Coldbrook

‘What’s happened?’

He shrugged, his back still turned towards her. She could see the window misting and clearing as he breathed, and she wanted to tell him to get back. But it was dark inside the cabin, and outside there was flickering, dreadful light.

‘Terminal’s still burning. Hour ago, a big passenger jet overflew the airport, real low, then headed north. A few minutes after that an F16 went back and forth a few times.’

Jayne sat up slowly, wincing against the pain in her stiff limbs and joints. As she started massaging, the determination in Sean’s voice gave her a boost.

‘Did you speak to your daughter?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Did your friend call back?’ she asked.

‘Leigh? Yeah.’ Sean paused.

‘And?’

‘And he said he’d put a call in, and entered you on the immunity register. Help should be on its way.’

‘Should be?’

Sean turned around at last, retreating from the window, and for a moment Jayne saw the glimmer of distant fires reflected against his skin.

‘Shouldn’t we be calling the police, or something?’ she asked. ‘Or. . I don’t know, the army? Scientists?’

‘I’ve been thinking about this,’ Sean said, shaking his head, ‘and-’

From outside they heard the whoop of a police siren. Eyes wide, Sean glanced from Jayne to the window and back again.

‘Help?’ she asked.

‘Maybe. But we have to be careful.’ He was still nursing the gun in his hand, and she wondered whether he’d closed his eyes even for a moment while she had been asleep. She felt very selfish. She had rested, mourning a love she knew was dead, and all the while Sean had watched over her, not knowing what had happened to his daughter.

Jayne pushed herself upright and staggered across the aisle to the far seats. Sean grabbed her hand and eased her down, and they looked out of two adjoining windows. In the distance, past a series of boarding gates where several aircraft were parked, a blue light flashed three times. A siren whooped again, followed by three more flashes.

‘What are they doing?’ she asked.

‘Looking for survivors, maybe?’

‘Or looking for us?’

Below them, several shapes emerged from beneath the plane’s fuselage and headed across the wide span of concrete. One man walked quickly, almost with authority, but the splash of dried blood down the back of his white shirt was stark and black. The others followed at a slower pace, a couple of them hindered by the wounds that had changed them.

‘Hiding beneath us,’ Jayne said.

‘Sneaky bastards.’

‘Sneaky? You think they can sneak?’

Sean gave her a sidelong look and shrugged.

‘We should signal them,’ she said. ‘But we should warn-’

‘I doubt they need warning.’ He tensed for a moment, thinking. He chuckled. ‘Wish I could drive this thing.’

‘Wish I could fly this thing.’

Sean nodded, still distracted. ‘Cabin lights,’ he said at last.

‘I’m sure there’s a master switch, but where?’

‘Maybe it doesn’t matter.’ Sean reached for the overhead control panels, pushed buttons, and the weak reading lights flicked on.

‘Might as well light a match,’ Jayne said, watching from the window. She could make out two vehicles, one a police car and the other a larger truck. In the flickering light of the burning concourse, they looked white.

Sean walked back and forth along the cabin, flicking on the lights.

Something exploded in the blazing terminal, sending a column of fire and rolling black smoke skyward. Gouts of flame arced comet-like from the blast, and as they rained down they too started exploding in brief, incredibly bright bursts.

‘Gas canisters,’ Jayne said. ‘The cop car’s moving back.’ She heard Sean’s footsteps as he raced to switch on more lights and suddenly she felt incredibly exposed here in this contained space. The glare of the explosions and the subdued lighting behind her combined to blur her vision, and outside there could be any number of grim faces turning her way. They’ll see us now, she thought. Whether or not those cops are here for us — whether or not they see us — the zombies will know we’re here. This might have been their one safe place, but now it was compromised.

‘I think we have to get out,’ she said when Sean crouched by her side.

‘Come on, come on,’ he said, willing the cops to see them.

The two vehicles were reversing away from the burning terminal and away from them, moving slowly but obviously under control. There was a flash from the truck’s passenger window that might have been a gunshot. And then the police cruiser stopped.

‘Come on,’ Sean said again. The cruiser’s blue lights flashed a few times, and he reached up and flicked two reading lights off and on.

‘They won’t see that,’ Jayne said, but then she grinned. They had seen it, because they’d been watching for it. And now they were powering across the airport, skirting around the burning main building, and as the police car veered around a staggering figure she closed her eyes just before the truck ran it down.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she breathed, and Sean squeezed her hand.

‘Come on. Back door on the starboard side.’

‘I’m scared,’ she said, thinking of a car journey through what was happening out there. Here they had drunk wine and talked, and she had slept. Out there, carnage and chaos ruled.

‘We could never have stayed here for long,’ Sean said. He looked older than he had before, his eyes heavier and darker because of his fear for his daughter. France? he’d said, amazed, and Jayne still could not believe that the infection had travelled so far so quickly.

‘I know.’ She nodded, and started rubbing her shoulders with both hands.

‘I’ll open the door.’ He walked slowly, glancing back as she followed. Jayne felt protected, but she also knew that she was providing Sean with a distraction, and a cause.

The blast of warm air when Sean opened the door was shocking. He stood back slightly, gun raised, then edged forward slowly.

‘They there?’ Jayne asked. She had to raise her voice against the roaring fires, and she realised how close they were. And the fact that they were in an aircraft that probably contained tens of thousands of gallons of fuel hit home.

Sean waved her over with one hand, then shoved the gun in his belt and held out his other hand palm out.

Jayne joined him at the door, wincing against the incredible wave of heat radiating from the conflagration. It stretched her skin and dried her eyes, and when she gasped her lungs burned.

The police cruiser was parked thirty feet away. The truck stopped thirty feet behind that, its bodywork, scratched and bumped. There was a swathe of dried blood across one wing and up the door. Its windows were darkened, and she felt someone — something — staring at her.

The cruiser was similarly battered, and the driver’s window had been smashed. Even before the door opened she saw the size of the man in there, and as he got out of the car and looked up at them, Jayne felt an unaccountable rush of optimism. The cop must have been six and a half feet tall. With someone like him coming for her. .

She closed her eyes and sighed, wondering how she could be so foolish. Maybe because she had always