever comes first.

  It’s their persistence that makes them dangerous. They used to crowd around the stadium, clawing at the walls, banging their lifeless bodies against it. Then one might find a step or a hand hold and then they’re climbing the walls. Another might follow them, blindly letting their body do the work, until you’ve got half a dozen of them to fight back. If you can’t get rid of them without any fuss it attracts the others. The world is now a never-ending cycle of fighting back the Infected. It sucks.

  “We need to burn the bodies,” Miles says. He runs a hand through his curly dark hair. His mouth is set in a tight line and his skin has that green tinge you get when nauseated.

  “You can go back, Miles. We
’ve got this.”

  Stafford raises his eyebrows at me. His eyes are open wide with indignation.

  Miles shifts from one foot to the other, glancing back and forth between me and the monk. “Only if you’re sure.”

  “We’re fine here,” I say. I don’t look at Stafford. He’s not in charge so he can glare at me all he likes.

  Miles nods and shuffles off.

  “You can’t keep letting them off the hook, Marian,” the monk warns. “They have to learn for themselves. They rely on you too much.”

  “I can deal.” I clean my sword and avoid his eye.

  “You may be tough, Marian, but you’re also an eighteen year old girl without any parents.”

  A jolt of pain explodes in my chest. The last thing I need is a reminder about Dad. I think Stafford sees me wince because he exhales with a sigh.

  I straighten my back, sheath my sword, and meet Stafford’s eyes. “I am the Maid,” I say, “and I will protect my people.”

  Robin

  “All right then, lads, we’re nearly there!” I wave them forward. The cool autumn breeze licks at the sweat on the back of my neck, bringing with it the reek from the river. Anywhere else and I would balk at the stink. I would turn around and scuttle away, leaving the wretched place behind. But not here, not now, because it carries me home. It takes me back to warm arms, hot food and clean sheets. I close my eyes and see the high-rise apartment blocks dotted with washing lines, pot plants and heaving with cats to keep out the rats.

  After travelling through parts of Lancashire and the Derbyshire Dales, it feels like a long time coming. By miles, it’s meagre. By effort and hardship, it’s been a real marathon. I thumb the smooth edge of my crossbow, and a shiver runs down my spine as I remember the many kills along the way.

  We stand on the bridge over the Trent. Home is in front of us. Something rises in my chest, a swell of pride, the anticipation of seeing family… but the landscape is different now. So much has changed in a year.

  “There’s the entrance,” Much says, he points towards the city barbican.

  “I still can’t get my head around the wall. The thought of the city centre being blocked off like that,” I say, shaking my head.

  “It makes sense though, Robin,” Alan says. “It’ll keep the Crawlers out. Don't you think?”

  “They managed without it for almost ten years,” I say. Sure, they had barriers and restrictions up to the city, along with volunteers to keep the city safe, but nothing like this monstrosity, which stands almost ten feet tall. I know Alan’s right, but a heaviness in my gut tells me something else. Did they build the wall to keep the Crawlers out, or did they build the wall to keep people in?

  “What are you thinking?” Will asks. He moves closer. His deep brown eyes search mine. They have this openness to them. He always has the same mild expression on his face, one that somehow manages to convey intelligence and peace at the same time—even mid-battle.

  “I'm thinking that the Sheriff has something to do with this, and that it isn't just to keep the Crawlers out.” I squint into the distance. “See those small dots moving up and down on top of the wall? They look like soldiers to me.”

  “They could be scouting for Crawlers,” Much suggests.

  “They could,” I admit. Why do I feel so uneasy about the wall? Nottingham needs protection, for sure, especially as it is one of the few remaining functioning cities in the UK. London is overrun with the Infected. Only the most frightening and chaotic of people live there now. The stories make even me wince, and I've seen some awful things. “It don’t feel right, Much. Not after everything.”

  A year ago a bunch of us conscripted to the cause, ready to fight for our country, and certain we could make a difference against the rebels in Liverpool and Manchester. At night, I dreamed of honour and riches, believing the army would send a wage to my family, and I would serve a greater purpose for my country. I thought we could contain the Infected, stop the rebels, and come back heroes. I was wrong. Honour does not exist anymore.

  “Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out what’s going on,” Will says with a sigh. “We have to go to Nottingham and find out.”

  “What if someone recognises us as deserters?” Much says. He’s said the same thing about twenty times during the journey.

  “We keep our noses out of trouble and don’t bother anyone,” I reply, “like we planned. We keep out of the way of the Sheriff and whoever he has working for him.”

  “We’ve got nowhere to live, Robin, no food or nothin’—”

  “I know, Alan,” I snap, not for the first time. “What do you want me to do about it?” I let out a long sigh. “We’re not the only deserters to come back with nothing. What was the alternative, eh? Keep fighting for a lost cause? The truth is that the army can’t control the county anymore, and I don’t think they have any right to, anyway. We’re better off out of that mess. Now we’re home, and we’re going to get on with our lives, and forget all about what happened up North, all right?”

  “I’m sorry,” Alan says.

  “Don’t apologise. You have nothing to apologise for. Let’s get moving, okay? Before the Crawlers sniff us out.”

  I step forward. My stomach flips over with nervous anticipation.

  “Look, I’m not sure about this,” Will says. “I think we should spend a few days out here first, scout it out. What’s the rush, Robin? Wouldn’t you rather know all the facts first?”

  “Yeah, Robin,” Much says. “We should be cautious.”

  Maybe they’re right. We are deserters after all. “All right. We’ll set up camp on the bridge. It’s easy enough to defend. When we run out of food, we move on.”

  Marian

  When it’s a clear night like tonight we start a fire in the walkway between the pitch and the changing rooms and sit around it, listening to the older folk talk about times before patient zero. In some ways it was worse, people didn’t talk like they do now, they tapped on fancy phones and played games rather than go outside. They bitched about each other, their world and everything in between. It sounds empty and shallow and filled with insignificance. There’s no survival. There’s no appetite for life.

  Talk turns to the Crawler infiltration.

  “How did they get in?” asks Dev, a man who was once one of the most powerful businessmen in Nottingham. “Did you check all the borders? The Trent stand—”

  “I checked between the Trent stand and the others, Dev. I know it’s the weakest spot in the stadium,” I snap.

  He points a finger at me and the rest of the group glance away or fiddle with their clothes. Some of the younger children gawp at us, waiting for action. “You should have been doing your job, Maid. If you had, the Crawlers wouldn’t get in here.”

  I stand and move closer to Dev. He gets to his feet, towering above me. “We all need to do our jobs. This is a community, not a leadership. If it’s a leadership you want then you know the way back to the Sheriff’s arsehole.” My cheeks warm as my temper rises. “When my father was in charge he assigned us roles and he made sure we all volunteered. That is how we’re going to do things here.”

  Dev comes closer to me, his dark eyes flashing and his brown skin turning orange in the glow of the fire. “You’re just the daughter of some guy who was stupid enough to get himself killed on watch. Why should I listen to you?”

  My hand goes straight for the handle of my Katana and quick as a flash Dev’s brothers are on their feet. Stafford has his hand on my arm.

  “Marian,” Stafford warns.

  Without breaking eye contact with Dev, I unwrap each finger from my sword. “No, you’re not going to make me snap. We don’t fight each other. We work together. We are one.”

  “You’re nothing,” he says, curling his lip like I’m distasteful to him.

  I take a step forward, shrugging Stafford’s hand from my arm. “I am the Maid. I led the rebellion from Nottingham castle with my father a year ago. I made a vo
w to protect every single person in this camp, including you. My father wanted me to lead you all and that’s what I intend to do.” I turn to the faces around the fire, glowing a soft orange; all shadowy eye sockets and dirty hair. “Do you think Dev would protect you to his last? Do you really think he would lay down his life for any of you? I would and you know it.” Vacant eyes stare back. I find myself furtively looking for expressions of hope, encouraging nods, anything. “I know it has been hard. Food is scarce and we have the sick to tend to—”

  “My daughter has been ill without medicine for a week.”

  “I know, Catelyn, and I want to help little Kate but—”

  “But,” says Jim, one of the farmers, “we hear that a lot. But this, but that. When are you going to get results?”

  “I… ”

  “You don’t know, do you?” he accuses.

  There are some mumblings through the crowd. I lift my hands in an attempt to quiet them.

  “There aren’t any givens in this world, we know that. We don’t know what the future brings. The Sheriff is a constant threat and Father said—”

  “Father said,” mimics the farmer. “That’s all you ever say, love. Father isn’t here anymore. You’ve got to get it together or get out and let someone take over.”

  I flash Stafford a desperate look. His eyes are downcast and saddened. This is what he’s been telling me for weeks, I need to take control with an iron fist to stop dissent. But it feels too much like the Sheriff. I don’t want to be like that.

  “Marian is doing the best she can. None of you could do what she does. You wouldn’t go out of your way to help people, Dev, or you Catelyn, or you Jim, but Marian would,” Nancy says. My heart soars with gratitude. Nancy stands and puts her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you cut her some slack?”

  Nancy is the closest I’ve had to a mother in a very long time. We’ve fought together, cried together, mourned together. She loved Dad almost as much as I did.

  “She’s too young,” Catelyn says with a sigh.

  This again.

  “Look. Let’s finish our suppers and sleep. Stafford and I will be in the lookout boxes. We’ll check the perimeter on our way up. Nancy, can you hold the fort down here?” I say.

  She nods. There are new wrinkles around her eyes and a few extra strands of grey in her black curls. She looked younger when she was with Dad. He always looked younger when he was with her as well.

  Stafford is quiet as we scan the perimeter and I try to put the conversation out of my head. It isn’t the first time my leadership has been questioned and it won’t be the last. When we’re being attacked by Crawlers they are only too keen to let me take charge, but when it comes to slow threats like illness and disease, things I can’t change with a click of my fingers or the flick of my Katana, they pull out the youth card again. Stafford’s silence speaks volumes. He’s always ready to chastise me for this and that. I know it’s serious now.

  “I’m losing them, aren’t I?” I say as we reach the VIP boxes. They have the best view of the stadium, easy places to act as a look out.

  “I’ve been tested many times in my life,” Stafford replies. “Sometimes I wonder if I might lose my faith. Why would God bring us this awful infection? Why would he let the Crawlers take over our world?”

  I fold my arms. This is where Stafford and me differ. I don’t look for a reason and I especially don’t care about God. Whether he, it, or whatever exists is irrelevant. Believing in God won’t put food on the table or protect the children from infection.

  “What’s your point?” I say between gritted teeth.

  “I never stopped believing. Despite everything.”

  “I’m not God.”

  “No, but you are the best they have. They are being tested and they will rebel for a while, but I think they will come back to you,” he says.

  “I need to prove myself.” I shake my head. “I need to get into Nottingham and get supplies.”

  “It’s a deathtrap,” he replies. “You will not make it out alive.”

  “There has to be a way in.”

  “Marian, you know there isn’t a way. You know this. Do not do anything stupid because of that idiot Dev and his brothers. You would be a great loss to this world, a great loss.”

  I wave my hand dismissively. In the back of my mind I wonder if I do know a way into the castle, a way I’ve kept secret for a long time, I just don’t want Stafford to worry when one day I disappear in the night to go it alone. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, you’re being dramatic.”

  “Am I?” He lifts up his greying eyebrows and creases his forehead. He’s too old to be living in an abandoned stadium fighting off the Infected. I’m too young. Maybe that’s why we get on?

  Three lights flash from the pitch below. “Crawlers,” I whisper. I leave the box and run down the steps to the stadium. The old monk follows behind me. I draw my sword, and slow to a walk. Dev runs out onto the pitch with his eyes wide and panicked.

  “You have to do something, Marian. It’s Miles,” he says.

  My heart sinks. “He got bit?”

  Dev nods, his chin trembling.

  People stream out of the tunnel, clutching their loved ones.

  “Is everyone out?” I ask them. Heads nod in reply. “Is anyone hurt?”

  They shake their heads and I scrutinise their faces. You can’t tell if someone is lying anymore. They are always too scared of the consequences. I put that thought out of my mind. I need to steady my breathing and concentrate on the job at hand. This is the bit I hate. Really hate. It’s time to kill someone I know. Nancy appears at my side with her crossbow.

  “I’ve got your back,” she says breathlessly. She rocks back and forth on her heels as though she’s full of the same nervous energy I am.

  “He… he’s in the changing rooms,” Dev calls out as I step forward with Nancy on my right and Stafford on my left.

  “Keep close,” I whisper. “Stafford, steady the torch. We need to find him, finish it, and get out.”

  “All right,” the monk replies. He sweeps the tunnel with the torch, highlighting corner shadows and cobwebs. The walls are peeling and dank.

  My heart quickens as we step down below the stand into the old changing rooms where we sleep. The floors are covered with blankets, sleeping bags and belongings. You can tell people have left in a hurry because pots and pans have been knocked over in haste. A teddy bear lies on the concrete with its arms and legs splayed out in a star shape.

  There’s a stillness—a calm before the storm. I’ve hunted Crawlers in dark rooms before. Most of the time you hear them bundle around, bumping into their surroundings, moaning and growling, desperate for food. But when they’ve first turned they are quieter; more human. They lurk in wait. They slink through the shadows.

  My head snaps up. Something rattles at the back of the room, like the sound of a pot falling over.

  “Marian, he’s in the corner—”

  Nancy is cut off by a noise akin to a rabid animal. Miles bursts out from the shadowy corner and is upon Nancy in a second. She falls back with Miles on top of her, trying to push him away, to keep his teeth away from her flesh. He’s not Miles anymore. His skin has turned a sickly yellow shade. His teeth appear sharper and they are shining with saliva. His eyes bulge from his face, bloodshot and cloudy. But his glasses are still there, right on the end of his nose, and for a brief moment I falter. The first day we met flashes before my eyes, the way he held out his hand for me to shake and clutched it with both of his, the way he thanked me for helping to lead the people out of Nottingham and away from the Sheriff, it all comes flooding back; the softly spoken primary school teacher who had lived in Nottingham all his life.

  Nancy squirms beneath Miles, no, not Miles, the Crawler. “Marian! Do it.”

  I snap out of my thoughts, raise my sword and finish the job.

  Blood covers Nancy and she runs to our water purifying system to wash it away. I can’t l
ook at the body.

  “I’ll remove it,” Stafford says.

  “And I’ll clean the mess.” Nancy comes over, her face and hair sopping wet, and rubs my back. “You did a good job, Marian. You protected your people.”

  It doesn’t stop the tears welling in my eyes. “I should tell them.”

  “Okay,” she says. She takes my sword. I feel bare without it. “I’ll clean this for you.”

  The others wait with their eyes wide and expectant. Some are crying. Others have stony expressions.

  “It’s done,” I say.

  As I walk away I notice the expression on Dev’s face. His jaw is slack and his eyes are glazed and resigned. It took the death of one of our own to make him realise. He doesn’t want the job. He doesn’t want to lead. Neither do I, but I have to.

  Robin

  I remember patient zero. I was seven years old, but I remember. If I stop and think about that time, I can see the news broadcasts and the panic on the streets like it was yesterday. Dad stole a rifle and kept it by his side in the house all the time. “Never touch the rifle, Robin, unless you know you can kill a man with it.” He said we should leave the city and find somewhere in the countryside but the roads were jammed with people trying to leave. For years there were abandoned cars everywhere, until the army came by to clear them away, along with the dead bodies.

  There was a time when you couldn’t leave your house at all because the Crawlers were roamed the streets. We lived on tins and dried meat. Mum learned how to make bread over a fire and we boiled rain water. Every night looters tried to break in and Dad did what he needed to do. Six months after the outbreak utter chaos ruled the streets. I didn’t leave the house, never stepped foot even onto the doorstep. My muscles weakened and I grew pale and thin. But Mum sang to me every night. When I think back to that horrible time I hear the song before I remember the Crawlers and the fights. I hear her voice before I see the violence and remember the smell of our old house.

  “Maybe we should wait until dark and sneak in,” says Much. “You know, in case anyone recognises us from the army.” We’re sitting on the Trent Bridge finishing off the last of our food.

  “They won’t,” I reply. “We can stay at my Mum’s. It’s going to be fine.”

  Much has his lips pressed together like he wants to say something. He doesn’t though.

  “You don’t know that, Robin.” Alan shakes his head.

  I sigh. “True. But what I do know is that we can’t keep living in the wilds. There might not be as many Crawlers as there used to be, but it’s too dangerous.” It isn’t just Crawlers you need to worry about. There are people out there you wouldn’t ever want to meet.

  I don’t know how I ended up leading this bunch of lads. Sometimes things fall together and fit. Maybe it’s as rare as tipping out a jigsaw puzzle and all the pieces landing in exactly the right place.

  Back in the army they called me Hood because of my hoodies. I like the feeling of anonymity when I put my hood up. It’s intimidating.

  Much has the broadest Notthingham accent ever and when he says ‘much’ or ‘muck’ or ‘duck’ or anything like that it has this deep and dirty mid-English quality to it. They took the piss out of him for it, well, that and his rapping, since then he’s always been Much, even if his real name is Gary.

  Alan’s a kid, little more than fifteen and too young to be in the army, not that the army cares how old any of us are. We’re Crawler fodder to them. Will has a brain. He’s so clever it makes mine hurt. None of us had much of an education, not even after the schools reopened. Most of the classes are about self-defence and survival. Will, though, reads a lot. He used to anyway.

  “Look over there,” Much says. “Someone just came out of the old Forest ground.”

  Notts Forest was my team when I was little. Then later on I saw my favourite player dragging his feet around and drooling from the mouth. There’s nothing quite like seeing a Crawler version of your hero.

  I follow Much’s finger to see a girl leave the ground and move towards the bridge. She has long flowing hair, almost white it’s so blond, and she walks with long strides, somehow both elegant and purposeful. My throat dries up a little when I notice the curves of her body in tight jeans and my body reacts in the way it would react for a hetero guy my age that hasn’t seen any women for months.

  “She’s fit as,” Much says with his mouthful.

  “Nice arse,” Alan adds.

  “Have some respect,” I find myself saying. My cheeks warm when the faces of the group turn to me. “I mean, what are you getting all doe-eyed for? We haven’t got time to ogle at girls; we have nothing to trade when we get into Nottingham. She’s come from the stadium, maybe there are more of them, and we can use her to get to them.”

  “Are you thinking of doing one last ambush?” Will asks.

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  Much is on his feet. “Let’s go.”

  “We should be cautious,” Will says. “She might be dangerous.”

  “What, her? She’s a slip of a thing, she couldn’t hurt us,” I say with a laugh. I get to my feet and grab my crossbow. The girl must have ears like an owl because she moves towards the sound of my footsteps. There’s a glint of metal and a sword appears from her hip. A damn sword!

  I have a feeling Will is going to make me eat my words pretty soon.

  She moves onto the bridge and faces me, crouching like a cat ready to pounce. I approach with my crossbow held up high, aiming at her chest. I don’t want to have to fire. It was never my intention to fight.

  “Let’s make this easy, shall we,” I start. “Hand over all your valuables and we’ll let you go.”

  She takes another few steps forward and smirks. Her eyes are a gorgeous deep blue. “I don’t think so. Hand over your valuables and I’ll let you leave alive.”

  “Come on now, let’s not go this way. There are more of us than you and we’re trained soldiers. You really shouldn’t be out here—” The girl cuts me off by sprinting towards me, knocking the crossbow out of my hand and putting the sword to my throat. She moved so swiftly I didn’t even see how she did it. I put my hands up in surrender. Her body feels so soft and warm next to mine that I don’t even have any regrets. Well, I don’t until I hear the sound of Much giggling in the background.

  “You got beat up by a girl,” he shouts out.

  The girl turns me around to face the others. “You think this is a joke, do you? You think hanging out here and ambushing unsuspecting people is funny? You make me sick, all of you. What kind of person robs a survivor when the Sheriff sits pretty in his castle?”

  “Wh-what? The Sheriff is in the castle? Did he have the wall built?” I ask.

  “Where the hell have you been? Of course he did! And he’s been running that city into the ground ever since, killing anyone who gets in his way.”

  “He kills people?” Alan says. His face turns pale with shock.

  “My mum is in there,” I mutter.

  “Then you should know better,” the girl spits. Her blade is sharp and deadly at my throat. Somehow I’m not amused or aroused anymore. “My father and I managed to get some people out of Nottingham before it turned nasty. We’ve been living in the stadium ever since. You should know that I will protect my people to the last and if that means slitting your throats then so be it.”

  A chill runs down my spine. She means it. I can feel the sincerity and passion reverberating through her chest..

  “Listen, we didn’t know about the Sheriff, or how hard things have been since we left. We went away with the army to fight in the rebellion up North. We’ve been fighting for the country and helping to clear back Crawlers,” I say. “We’re penniless and homeless. We mean you no harm, I promise. Please, this is important, is there anyone called Nancy in your group?”

  The girl’s body goes rigid and still. She doesn’t move or speak for a moment. “Are you deserters?”

  The others glance at me despera
tely. I have to take a chance on this girl. I have to believe that she is honourable. “Yes.”

  “Why?” she asks.

  “The men we fought for, they aren’t noble men. They aren’t fighting for a just cause. There was nothing to believe in, nothing to fight for. It’s a blood bath on both sides for no reason. I couldn’t stay and I brought my friends back to Nottingham to start afresh. We didn’t know about the Sheriff, I swear. Please answer my question. Nancy?”

  She sighs her hot breath onto my neck. She’s shorter than me, but by a mere inch. “Tell me her last name.”

  “Loxley.”

  The girl’s body stiffens again.

  “You know her don’t you? Tell me if she’s all right. Tell me now.” I struggle against her but the blade remains close to my throat.

  “Who is she to you?”

  “She’s my mother!”

  The tension on the blade subsides and her arm relaxes. I manage to push her away and grab her wrist so tightly she cries out.

  “Robin,” Much calls out. “Robin, stop it.”

  “Why? She had her sword to my throat! Tell me where she is. Tell me where my mother is! And who the hell are you anyway,” I demand.

  “I am the Maid,” she says through gritted teeth. “And you do not speak to me like that.”

  She steps forward and kicks me full on in the crotch and red hot pain bursts from areas that should never feel like that. Never ever.

  I stagger backwards, unable to stand up straight. All I can see is the girl’s hip, her sword and her hand on her hip. “Are you going to take me to her or what?”

  “Why should I?” she says sullenly. “You ambushed me and tried to rob me.

  “You kicked me in the balls!”

  Laughter breaks out behind me. I can just imagine Much and Will doubled over with the giggles.

  Sharp nails dig into my shoulder as the girl seizes me and straightens me up. She’s surprisingly strong for her height and weight. Our eyes meet and I see a flash of amusement in her dark blue eyes.

  “Will Nancy vouch for all of you?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “Of course she will. She’s my mother.” My voice sounds strange. A jumble of emotions came out in a rasp, the happiness of knowing Mum is safe, the embarrassment of the last few minutes and the impatience of wanting to see the one person in the world who means everything to me.

  The girl nods and turns around. “Follow me.”

  Marian

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “Marian,” I reply.

  The guy is an idiot. I despise people who mug and thieve others in order to survive, especially those who hang around in packs like hyenas.

  “I’m Robin,” he says.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He limps behind with his men. I can’t help but smirk about the kick I landed in his crotch. He was so annoying, trying to win me around with his whining and sob stories about the army. I suppose he thinks those long eye-lashes and the stubble on his chin will win me over; or those deep brown eyes and strong arms. Wrong girl… wrong time.

  I’d left the stadium early in the morning to check for nearby Crawlers and trade with Frank, my insider from Nottingham who sells us medicine and food for valuables he can trade with in the city. Now I’ll miss Frank and won’t be able to get the medicine for Kate. Then this guy, this Robin, tells me that he’s Nancy’s son. Well, I’ll believe that when I see it, and I’ll be having words with Nancy to tell her what a useless arse her son really is.

  “Stop here. You need to be blindfolded.” There’s no way I’m letting them see all of our secrets.

  “Oh come on, you can’t be—” Robin starts.

  “Serious? Yes, deadly.”

  I have no choice but to rip strips from my t-shirt to wrap around their eyes. When it comes to Robin his eyes sparkle with mischief and he smirks. “Damn, I was hoping you might need to rip off more.”

  A slow smile travels across my lips and I step slowly towards him so that our noses almost touch. His eyes widen and his pupils dilate. The twinkling mischief disappears from his eyes to be replaced with a wider, hazier expression. I notice the way his throat forms a lump when he swallows and see the pink flush on his cheeks. I gently lift a hand to his shirt.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” he stutters.

  I clutch his shirt with both hands and tear a large strip from it.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Shut up and turn around.” Trying not to look at the exposed flesh at his midriff, which is annoyingly toned, I shove him around so that he’s facing away from me and wrap the cloth around his eyes. “There we are, now we can look at your body instead.”

  “Woman, you are testing my patience.” Robin folds his arms across his chest like a stroppy teenager.

  “Man, you are going to do what I say.” I lift the crossbow from the strap on his back. “This is mine for now, thank you!”

  “Hey, seriously?”

  “You’ll get it back once Nancy has vouched for you. I’m going to be needing all your weapons, by the way.” There are some groans and mumbles but I ignore them. I know the way into the stadium and they don’t. They need me and they know it.

  “What if Crawlers attack?” asks one of the scrawnier looking lads.

  “Then I’ll deal with it,” I snap.

  I arrange them in a line, each with one hand on the shoulder of the person in front, then frisk each bandit in turn, removing daggers, swords and crossbows, before taking Robin’s hand and slapping it on my shoulder. The weapons are so heavy I’m half tempted to dump a few in the grass outside, but I know better than to throw away useful things.

  “Take it steady,” I call back to the others. “One step at a time. Keep hold of the person in front or holler if you get left behind. If you let go of the person in front, stop and do not move a muscle. This place is booby trapped. Oh, and if any of you take off your blindfold, I will kill you.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Robin complains.

  “Shut up and get walking.” I set off, taking small steps. Robin bumps into me every few steps and I hear muffled noises of indignation behind me as they walk into the backs of one another.

  When we first cleared out the football ground and set up our traps and systems, my father fitted a mirror above the north facing turnstile. I shine a light on it with the torch in my backpack and rotate it up and down three times. In front of the turnstile we’ve constructed a lockable gate with barbed wire at the top. Someone has to let you in. We never leave the grounds with a key in case that person is taken hostage and tortured. Of course, I have my own way of getting back into the stadium, but that’s my secret.

  I inwardly sigh when Dev comes to the gate.

  “Who are they?”

  “Friends of Nancy’s,” I reply.

  “I’m her son,” Robin says indignantly.

  I turn and shush him. “Yes, apparently he’s Nancy’s son and she’s going to vouch for him.”

  “How do we know he isn’t lying? How do we know we can trust them? If we let them in it could be too late. They could be bit.”

  “I have their weapons. Look, let’s just get them inside and to Nancy. I can’t bring her here because then I’d have to remove their blindfolds.”

  “Fine, but this is on you, Maid.” Dev unlocks the padlock and unwraps the chains to let us through. “Any Crawlers out there?”

  “No. It was pretty quiet this morning.”

  “It feels like the quiet before the storm,” Dev says, his voice low and foreboding. “It’s like they are away somewhere, getting organised.”

  The words disturb me. Organised Crawlers are a horrific thought. I lead the men past Dev and through into the stadium. Once we’re on the pitch I lift Robin’s hand from my shoulder and remove the blindfolds. Dev is instructed to fetch Nancy.

  “You’d better not be lying,” I say. “And we’ll have to check you for Crawler bites.”

  “I don’t car
e about any of that. I just want to see my mum,” Robin says.

  I turn to the rest of them. “Any of you still have family in Nottingham?”

  A young black guy with a short crop of hair shakes his head, the scrawny one stares at his feet, the tallish one with observant eyes stands very still without talking. The silence speaks volumes.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I mutter.

  “Robin? Robin, is that really you?”

  I’m not used to hearing Nancy’s voice sound like that. I’ve known her a year and she always sounded very in control and level. Her voice comes out high-pitched and full of emotion.

  “Mum?” his voice is thick and heavy.

  Despite everything, the ambush and the way they tried to rob me, a lump appears in my throat and suddenly tears are welling in my eyes. Damn it, why did he have to be Nancy’s son? As he pulls her into an embrace I feel something shifting inside, a warm feeling emanating from within. I’m glad he’s happy and yet my stomach roils with envy. Why can’t I be Nancy’s daughter? Why can’t I have my dad back, or have two parents again? Instead of none.

  “They need checking for bites,” I say, before walking away. “I’m going to see how Kate’s doing. Someone should do some work around here.”

  “Marian,” Nancy calls back. I don’t reply.

  “What is that girl’s problem?” I hear Robin ask.

  Marian

  Kate’s fever burns my hand. We have one doctor in the stadium and he told us we need antibiotics. We have none.

  Catelyn stares at me intently. “We have to do something. You have to do something, Marian.”

  “I know.” I stand and leave the changing rooms. “I know.”

  Immediately afterwards I take my trading items back to the place I always meet Frank. He isn’t there. A bunch of Crawlers greet me instead, and I end up in a battle with my sword. Four of them are swiftly dealt with, but a persistent group chase me back to the stadium. I have to shine on the mirror and simultaneously fight the Crawlers back. When Dev appears at the gate I tell him to get a crossbow and help.

  He rushes off, leaving me with my back to the gate and five Crawlers approaching. I duck and miss a hand reaching for my neck. By skipping to the right I manage to manoeuvre away from them, slicing one open in the process. They move slowly, following me with their arms outstretched, dirty fingernails inching closer. I finish one with the sweep of my sword and his head hits the ground with a thud, but as I take the time to kill him, it lets another get closer and his hands find my torn shirt. I kick him back and the Crawler lands on his backside. That leaves two still approaching. The first I cut with my sword but miss my mark and the Katana ends up lodged in his throat. Precious seconds are spent retrieving my sword and before I know it I’m in trouble. The fallen Crawler is up on his feet, teeth gnashing, arms reaching out for me like before. They seem quicker than usual, actually speeding up the longer we fight, as though they got a burst of energy. But that can’t be right? Crawlers don’t have energy.

  I back up, all too aware of the stadium walls behind me. Where the hell is Dev? I lift up my sword and swing it at the closest Crawler but he ducks and my sword meets nothing but air. The Crawler ducked! I’ve never ever seen that happen before and I freeze. My mouth hangs open. The same Crawler lurches forward and grabs me by the neck. His eyes stare into mine. They are a puke yellow with ruptured blood vessels crisscrossing the whites. His skin is a sickly green, hanging loose over the bones underneath. The stench turns my stomach into a washing machine and his grip on my neck tightens until I find blind panic rising up from my bowels. I do something I’ve never done before, I drop my sword. The Katana clatters to the ground and I tear at the Crawler’s hands with my fingernails.

  I can’t breathe. A strangled sound escapes my lips and black spots appear in my vision. I have to fight to stay conscious. The Crawler’s mouth opens and for a moment I think he might speak. But the Crawler on my right begins pulling at my shoulder, his teeth coming closer to my flesh…

  An arrow shoots through the metal bars of the gate, taking out the Crawler on my right. The one with his hands around my neck turns in the direction of the shooter. He growls in anger and throws me to the ground. With his hand on my shirt he pulls me up, moving much faster than the average Crawler, he leans forward with drool hanging from his lips, his mouth open wide to reveal the sharp teeth inching towards me.

  I punch his putrid flesh and the Crawler staggers back, his eyes open wide, glistening with anger. Another arrow shoots through the gate, driving straight through the Crawler’s skull, killing him instantly. The gate opens and I expect Dev to rush through but he doesn’t. It’s Robin.

  “Who gave you your weapon back?” I croak. My throat burns it’s so raw. I’ve never felt a thirst like it.

  “Is that it? No thank you for saving your life? That would be polite, you know.”

  I reluctantly take his hand and let him pull me up. On the way back into the stadium I can’t help but glance at the Crawler lying dead on the ground with the angry expression in his eyes. Crawlers don’t have emotions, at least I thought they didn’t.

  “What’s the matter?”

  I look up to see Robin watching me as we step around the Crawlers. I merely shake my head.

  Robin

  What an ungrateful cow. I stick my neck out to save hers, literally, and she doesn’t even bother to thank me. I could be catching up with Mum. Instead, I rushed to help that Maid girl. What an idiot. I should leave her next time; let one of her followers help.

  What I can’t get my head around is Mum. She loves this girl. She spent most of the morning gushing about her and how she led the people out of Nottingham with her father, who Mum also couldn’t stop talking about. I think Mum was in love with this guy. I guess I can’t blame her. This isn’t the kind of world where you hate on your parents for no good reason. I’m lucky to still have her. I wouldn’t deny her any happiness.

  Walking around the camp is like having the last of my childhood memories torn apart. They have a goat on the pitch. A goat!

  A washing line hangs from the goal posts. The nets have been ripped out, presumably for one of their famous ‘traps’. The stadium itself is rusting and moss covered. Weeds and vines grow between the seats, tenacious plants that have overtaken from the riverbanks, tearing through the tarmac car-park and growing up the walls. It’s amazing what a decade of fewer humans has done to the world. It’s green again.

  The seats are empty but I still hear the songs.

  “You all right?” I hadn’t heard Mum approach me. She appears at my side.

  “I was thinking about the times Dad brought me to the matches. It seems like so long ago.”

  “It does to me, too. A lifetime almost. So much has happened.” She takes my hand. Her fingers seem thinner than before I left. “But you came back to me, Robin.”

  I smile down at my short mother who also has more grey hair. Do I look older, too? “I told you I would.”

  Mum smiles and her eyes moisten. But then she sighs, lifts her free hand and clouts me around the head.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “You’ve been thieving, Robin, don’t try to deny it. You ambushed Marian and tried to steal from her.”

  It has been a long time since I’ve been scolded by my mother. Part of me enjoys it. The other is frozen with fear.

  “I… um…”

  “Listen to me, Robin.” Mum stands in front of me and takes my face in both hands. “I know war changes people and I want you to answer me honestly. Were you going to hurt her?”

  “What? No! How could you think…? Mum, seriously? That’s so wrong. I wouldn’t—”

  “That’s all I needed to know.” She drops her hands to her side and lets out a long breath. “I had to check. When you lie you look at your feet. You’re not lying.”

  I can’t help but laugh. It’s true; I’ve always been a terrible liar.

  A commotion near the living quarte
rs catches my attention. One thing I have noticed since being here is that the people argue a lot and most of the time they complain about Marian—can’t say I blame them—until Mum stands up for her. She strides across to the group.

  “What’s going on?” Mum asks.

  “My daughter is dying and Marian won’t do anything about it,” crows a woman. Her face is tear streaked and her eyes are red raw.

  Marian stands across from the woman with her arms folded. There’s a worry crease between her eyebrows. She seems older than her years, especially with the dark circles around her eyes. Her blond hair hangs lankly to her waist.

  “I can’t do anything—”

  “Why not?” I say. “Surely you can’t stand by and let a young girl die. There has to be something you can do.”

  “We’ve run out of antibiotics. I’ve looted every abandoned shop outside the Nottingham border but there is nothing left. The Sheriff receives regular shipments from the army. He has an abundance of the bloody stuff but it means breaking into the city, something I’m not sure I could do.” Her voice started off indignant but turned to desperate at the end, getting smaller and smaller.

  “What if you had help?” I say.

  “I couldn’t ask anyone to go with me,” Marian replies. “It’s a suicide mission. I have more of an idea than most. I worked for the Sheriff, I know the rooms in the castle and where the tunnels lead, but he has guards everywhere. I couldn’t guarantee anyone could make it out alive.”

  “Do you know a way into the city?” I ask.

  Marian pauses. “I think so.”

  “How many people do you need?”

  “Robin,” Mum says. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve only just got you home safe.” Her face turns to an ashen white.

  Marian shrugs. “Any more than five will be more of a hindrance than a help.”

  “Then it’s settled. Will, Alan, Much, me and you will leave tonight.”

  “But—”

  I place a finger on her lips. “It’s settled.”

  Marian

  Where does that guy get off telling me what to do? I sharpen my blade along the Japanese water stone. Why should I trust him and his gang of louts? If he wasn’t Nancy’s son…

  I was always going to end up back in Nottingham. It was inevitable. But I wanted to do it alone. I wanted to get in and get out as quickly as possible. Now I have them slowing me down.

  Worst of all, I might see him again… Guy.

  Damn it, why is it that whenever I think of Guy I get a sick feeling in my stomach and a tingling on my arms? Why is it that after all this time even thinking his name turns my knees to jelly? I have to get over it. I have to move on. He chose to stay with the Sheriff. He chose riches and power over… over… love.

  Marian, don’t be an idiot. He never loved you.

  We grew up together. His father and my father worked for the Sheriff before patient zero when he was known as Professor Jim Oxenford, the Vice Chancellor of the University of Nottingham, and heir to a very wealthy family. My father was a butler. Guy’s dad—always Mr. Gisbon to me—was his gardener. We lived in the wing of his family’s estate. It’s empty now.

  Oxenford formed a committee of prominent Nottingham business people after the Infection spread. They were the emergency committee. One by one every other member died, some in particularly suspicious ways, until Oxenford ended up taking over the old castle, moving Dad and the Gisbon family with him. When I was twelve, he employed me as his maid. Guy became his personal assistant of sorts. We’re both the same age.

  As arranged, I meet Robin at the gates towards the Trent Bridge. There’s no point blindfolding them anymore, it seems almost everyone has fallen for Robin’s charm. Everyone except me. I bring Stafford with me. I need a familiar face.

  “Are you ready, Maid?” Robin asks. I’d had the displeasure of sitting down and planning our way into Nottingham earlier on today.

  “Do I have to wear this?” I frown at the short skirt and low cut top. Robin’s eyes linger in places they shouldn’t. “Hey! I can see you looking! All of you.” Much’s eyes dart away.

  “Look, this was your idea so don’t get all women’s lib on us now,” Robin says in his usual delightful and charming manner.

  “Women’s lib…? You are a… a…”

  “Marian,” Stafford warns. “It was your idea, and if we don’t get moving now it won’t work.”

  “Fine.” I check my dagger is hidden away in the ridiculous boots I’m wearing. I also have a small plastic bag filled with powder in my skirt pocket.

  We make our way down the bridge towards the city walls. I’m all too aware of the Crawlers lurking in the shadows. Robin catches one with an arrow before I have time to use my Katana. His smirk is unbearable. I can see he wants a thank you. Well, I once decided that I would never thank a thief, and I never will.

  We pass over the canal bridge and approach the city gates. I pull Robin back to talk to him. “This is where I go it alone.” I glance at Stafford. “You stay with them and make sure they get to the East gate. That’s where I’ll let you in. I’ll be joining them.” I glance over to the group of girls approaching the gate.

  Every night at 10pm the guards let in a load of prostitutes from the outside camps to entertain themselves with. Prostitution is illegal inside the gates and the population is strictly controlled within Nottingham. So the camps outside the walls send their girls to the guards in exchange for food, medicine and water. I would never do that to the girls in our camp, I’d rather take it by force. I tuck my hair up underneath the straggly red wig and hope none of them recognise me.

  “You sure this will work?” Robin asks. “You can get the drugs into their drink?”

  “I’ve taken bottles of beer down to their disgusting little barracks at night. I know what they do and when they let their guard down. I can do this.” I take a deep breath. This was always how I’d planned to get into Nottingham. I’d always planned on doing it alone. It feels all right to know there are people who have my back.

  “Marian,” Stafford says. “Be careful.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Remember what I told you. This world needs you, girl.”

  Stafford’s words make my head feel heavy. The pressure and responsibility… sometimes it’s too much. Before I go, I reluctantly hand Robin my Katana. The lads clap me on the back to say good luck.

  I totter over towards the girls and tag along at the back as though I’d been with them the entire time. Most of them are too drunk or spaced out to notice.

  When I finally destroy the Sheriff I’ll put a stop to this.

  “Lookey-here! It’s party-time,” one of the guards hollers through the small door into the barbican. “C’mon in, girls.”

  I keep my head down and walk forwards, trying to disappear into the centre of the prostitutes. There are about a dozen, all wearing a uniform of tarty outfits.

  When we’re inside the barracks I try not to look at the guards, instead focussing on the surroundings. As I remembered, there are beer kegs and tankards lined up on one side of the wall. The barracks are on the right of the barbican, they stretch out for part of the wall, housing dormitories and eating areas. The windows look out beyond the city. The stone walls are the city wall. The guards are meant to keep watch through those windows. They are the only people in Nottingham allowed to shoot a gun. All of their guns are fitted with the best silencers so as to creep up on the Crawlers.

  “Hello, beautiful.” One of the guards takes me by the arm and pulls me onto his lap. He’s attractive enough not to need to trade for a one night stand. He even smells good. Yet still an acrid taste develops in my mouth and a wave of nausea takes me over. “I think you and me should get better acquainted.”

  “I’d like that,” I lie. “Why don’t I get us both a drink and then I’ll show you a good time.” I force myself to run a finger down his cheek to his chest.

  He nuzzles into my neck and it takes every tiny bit of my self-control
not to slam my fist in his face. “Don’t be long, gorgeous. I’ve not seen one as hot as you in a long time.”

  I pat him on the shoulder and get up. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  Back in a jiffy? The nerves must be getting to me. I hurry over to the beer keg. A couple are making out on top of the table which provides a nice bit of cover for what I’m about to do. They brew their own beer out of special pressurised tanks that I’ve had to take apart and clean many times so I know to pull out the valve release and slip the lid off the top. I pour the crushed up pills into the tank and replace the lid, making sure everything is back exactly how I found it. Then I pull as many pints as I can and line them up on the table.

  “Hey, who wants a beer?” I shout out.

  A chorus of cheers go up and I hand out the pints of beer. The guards take huge gulps and smack their lips. I can’t help but smile as I watch them all chugging down their drinks. This was even easier than expected.

  Robin

  “It’s taking too long,” I say. It has been ten minutes already which is more than enough time for something to happen to Marian. “We should get in there and get her out.”

  “Have patience,” says the monk. “She’ll be here.”

  I’ve never been religious or hung out with religious people before but this monk guy seems all right, even if Stafford Tuck is a weird name and being a monk is a weird thing.

  “I need to get in there.” Adrenaline runs like electricity up and down my arms. I tighten the hold of my crossbow.

  “You need to shut the hell up so the guards don’t hear you,” Much snaps. “They’re right on the other side of this wall, dickhead.”

  “All right, no need to get your balls in a twist,” I reply. He’s right, though. I shut up after that, listening intently on the other side of the East entrance to the city.

  After a few moments, I noticed the sound of the guards shuffling around on the other side. Occasionally, I hear a laugh or a loud exclamation, their deep voices muted by the solid wood. When a high-pitched female voice floats through the door my ears prick up and my muscles clench. Marian. She’s there. I stand closer to the door, almost leaning right on top of it.

  Can she take two guards out at once? I don’t know. She did best me in a fight, even if I hadn’t been on form that day.

  I hear a whimper and a dull thud. A man cries out and another thud. The door opens and I fall forwards, completely off balance, into Marian’s arms. In her right hand she holds a bloodied dagger.

  “Did you kill them, Marian?” Stafford asks urgently.

  Marian gives me an odd look with her lips curled up in half disgust and half amusement, before throwing me to the floor. She wipes the blade on her mini-skirt.

  “I knocked the first guy out,” she says. “The second lifted his gun and I had to slit his throat. We should get moving.” She tosses us guard uniforms. “Change into these before we go.”

  The uniform comprises of a dark top, trousers and boots. Leather armour slips over the front and laces up at the side. Underneath the tops the guards wear hoods pulled low over their faces to cover almost every inch of the wearer. The leather breast plates are emblazoned with a symbol, including an acorn, a serpent and a dagger.

  “The Sheriff’s crest,” Marian explains.

  “You should only take a life if absolutely necessary,” Stafford chastises her. “These are not Crawlers. These men are human beings with families.”

  Marian pauses with the armour halfway over her body. “I know, Friar. I… it all happened so fast.” For the briefest of moments her tough exterior crumbles and I find myself looking at a young girl. Those big blue eyes shine in the moonlight, wet with tears. She swallows and pulls the red wig from her head.

  “We need to head straight into the city centre. Much, close the door. Will, tie up the unconscious guard, and Alan, help him carry them both outside the wall. Robin, why are you staring at me like that?”

  I avert my eyes and feel a flush warming my cheeks. “I… um… didn’t…”

  “Right, whatever. Hurry up.”

  The lads jump to her instructions. They obey her better than they do me.

  “This way,” Marian says. “Robin, my sword?”

  I hand over the blade and she reattaches it to her hip. Then I follow her into the dark. We creep between the city wall and the first rows of houses in the city. There are some street lights, but they turn on and off intermittently. Marian had warned me of this. The Sheriff has all the electricity running from the many generators he’s had his men loot and store in the castle. Marian told me that before she left the castle she discovered his plans to build power plants and mines close to the city. I dread to think how much power he would have.

  “There’s a tunnel that leads from the old pub to the castle.”

  “You can’t be serious, Marian, everyone knows about that tunnel. It was a tourist attraction before patient zero,” I reply.

  “Yes, but there’s a second tunnel that veers to the right. No one knows about this one, not even the Sheriff. When I was cleaning his room I found a secret door opened. It leads away from Mortimer’s hole and then swings back and joins it near the pub.”

  “But we still have to get past the guards at the pub,” Will says.

  “We can take out a couple of guards and then join the second tunnel.”

  “Won’t it lead straight to the Sheriff’s room?” I ask.

  “Yeah, there is that,” Marian admits. “We’ll have to tie and gag him. We can get the key to the store from him then. Guy Gisborn, the Sheriff’s second in command, is the only other person with the key and we don’t want to deal with him if we can help it.” She pauses and swallows. The moonlight catches a glint of moisture in her eyes. “We should be able to move around the castle in our uniforms. Keep those hoods up. Oh, and one last thing.”

  “What is it, Marian?” Stafford asks.

  “If I’m captured you have to go without me and get the medicine back to Kate. That’s an order,” she says.

  Marian

  Mortimer’s hole is a tunnel of over three hundred steps built into the sandstone caves beneath Nottingham. I never learned what it was used for, whether it was as innocent as food deliveries or as devious as a secret passageway. Apparently, one of the Kings used it to invade the castle with his men, and capture Roger Mortimer and some Queen. Dad told me about it once but I think I was sharpening my sword and too busy to listen.

  We make our way to the old pub—a building that has survived many wars and a zombie apocalypse—and hide in the shadows. Two guards stand outside the entrance with silenced guns. This will have to be a sneak attack.

  I nod to Robin. He fires two arrows which catch both of them on the wrist. With a cry the guards drop their guns and stagger backwards, clutching their injuries. Stafford and Will are upon them with a bat, knocking them unconscious. I help Alan bind and gag them.

  Using the guard’s keys we unlock the secret door into the tunnels. The earthy scent of damp sandstone fills my nostrils. It’s dark but I don’t dare to turn on my torch in case there are other guards lurking up ahead. Instead, I let my right hand feel along the wall as we step forward.

  Robin’s warm body presses close to my back. A part of me wants to push him away, but a larger part of me welcomes his presence, welcomes the knowledge that he is there, ready to fight with me should the time come. We inch forward. I listen for the sound of danger, like a footfall or whisper up ahead. My eyes strain, searching for movement or torchlight. All the time I wonder whether I will remember the way. What if I dreamt the secret passageway from the Sheriff’s quarters? What if I’m mad to think it really exists? What if we walk straight past it? I might not recognise the… the…

  Wait? What is that? Could it be?

  Yes! A change in surface. My fingers find an almost imperceptible ridge. I stop and place both palms against the stone.

  “What is it?” Robin says. His hot breath sends a tingle down m
y spine.

  “I think this is where the passage begins.” I run my hands over the cobwebby stone, searching for the little lever… I know it’s here. “There’s a handle. It’s hidden in an alcove… oh!” My fingers touch metal. “Here it is.” I grip the lever and pull.

  There’s a slight rumble and the grating of stone against stone. The secret tunnel presents itself to us, opening like an incredibly slow moving sliding door.

  “What if someone hears us?” Alan whispers.

  “We’ll just have to take the chance,” I whisper back. “No one heard me when I first found it.”

  One by one we step into the new tunnel and I search for the special lever on the other side. I don’t know when the tunnel was formed or why. The levers are quite rusty but that could have happened in the last fifty years. Maybe it was during the Second World War or a hundred years ago. Who knows? The caves beneath Nottingham are so old that it’s impossible to tell.

  I pull the second secret lever and the stone, which I noticed was thinner than it seemed, closed, plunging us into darkness.

  “I hope there aren’t any rats,” Much says.

  The thought makes me shudder but I force confidence into my voice. “Come on, we have to leave. Grab hold of the person in front.” Robin clutches my waist. “On the shoulder,” I say through gritted teeth. He chuckles and moves his hand higher. My stomach flutters like butterfly wings.

  We step forward into the pitch-black.

  Robin

  Why does Marian have to smell so good? All the way through the tunnels all I can think about is that intoxicating citrus scent emanating from her. Even under the guard’s stinky clothes she smells like a breath of fresh air. It cuts through the dank of the tunnel.

  “Almost there,” she whispers.

  Marian steps forward and I hear a slight clanging noise.

  “I hope that doesn't wake him up,” Will says.

  There's a creak and a crack of light filters into the tunnel.

  “This is his room,” Marian whispers. She steps forward and pushes the door open a little more.

  “Wait,” I say. “I should go first and deal with the Sheriff.”

  “No way,” she replies. “I’ve waited a long time to do this.”

  My heart skips a beat as she creeps into the room. She approaches the Sheriff’s bed. My thumb runs along the smooth edge of my crossbow. The others crowd behind me, waiting. The Sheriff is fast asleep and I can hear his loud, rasping snores from the other side of the room. He must be a deep sleeper. Marian steps forward to his bed and withdraws her sword. Then, very calmly, she puts that sword right under his chin so that the sharp blade nestles amongst his stubble. The Sheriff's eyes open.

  He’s a bulky man with grey hair. The hair growth on his chin is somewhere between a smattering of stubble and a full beard. His hair is ruffled and messy from sleep. The wrinkles around his eyes suggest he is at least fifty years old.

  I’ve seen the Sheriff before. He was one of those men always telling us what we should and shouldn’t do after patient zero. This is a weird experience for me. There’s something odd and vulnerable about seeing a man wake up in bed.

  “Wha—what?” he mumbles.

  I can barely hear Marian’s voice as she whispers. “I’m going to say this once, Sheriff, and I want you to listen very carefully. Sit up, swing your legs out of bed and put your arms behind your back. Do not shout for your guards because I can slit your throat far quicker than they can arrive, and believe me, I'm waiting for you to give me a reason to do it.”

  He obeys, and Marian waves me forward. Using the rope in the bag I tie his arms and legs. Marian keeps the sword at his throat.

  “Tell me where the key is to the store and no one will get hurt,” she says.

  “Top drawer of my dresser.” His voice comes out in a croak.

  Marian retrieves a set of keys.

  “Mark my words,” says the Sheriff. “I will work out who this was and put a bounty on your head so high that every single person in Nottingham will be looking for you.”

  I imagine the smirk on Marian’s face beneath the hood.

  She pulls a gag over the Sheriff’s mouth and then hits him on the head with the butt of her sword. The Sheriff flops back onto the bed.

  “Let’s tuck him in, shall we?” she says. I hear the smile in her voice as we pull the sheets over him so just his eyes and nose are visible. “Now we need to get out of here and to the store without the guards getting suspicious.”

  “We should split up,” says Will. “It’s 3 am, a bunch of guards together will look weird.”

  “I’m the only one who knows where the store is,” Marian says. “Do you think you could get to the front of the castle?”

  “I shall help direct the group,” says Stafford. “I don't know the castle as well as Marian but I can find the way out.”

  “I’m going with Marian,” I say. The words slip out without me even thinking about them.

  “Good,” Marian says. “Robin and I will leave first. Leave it a couple of minutes before you go.”

  As we slip out of the Sheriff’s door and down the corridor I can’t help but think that this plan is going far too smoothly. When you’re fighting in a war you soon learn that things never go the way you expect them, and when you think things are going well there’s always something around the corner to stick a spanner straight in those works. I wish I knew when the spanner was coming and what it was going to mess up. It would make life so much easier. But then I guess that's the point of life. That’s what makes it interesting.

  The castle walls are adorned with great paintings and tapestries. Marian leads us through a maze of corridors. There’s a still quiet to the night. We pass another guard and the danger causes my heart to pound against my chest. I trip over my feet.

  “Act normally,” Marian hisses.

  “I am acting normally,” I reply. “I’m acting exactly like someone would when they’re constantly five seconds way from being sentenced to death.”

  Marian sighs and pulls me around a corner. “The store is ahead. There will be two guards on the doors. We have to tell them that we need something from the store. We have to be convincing and we have to keep our cool, okay?”

  I nod.

  “I think I’d better do the talking,” she says.

  “I think you might be right,” I admit.

  She clucks her tongue. “I expected better from a soldier.”

  “I wasn’t a very good soldier either,” I say.

  Marian pulls me back into the corridor by the arm and we head towards the door to the stores. As she described, the store is protected by two guards.

  “The Sheriff needs supplies from the store,” Marian says. She lifts the key from her pocket and shows them.

  “All right,” answers one of the guards. He steps aside and lets Marian open the door.

  I can’t quite believe how easy this is. All we need to do is get in, get the goods, and get out.

  When we’re inside Marian lets out a high-pitched nervous giggle. “It worked! It really worked. Now, look for antibiotics, as many as we can get into this bag.”

  There are stacks and stacks of shelves covered in expensive goods: medicines, smoked meat, fresh vegetables, chests of jewellery, piles of packaged pills, bottles and ointments. There are even guns hanging from the walls with a large collection of bullets. I find myself moving towards the weapons, gazing at the many swords and crossbows.

  “Robin, we need to get the medicine and get out,” Marian reminds me.

  “He’s stockpiling,” I say. “He’s gathering as much as he can and stockpiling it. Does he know something we don’t? The wall, the goods… what does it mean?”

  “Robin, we need to hurry.” She rams boxes of pills into the bag. Then she sighs and pauses. “Something is going on with the Crawlers. They are getting more organised. Haven’t you noticed that they don’t attack as much? I used to come across dozens of Crawl
ers outside the stadium on a daily basis. Now I hardly see any.”

  “There are fewer—”

  “No. There is still a score of them out there. They lurk now. They wait for the perfect attack. They are organised.”

  Marian’s words cause a chill to seep over my skin. “You really think so? That’s not good.”

  “Tell me about it,” she mutters. “Come on. We have to get back to Kate.”

  I step away from the weapons and move over to Marian to help her stuff the bag full of medicine.

  “Come on, that’s enough,” she says. “We should go.” She pulls the bag shut and turns to leave. At the same moment the door opens and a tall man walks in.

  He has a messy length of black hair and deep set dark eyes. His nose is slightly hooked and his lips are thin. He wears black from head to toe and a Katana sword at his hip. His eyes seem to penetrate the room. Next to me, Marian stiffens and remains stock still. The bag falls to her feet. She fumbles with her hood, pulling it over her face.

  “What are you doing in here?” the fellow shouts. He can’t be much older than me or Marian, yet he commands attention. He’s someone used to getting his own way. He’s the kind of spoilt brat who has had everything handed to him his entire life. “This place is out of bounds. Guards should not be in here.”

  I wait for Marian to speak but she is still in some sort of shock so it has to be me. “The Sheriff asked us to collect some things for him.”

  “And?” he says.

  “And what?” I reply.

  “What should be on the end of that sentence?” He steps closer to me and grabs me by the chin with an iron grip. “’The sheriff asked us to collect some things for him…’ what?”

  “Umm, sir?” I say.

  He lets go of my chin and pats my cheek. “Much better. What did the Sheriff want? Especially at this time of the night. It seems a bit suspicious, does it not?”

  “Some medicine, sir,” I say. I have to force the word out for this egotistical piece of crap. “He’s feeling a bit under the weather, like.”

  “It seems odd that he asked you to do it when I’m available. I am his second in command after all.” He straightens up and neatens the front of his jacket. “His right-hand man.”

  This must be the infamous Gisbon.

  “I can’t tell you why, sir,” I say, “simply what happened.”

  “Yes, well. Let’s see what you’re taking him, then,” he says. He points at the bag with his boot. “I say. There’s a lot here. It’s heavy.” He picks up the bag and fingers the zip.

  I have to do something. As soon as he opens the bag he’ll know we’re lying. Why would the Sheriff need fifty packets of antibiotics at three in the morning? The blood thuds in my ears as I try to think of something, anything.

  Marian rips the bag from his hands and throws it at me. She unsheathes her sword and shouts one word: “Go!”

  I clutch the bag and dodge past Gisbon. The two guards crowd the entrance with their guns raised. One fires. I drop to the floor, plough into their legs and knock them over like skittles, before leaping back to my feet and escaping down the corridor. There’s no point acting normal now.

  I speed down the hallway as fast as I can. When I turn back to check Marian is behind me, there’s nothing there.

  Marian

  Guy unsheathes his sword. “Go after him, you idiots!” he yells at the guards.

  I make the first play, swinging the sword in an upward diagonal strike. He meets my sword with his own and pushes me back. I regain my footing as he swings for my legs, leaping into the air just in time. I use a downward slice towards him but he dodges it, pivots, and comes back at me with a horizontal swing which would’ve buried deep into my skull if I hadn’t blocked it. He presses down on my sword with a domineering force, moving the two blades towards my face. How long before he sees who is underneath the hood? Sweat trickles down my forehead. This isn’t like our training sessions. It’s brutal. He could kill me at any time.

  My strength gives way and I drop to the floor and roll to the right. Guy’s sword smashes down onto the stone floor. I back away, slipping between the stacks.

  Guy laughs. “There’s no point hiding from me.” I hear his footsteps coming closer. “You’re pretty good with a Katana, I’ll give you that. Whoever you are, you didn’t learn that in the wilds, you learned it in the dojo. As far as I’m aware, they don’t have many outside Nottingham, so I’m guessing you’re local.”

  He has no idea it’s me. At least that’s something. I thought he might have recognised my voice or my fighting style. My body feels heavy all of a sudden, as though I’m disappointed that the man trying to kill me didn’t recognise me. Get a grip, Marian.

  “Come on now, this is getting ridiculous,” he says with a sigh.

  Guy appears around the corner. In a desperate play for time I fling a heavy metal platter at his head. He blocks it with his arm but manages to drop his sword in the process. It gives an opportunity and I take it. I run at him full force, but as I attempt to push him down, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back towards his body. I cry out in pain as he slams me against the wall. My sword clatters to the flagstones.

  “Who are you?” he shouts in my face. “Why are you in my castle?”

  I angle my face downwards to keep it shrouded in the shadow of my hood. Guy reaches towards me and I wriggle around, trying to stop him grasping the hood.

  His fingers touch the material as one of the guards appears in the doorway. “The Sheriff is tied up in his bed,” the guard says.

  “Why are you telling me this,” Guy snaps. “Go and untie him.”

  The distraction gives me a slither of time to punch him in the nose, but he anticipates my attack and seizes my fist, squeezing my fingers until I cry out. When he drops my hand he clutches the hood and rips it back from my face. My hair escapes in a flurry of blond.

  “No,” Guy whispers. “No, Marian, not you. Anyone but you.”

  Robin

  How could I leave without her? When I think of what might happen to her my throat closes up and my stomach churns. The heavy sound of approaching footsteps drives me into a doorway. Luckily, it’s empty. I wait until the sound is gone before I leave. I find myself running aimlessly down hallways, no longer knowing where I am in the castle. Another set of guards comes careening around the corner and I lift up my crossbow ready to shoot.

  “No, Robin!” Will lifts his hood to reveal his face. “This way.”

  “No, they have Marian. We have to go back.” It’s only then that I realise Will is with one other person. “Who’s this?”

  “Alan,” he replies.

  “Where are Much and Stafford?”

  “They’re waiting for us at the East gate. We came back for you,” Will says.

  “We have to get Marian,” I insist.

  “There’s no time. Come on. She can look after herself.”

  Will grasps me by the arm and forces me forward.

  Marian

  “What are you doing here?” Guy’s eyes bore into mine. I’d forgotten how dark and commanding they can be, like precious onyx stones.

  “I was desperate. There are people dying in our camp.”

  He grips my arms tighter. “I could have killed you, Marian, you stupid—”

  I knee him as hard as I can. Even when he flinches his strong hold never weakens. “I did what I had to do.”

  “If the Sheriff finds you—”

  “Let me go, Guy. Better yet, leave the Sheriff and come with me. Come with me, Guy,” I plead. I hate the way my voice whines.

  He lets out a tortured noise like a growl. “I can’t. I can’t give all of this up, not now. The Sheriff gives me so much here—power, responsibility... What would I have in your camp?”

  Me. You would have me, Guy, body and soul. “I can give you responsibility, too. In my camp you help people, not destroy them.” His strong body leans against mine. He smells like wood and metal an
d musk. Images of him sharpening his Katana flash in my mind. We fought Crawlers together.

  He’s so close to me that our noses almost touch. I find myself lifting my chin, ready to kiss him, to be kissed, like when we would steal kisses after training. So long ago.

  The sound of footsteps causes Guy’s head to snap up. “You have to go,” he urges. He takes me by the hand towards the window. “Climb from here. There’s a drain pipe on the left. It’s the reason why I had these lockable shutters installed.” He pulls a set of keys from his pocket. “I never accounted for thieves to come through the front door.”

  “My sword,” I say.

  “There’s no time,” he snaps.

  “But, Crawlers,” I insist.

  He lets out a growl and hurries back towards the swords. Quick as a flash he tosses the Katana to me. I catch it one-handed by the Nakago. He smiles at me and I know he’s thinking about when we trained together as children.

  “I should have recognised the blade,” he says.

  “You should have recognised me,” I reply, my throat thick and my voice husky.

  The footsteps approach. Guy rushes towards me. He places one hand on my cheek. “Go, Marian. Promise me you will never come back.”

  “No,” I say, and then I climb through the window.

  Robin

  Stafford seizes me by the throat. “You left her? With Gisbon? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I deserve it. Why did I take the bag? Why did I run?

  “Robin did what was needed for the good of the group,” Will says. “We need to get the medicine to Kate before it’s too late. Otherwise it will all be for nought.”

  “He’s right,” Much adds. “I really like Marian. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, but we’re outnumbered right now and we can’t do anything to save her. We have to leave and come back with reinforcements.”

  Alan opens the East gate. My legs have never felt so heavy.

  A few yards out of the city I spin around. “I have to go back.”

  Much and Will block my way.

  “Can’t let you do that, Robin,” Much says. He pushes me back. “You’ll get yourself killed. We’ll come back tomorrow. We have a little girl to save.”

  I give Much a frustrated shove before I relent and turn back towards the river. He’s right and I’m wrong again. I’m on a roll of bad decisions lately. If it hadn’t been for Marian, we would have gone straight into the city and ended up stuck beneath a tyrant, probably conscripted into his guards or hung for desertion from the army.

  “We’ll get her back,” Much whispers as we head towards the stadium. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Crawlers!” Alan exclaims in a breathless voice. “My God! They’re everywhere.”

  I’d been moping along staring at my shoes. Now I lift my head and see the many shadows around us—circling us.

  “Marian was right,” I say. “They are getting organised. Look, they’ve ambushed us!”

  We close ranks, each holding our weapons aloft, and with our backs to each other so we face the enemy. We have only the moonlight as a guide. I can barely make out the features of the Crawlers but I am able to count at least twenty shadows. The realisation hits me harder than a wrecking ball. How can we fight so many?

  “Fire until your bullets run out and then fight like bulls!” Stafford calls out. He shoots first, hitting a Crawler straight in the head. The bullet is silent and deadly. The Crawler falls backwards with a silhouette of blood spray exploding from his skull.

  I follow his example. At least we have the guard guns—that’s something. I aim and fire, thankful for my army training. Before long I’ve taken out five of the creatures. Will, Alan, and Much send their fair share to hell.

  But then something happens. One of the Crawlers tips his head back and the most haunting, fearsome noise comes from his throat; a growl and a roar and a moan all in one. Every single hair lifts on the back of my neck. The seconds following the haunting cry hang in silence. The quiet sound of the rustling wind weaves through the air. I don’t breathe. Next to me, Much is as still as stone.

  Will breaks the spell. “What was that?”

  I shake my head. “Whatever it was, it’s new. It has never happened before.”

  “They’re communicating,” Stafford says. “They’re calling for back up.”

  The remaining Crawlers circle us. On occasion, one or two dash forward to attack, but I shoot them down until my gun is empty. I toss it to the ground and retrieve the crossbow from my back.

  Shadows emerge from the surroundings, some from the river banks, others from behind trees or abandoned buildings. There’s no way we can hold our position for much longer. They come at us with everything they have and I find myself shooting at anything and everything, on more than one occasion narrowly missing Will. As soon as one arrow is deployed I have to kick and punch my way through the Crawlers. Most of them are the slow, drooling Crawlers we’ve always known, but this new breed keeps cropping up and they duck, hit and move at speed.

  “We can’t take them!” Will shouts. “Alan!”

  My head snaps to the right to see Alan being pulled towards the ground. I fire the crossbow and take out his attacker. Alan stands. The moonlight falls on his face, showing the whites of his eyes bulging out in terror. I catch up to him and help fight back against the Crawlers, scrappily hitting out at everything I can. I kill one of them by smashing a stone into his skull.

  “You all right?” I ask him.

  Alan nods. His eyes are wide and unblinking in terror. I can tell the nightmares from the North are back. I wish I had time to talk him through it but another stream of Crawlers comes at us and I fight back with everything I have, keeping Alan behind me. I can’t let him get hurt. I just can’t.

  Three of them are slow and easy to take out, but the remaining two are quicker than your usual Crawler. They dodge my swings. I fire an arrow and it sticks out of the Crawler’s chest. He still comes for me, his arms reaching towards my throat. I kick him between the legs but it’s pointless, they can’t feel pain. The other takes hold of my face in one hand and squeezes until I feel like my cheekbones are going to break. His teeth inch towards my flesh. This is it. It’s over. It’s finally over for me. My eyes seek out Alan but he’s being dragged down to the ground by another Crawler. Stafford is bravely fighting a group with his sword. Will is surrounded. Everything else is shadows. Blood shot eyes stare into mine. Crawler drool drops onto my arm. This is it. This is how it ends…

  A metallic slice rips through the air and a skull is cut it two. The Crawler drops to the floor in a slump, leaving my face sore but free. Behind him stands Marian. There are blood splatters on her face and her white hair gleams in the moonlight. Her beauty takes my breath away. When she moves the spell is broken. With a swift flick of her sword the other Crawler is dealt with. Then she’s gone, helping Alan.

  I laugh. I put my hands on my thighs, lean forward and laugh. I can’t believe it. Stafford fights off his Crawlers, Will wins against his. Alan is back on his feet. I retrieve my arrows and load up my crossbow. Marian uses her Katana to cut through the never ending crowd of Crawlers. We’re winning again.

  “We need to get back to the stadium!” Marian shouts.

  She takes the lead, chopping her way through the Infected. I stay close to Alan, protecting him as best I can. Much fights fast and strong. Still, there are half a dozen chasing us, moving too fast for an average Crawler.

  Marian shines her torch on the mirror. “Hurry!” she yells through the gate.

  Even more of them emerge from the shadows. Where are they coming from? Sweat pours down my forehead, mingling with the dirty blood of the Infected.

  Finally comes the sound of approaching footsteps.

  “Let us in,” Marian shouts. “Hurry! There are too many Crawlers out here.”

  In the dim light I see Dev backing away from the gate. “No.”

  “What?” I yell. “Open t
he gate or we die!”

  “No,” he says again. “I can’t. They’ll kill us all.”

  Marian rattles the gate in frustration. I try to cover her, but with one arrow left there’s not much I can do. “Dev, you can’t leave us!”

  “What’s going on?” Mum appears at the gate. Her eyes widen as she sees the Crawlers. “Dev, open this gate at once.” Mum lurches towards him but Dev knocks her back.

  “Mum!” I call out. Blinding hot temper takes me over and I rush to the entrance.

  She falls to the floor. Dev disappears back away from the gates and we’re left with a group of approaching Crawlers.

  Marian

  A seeping numbness spreads through my body as my last hope dissipates. After everything I did for the community, they choose to leave us to die like dogs. I lift my Katana and prepare myself for the last stand. Stafford moves by my side and Robin comes closer. He has only a rock for a weapon so I reach down and pull the dagger from my boot.

  “Here,” I say.

  His hand touches mine. “Thank you.”

  The Crawlers rush towards us and there is no time for anything but fighting. I see nothing but targets in my mind, ways to stay alive. For a moment I think I can hear a strange jingling sound, but I pay no attention. Surviving is my one focus.

  Then Robin gasps. I finish off my Crawler and turn in his direction. When I see what he sees my heart soars higher than it ever has before. People—my people—stream through the open gate wielding weapons. They’ve come to fight by my side. I glance at Stafford in disbelief. He nods to me as if to say “I told you, I told you they believed in you.”

  They came for me. They came to help.

  They came to fight.

  We have to finish this.