Coldbrook

‘And they threatened to shoot us down if we don’t comply?’ Sean said. The stewardess didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

Sean started backing along the aisle, but the stewardess stayed where she was, watching them go and giving Jayne a half-smile.

‘A deep bite?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Jayne said, joining the conversation for the first time.

‘It drew blood?’

Jayne nodded.

‘And you’re sure the person who bit you was. .?’

‘I’m sure,’ Jayne said. ‘Then I shut myself in a car. She. . it looked in. Then left.’ More pain flared through her hips, and she pulled herself upright, groaning at the effort.

‘There’s food and drink back there,’ the stewasdess said. ‘Look in compartment six. Some nice salads.’

‘Thanks,’ Sean said. ‘Will you tell us when we’re close?’

‘About three hours.’ She glanced back over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. ‘I think some of them might come for her before then.’

Sean nodded his thanks, and he and Jayne watched the stewardess disappear behind the curtain again.

‘If they come?’ Jayne asked.

‘No one’s going to walk into a bullet,’ he said.

‘You’d really shoot them?’

She saw doubt and fear in what she’d previously thought were the eyes of a strong guy. She guessed Sean was around fifty, stocky and fit, and he had scars — two parallel wounds on his left cheek, pale against his dark skin. She might ask about them, given time.

‘’S long as they think I will, we’ll be okay.’

‘I might be immune,’ she said. ‘What if I am?’

‘How rare is that disease of yours?’

Jayne nodded slowly as understanding dawned, and Sean sat in the seat across from her, leaning out so that he could see along the aisle.

‘Fuck,’ he said softly.

4

Jonah knew that this was action for the sake of it. But sitting in Secondary in the dark with nothing to do would drive him mad, so coming back down to Control was at least something to occupy his mind. Nothing will have changed, he thought. He slid the gun into his waistband and pulled back the chairs he’d propped beneath the door’s handle. As he opened the door, something whispered behind him.

Jonah whirled around and shone his torch back along the corridor. The wall was smeared with dried blood, black in the artificial light. Nothing moved.

‘Is that you?’ he said. Nothing answered. ‘Bastard!’

He was talking to shadows.

He tugged the door open and stepped inside Control. It was cooler than the rest of Coldbrook. The air held a hint of something alien to this place — flowing water, soil, healthy plants. He breathed in and held his breath: the scents of another world were startling. Previously the containment field had kept the two worlds separate, but Holly had switched it off to go through. Holly is through there, he thought, staring at the breach. It glowed gently in the torchlight.

Moths fluttered in the light, creatures from elsewhere. Their presence took his breath away.

He’d thought seriously about going through, but not yet. He could not abandon his world while there still might be a chance for it. So he stood just inside the door and aimed the torch around the room, switching to wide beam so that shadows could not hide for too long. A few flies buzzed in the light. The moths spiralled in confusion, dusting the beam. The withered creature still lay where it had fallen.

And that was when the dark started talking at last.

‘It hurts when you pass through.’

Jonah gasped and pressed himself against the glass wall. He shone the torch this way and that, tracking its beam with the gun.

‘But pain purifies.’ The voice was low and wet. ‘It purges the old. Emphasises the new. The pain is necessary. There is so much more to come.’

Jonah swung left, and when he turned back the man stood in front of him, several paces away and different from before. He still held the pulsing red organ, its tendrils stirring as the light hit them, but his other hand had removed part of his mask to speak. His newly exposed lips were as pale as dead fish, the flesh around his mouth smooth and speckled with moisture. He pressed the mask back across his mouth and Jonah heard a pained inhalation. Steam hazed the air. Then the man removed it again to speak some more.

‘I am the Inquisitor, and you will be prepared and instructed.’ His teeth were rotted, black and cracked, and a faint mist seemed to issue from his throat.

Jonah raised the gun and aimed, but the man merely pressed his mask back against his mouth. He had yet to expose his eyes. Jonah flicked the torch this way and that, trying to get its light to penetrate the goggles. They glittered wet and dark.

Jonah lowered the gun, backed to the doorway and slipped through, never taking his gaze from the man. He followed.

‘This world is dead,’ the Inquisitor said. ‘You are honoured, because for you it is the beginning.’

‘This world is not dead!’ Jonah said, surprised at the forcefulness in his voice.

The intruder breathed in heavily once again, hissing softly as he exhaled.

Jonah flipped the torch around to check the corridor, and when he turned back the man had gone. A light mist hung in the air where he had been.

‘Where are you?’ Jonah whispered. ‘Inquisitor. Bastard.’ Control was silent, the corridor behind him whispering once again with scratching echoes of the dead.

Jonah stacked the chairs against the door, slid down the wall and nursed the torch. He remained there for some time, because that place was as safe as any.

5

The zombies surged by, and none of them had eyes for Holly. They were hideous. Many appeared unharmed and unchanged, apart from the blankness in their eyes and the sense of terrible purpose in their actions. Some had been wounded, and the injuries were many and varied — bullet holes, knife wounds, scrapes and gouges, burns, crush injuries, impact marks. Some were naked, some were in their nightclothes, others wore uniforms, suits, or casual clothing. The one thing that united them, other than the empty eyes, was the blood.

It was smeared across their mouths and jaws, their chins and throats and chests. These creatures had been biting, and they were seeking more.

Holly started backward, but Moira held her still.

‘Be calm,’ Moira said.

The zombies flickered from view, only to be replaced by more, and Holly realised that she was looking at a projection. The room was large and dim, the atmosphere heavy with moisture, and there were things in there that she could not comprehend.

The projection point of view shifted, turning to follow the path that the zombies were taking. The image splashed with something wet, and when it cleared she saw a long straight street, lined on each side with tall buildings. One of the buildings was on fire — people at the higher windows were shouting and waving. Their voices must have been desperate, but she could hear nothing. This was a vision only, and for that she was glad.