glance out of one of the narrow windows. The storm was still raging outside. It might cover the noise they were making. He hefted the rifle across his lap anyway, and kept his eyes on the door.
“Better go after her , mate.”
John gave a frustrated nod, and hurried toward the stairs.
Jason sat against the corridor wall, his expression foggy as he stared down at the small tear in his forearm. Around him, the bodies of the rats, squashed like bugs, littered the floor.
“I don’t understand,” he mumbled. “Why am I still here?”
He looked at Rachel, and she saw a heart breaking echo of her little brother in his eyes, the boy who had found school so overwhelming, who had been frightened of everything. The one she had so fiercely protected. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Come downstairs Jase, we’ll figure it out.”
She slipped a hand under his massive arm, pulling gently. After a moment of resistance he stood and followed her toward the stairs.
As they descended John crouched and examined the rats. They had been infected, he was certain, their eyes looked ready to burst, and he was sure if they could they would have chewed them out of their own skulls. So why hadn’t they passed the infection on?
He stared a moment longer, and a thought dawned, something that seemed important, though he could not put his finger on why.
The rats hadn’t attacked each other.
Lost in thought, he followed Jason and Rachel back downstairs.
*
“Do you think it’s like this everywhere?”
Claire had finished the entire pack of peanuts, and with the distraction of hunger pushed aside for the moment, her attention turned back to their predicament. As she waited for Bill’s response, she ran a hand along the bar at which she sat. She liked the way it felt: rough, grainy; old. A lot of people must have sat exactly where she now sat.
Bill was standing a few feet away at one of the pub’s large windows. Thick glass, opaque. They afforded some protection, but they also meant he could not see what was happening on the street. He felt far more exposed here than in the cellar. If one of the crazed lunatics out there put their mind to getting through it, the glass would present no obstacle.
He frowned.
“I think it might be, Claire. If it weren’t, I suspect the place would be crawling with police right now, or army.”
“I saw the police try to stop them in the market. They didn’t last long.”
Bill nodded absently.
“But we’re safe here, aren’t we?”
Bill turned from the window and stroked his rough chin.
“Ish. We were safer in the cellar.”
Claire wrinkled her small nose, the memory of the smell down there still fresh.
Bill grinned.
“I think we should be moving on , though. Aberystwyth isn’t safe. Maybe nowhere is, but I’d sure feel a lot better if I could get you somewhere with less people.”
Claire brightened.
“Like where?”
“My brother has a place. Up on the north coast. Right on the cliffs, and not a soul for miles. I can’t think there would be many safer places than that right now.”
“How will we get there?”
Bill smiled at her, eyes twinkling.
“Same way you get anywhere young lady. One step at a time. And the first step is getting out of this pub. Come with me.”
He started for the door that led out of the bar area. Claire shuffled off the bar stool that she’d been dangling her short legs from and hurried after him.
“Where are we going?”
“Upstairs. First thing we need to do is get a look at what’s out there.”
Through the bar exit and into a murky corridor beyond: Claire saw several doors bearing universally-recognised stick figures representing man and woman. A wider door depicted a stick figure sitting on a wheelchair, and to the right of that, another door marked Staff Only. Bill pushed it open with a wrinkled hand.
Bill climbed the stairs in silence, which made the wheezing of the air travelling around his lungs all the more noticeable to Claire. She
“Better go after her , mate.”
John gave a frustrated nod, and hurried toward the stairs.
Jason sat against the corridor wall, his expression foggy as he stared down at the small tear in his forearm. Around him, the bodies of the rats, squashed like bugs, littered the floor.
“I don’t understand,” he mumbled. “Why am I still here?”
He looked at Rachel, and she saw a heart breaking echo of her little brother in his eyes, the boy who had found school so overwhelming, who had been frightened of everything. The one she had so fiercely protected. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Come downstairs Jase, we’ll figure it out.”
She slipped a hand under his massive arm, pulling gently. After a moment of resistance he stood and followed her toward the stairs.
As they descended John crouched and examined the rats. They had been infected, he was certain, their eyes looked ready to burst, and he was sure if they could they would have chewed them out of their own skulls. So why hadn’t they passed the infection on?
He stared a moment longer, and a thought dawned, something that seemed important, though he could not put his finger on why.
The rats hadn’t attacked each other.
Lost in thought, he followed Jason and Rachel back downstairs.
*
“Do you think it’s like this everywhere?”
Claire had finished the entire pack of peanuts, and with the distraction of hunger pushed aside for the moment, her attention turned back to their predicament. As she waited for Bill’s response, she ran a hand along the bar at which she sat. She liked the way it felt: rough, grainy; old. A lot of people must have sat exactly where she now sat.
Bill was standing a few feet away at one of the pub’s large windows. Thick glass, opaque. They afforded some protection, but they also meant he could not see what was happening on the street. He felt far more exposed here than in the cellar. If one of the crazed lunatics out there put their mind to getting through it, the glass would present no obstacle.
He frowned.
“I think it might be, Claire. If it weren’t, I suspect the place would be crawling with police right now, or army.”
“I saw the police try to stop them in the market. They didn’t last long.”
Bill nodded absently.
“But we’re safe here, aren’t we?”
Bill turned from the window and stroked his rough chin.
“Ish. We were safer in the cellar.”
Claire wrinkled her small nose, the memory of the smell down there still fresh.
Bill grinned.
“I think we should be moving on , though. Aberystwyth isn’t safe. Maybe nowhere is, but I’d sure feel a lot better if I could get you somewhere with less people.”
Claire brightened.
“Like where?”
“My brother has a place. Up on the north coast. Right on the cliffs, and not a soul for miles. I can’t think there would be many safer places than that right now.”
“How will we get there?”
Bill smiled at her, eyes twinkling.
“Same way you get anywhere young lady. One step at a time. And the first step is getting out of this pub. Come with me.”
He started for the door that led out of the bar area. Claire shuffled off the bar stool that she’d been dangling her short legs from and hurried after him.
“Where are we going?”
“Upstairs. First thing we need to do is get a look at what’s out there.”
Through the bar exit and into a murky corridor beyond: Claire saw several doors bearing universally-recognised stick figures representing man and woman. A wider door depicted a stick figure sitting on a wheelchair, and to the right of that, another door marked Staff Only. Bill pushed it open with a wrinkled hand.
Bill climbed the stairs in silence, which made the wheezing of the air travelling around his lungs all the more noticeable to Claire. She
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