Now her eyes went to the road, and she realised they were getting close to the street she lived on. Not back there again, she pleaded silently, thinking of the stress of leaving her home earlier, the gruelling journey she’d faced.
Thoughts of her sister followed; she hoped Leena, Dave and the kids were safe. Emma promised herself that she would still go to Dave’s uncle’s when she got the chance.
She just needed to fix her leg so she could walk again. And not die in the meantime. Then she would make her way there.
“I kept punching him,” Mark continued. “His face was all purple and red from the bruises and blood by the time I stopped, and he was staggering about and falling over, but still mouthing off to me. The cunt. A few witnesses called an ambulance for him and he ended up being hospitalised, but he wasn’t seriously injured; I was charged with assault, sentenced to a hundred hours of community service… But I felt like a new man. I didn’t take shit from anyone no more.
“All of a sudden, the guy slips into a coma and they link it to the injuries he sustained from the beating. So my sentence is reevaluated and I’m given five years of jail time instead. And that’s where I was headed – to Chelmsford Prison – on the day when all hell broke loose. A dead man attacked the officers who were escorting me to the police car, and that’s how I got away. I knew then, looking around me at the anarchy that’d taken over, that the world had become a place for those who were ready to be brutal. And it brought a smile to my face, knowing I was ready.”
Mark finished speaking and the van lapsed into an uneasy silence. His rambling monologue hadn’t persuaded Emma that what they were doing was a good idea, just hammered the notion more firmly into her head that he was a bit of a nutjob.
As if Mark had read her thoughts, he piped up again.
“To answer your question: no, they don’t have an advantage. Because we have something of theirs, and when they see it, believe me, they’re gonna hand over everything they took from us without hesitation.”
Emma didn’t have time to wonder what he meant by that.
The bus appeared up ahead in the road. It wasn’t moving and there seemed to be two cars parked haphazardly in front of it, blocking its way.
Mark automatically slowed the van at the sight of the enemy. But he must have realised that the other survivors would have undoubtedly noticed their approach already in the stillness of the defunct town, as he sped back up and then came to a stop behind the bus. They saw now that the two cars in front were dented and smashed up; probably a collision.
The two men sat there studying the bus for a minute before Sebastian said, “I don’t see anyone. Did they ditch it here, do you reckon?”
Mark shook his head. “They could be coming back. Maybe they ran out of fuel and they’ve gone to get some more.”
“How can we tell?
“You go take a look inside the bus,” Mark suggested. “If the keys aren’t in the console, my bet is they’re coming back. They wouldn’t bother taking the keys if they were ditching it, would they?”
Slowly, Sebastian nodded, opened his door and hopped out. They watched him edge toward the bus, keeping low as he passed the windows even though there was no sign of the other group. Sebastian reached the bus door and went in. The reflection of the sun in the windows made it hard to see anything but movement from inside.
Suddenly, Sebastian was pelting it back to the van, a troubled expression on his face.
“What—” Mark began as he opened the passenger door.
“They’re coming,” Sebastian cut him off, talking fast. “I saw them walking down the road, coming back to the bus. I’m not sure whether they saw me or not.”
Mark regarded the nervous young man for a second, then thumped on the storage compartment behind him with the back of his fist and yelled, “Bring her out, John!”
Her? Emma hadn’t noticed another female in their company. The worrying thought flashed through her mind that Mark was talking about her, that he was planning to use her in some way.
But then Mark got out of the van and before he closed the door, he looked at Emma. “You stay in here and rest your leg,” he said. “This won’t take long.”
What won’t take long? she wondered.
She heard the back doors click open and slam shut. Two figures came round the side of the van – John, leading a bound woman by the elbow.
Straight but knotted auburn hair drifted before Emma’s eyes, shiny with grease from a lack of washing. Something stirred in her memory, but her shock at discovering that these men had been keeping a prisoner in the back of their van was forefront in her mind just then, and she didn’t realise what was familiar about the bound woman until she turned her head and looked through the window of the van at Emma.
A name came to her: Samantha Greer.
Sammy, everyone called her; she was one of Kingsley’s best friends. She was one of Emma’s friends by extension, or used to be, at least. They hadn’t really talked since Emma and Kingsley had split.
Now she was being held hostage. Emma watched in absolute disbelief as Mark flipped open a pocket knife and pressed the blade to Sammy’s neck, waiting beside the bus for whoever was coming down the adjoining road to turn the corner.
*
As Eric, Kara and Rebecca walked back to the street where they had left the bus, Eric wished he had thought to check if there was a second handheld
