But he knew she was right.
This was her discovery to make. As nice or as nasty as it may be.
And Noah couldn’t help thinking this discovery was going to be anything other than nasty.
“Okay,” he said. “But I’ll be here. I’ll be by your side. No matter what.”
She squeezed his hand again, lightly this time.
“Thank you,” she said.
He squeezed it back. Felt that resistance to connect, to bond, and knew there was no hope trying to suppress that resistance with this girl. Not now. Not after all this time.
They walked together, over towards the trams. Their footsteps echoed against the concrete. Names of celebrities stared up at them from the Comedy Carpet, like Britain’s own version of a Hollywood walk of fame, except far tackier and less glamorous. That was the charm of Blackpool. It was a bit shit, but it knew it was a bit shit and wasn’t afraid to brand itself as some kind of shit Vegas. That was part of the joke. Part of its appeal. Its self-referential sense of humour was one of the only things going for it.
As they walked, Noah swore he saw movement between the hotels. Figures watching through the dusty, cracked windows. He felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck. A sense that this was wrong. That something was coming. Something was watching.
He turned around and looked ahead at the trams. And the closer he got, his footsteps echoing more through the silence, he saw flies. Flies buzzing around the trams. A slight smell to the air; a hint of rot and decay.
His stomach turned again. The sense something was wrong intensified. The knowledge they were going to find something they really didn’t want to find was at a peak.
But still he walked. Bruno walking by his side, ears lowered.
And Iqrah. Focused intently on the trams ahead.
The sound of the buzzing flies intensified as they got closer. The smell was so bad he wanted to hurl. There was a disturbing inevitability about this walk. A knowledge of what they were going to find.
He wanted to step in.
He wanted to protect Iqrah from it.
But he knew he couldn’t.
He knew there was nothing to stop this march now.
They reached the side of the tram. Saw the open door. And on the footsteps onto it, he noticed something. A brown stain. Flies wandering along it.
Something like blood.
Noah put a hand in front of Iqrah. Stopped her progressing.
She looked up at him, momentarily shaken from her trance.
“Are you sure about this?” he said, looking down into her eyes. “Are you sure?”
She opened her mouth. Like she was torn. Like she didn’t know what to say.
And then she closed her mouth, and she nodded.
Noah’s stomach sank.
But he understood.
He took a deep breath.
Then he stepped around the front of the tram, over to the open door.
When he saw what was inside, he wished he’d never looked.
And he wished Iqrah had never looked.
Chapter Six
Noah stared into the tram and wished he could take back what he was looking at.
Or rather, he wished he could stop Iqrah from seeing what they were both looking at.
Cold rain sprinkled down from the thick grey rain clouds overhead. The whole promenade of Blackpool was silent, apart from Bruno’s heavy panting. Apart from Noah’s heart thumping in his chest.
And apart from Iqrah’s heavier, shakier breathing as she came to terms with the scene before her.
The tram was dark. The windows that were still in place, not smashed, were covered in dust, cobwebs, and grime. There were flies everywhere. Rats scuttling around the floor of the tram, clearly undisturbed for quite some time.
Blood covered the floor of the tram. It was a deep brown shade, but it didn’t look like it’d been there all that long. Relatively fresh. Which meant this scene was recent.
The smell in the air was ghastly. It reminded him of the time he’d come across a dead sheep walking through the countryside. There was no way to describe it, no way to really explain it other than to say it was ghastly. It was something you really needed to experience to truly understand. The worst smell he’d ever smelled.
And that said a lot, since he’d come across so much death in this world already.
Bodies were sitting in the chairs of the tram. They all sat there pretty upright, pretty peacefully. At first glance, it looked like these dehydrated, prune-like figures might just be sleeping, taking a breather.
But at a closer look, it was clear they were dead.
What wasn’t clear was how they’d died.
There were no gunshots. There was only blood. Signs of the infection? Maybe.
And it was hard to tell how old the bodies were. They looked dehydrated like they’d been here a while. The flies buzzing around them painted the same picture. But again, there was also a freshness about them. Like something had happened to make them like this, rather than going this way naturally.
But there was something else, too. This film. This weird, sticky film, clinging to their skin.
Noah looked down the length of the tram. So many of them. Thirty in this carriage alone.
Men.
Women.
Children.
And there was something about the way they all sat there, agony across their faces, that told Noah something very different had happened to them.
Something he didn’t quite understand.
Iqrah walked down the length of the tram. Noah wanted to stop her, but he knew it’d be in vain. This kid used to live here. She’d held on to the hope that her parents were still here, all along. No doubt there were faces she recognised amongst this crowd of dead.
And as much as he wanted to hold her back and stop her witnessing this path of horror and terror... he knew she needed to see it. For herself. He knew there was no stopping her.
She walked right to the end of the carriage. Stared at someone, just for a moment. And Noah wondered if this was it. If this was the moment she
