“Look around,” Noah said, pressing the blade closer to his neck. “I’d say the world’s already done a good job of falling if you ask me.”
“Don’t pretend you haven’t seen the changes yourself,” Colin said. “Don’t pretend you didn’t see what we saw at Blackpool.”
Blackpool.
The bodies in the tram.
Something about them. Something different about them.
“What happened at Blackpool?” Noah asked.
Colin opened his mouth. Then as if by command, he closed it again. “We need you to come with us, Noah. And we need the girl, too. Iqrah. I’m sorry. I know it’s awful. I know it’s fucking savage. But you might just be our only hope, and you don’t realise that yet. So stand down. For the good of everyone. Please.”
Noah held the knife to his throat. And in that weird instant, he wondered if he was in the wrong after all. If he was the one who should be standing down. If he’d just stayed in those labs with Kelly all those years ago, maybe this would’ve been over. Maybe the world would be a better place.
And Iqrah. As much as he cared about her, as much as he wanted to protect her… maybe her sacrifice was just necessary.
“Put the knife down,” Colin said. “I’m begging you. We can help the dog. No more bloodshed. Please. Just put it down.”
Noah’s heart raced.
He clutched the knife.
So close to slicing his own throat.
So close to ending it.
And then he looked into Colin’s eyes, and against all his instincts, he started to lower the knife.
Colin nodded.
“Good,” he said.
Then he lifted the rifle and hit the switch.
“I’m sorry for this.”
He pulled the trigger.
Peppered Noah with sedative darts.
Noah tumbled back. Fell to the ground with a smack. Cracked his head on the concrete.
He tried to get back to his feet. Tried to scramble up, but once again, his vision was fading, his consciousness blurring…
He looked around at Bruno, lying by his side.
Staring into Noah’s eyes.
Panting.
Struggling.
But wagging his tail.
And with his last bit of strength, Noah reached over and put a hand on Bruno’s back.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s…”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Noah opened his eyes—again.
Blinding light shone down from above. Cool air blew across his face. It felt like wind. Was it wind? Was he outside? Something in his head told him he was inside, locked away somewhere. That he was a prisoner again. In a van. Or being carried along by a group of Society guards. Something like that.
He heard a crow cawing somewhere nearby. Its little feet tapping against the concrete. He could smell something sour, something rotten, like off-milk. His throat was dry, the only taste on his lips the metallic tang of blood. His head ached and throbbed like mad.
Where was he?
What’d happened?
He looked around. Realised he was on the road still. That was it. He’d been walking through a little town with Kirsty, Iqrah, Bruno. And then…
It came to him in a rush.
Bruno.
The gunfire.
The bullets.
Kirsty and Iqrah shouting for him to follow, crying out for him to join them, that it was too late for Bruno.
And then standing his ground and holding that knife to his neck before that Society guard—Colin, he was called—stabbed him in the back and popped him full of sedative darts.
He leaned forward. His head ached like mad. What’d happened? Had he tapped into that void within? Channeled the virus without realising?
Or was this something else?
He looked around and froze.
There were bodies all around him.
Four bodies.
Bodies of Society guards.
He sat there. Heart racing. Blood trickled from their nostrils. And this weird film covered their skin. This slime.
A slime that reminded him of Blackpool.
A smell that reminded him of Blackpool.
Where something wasn’t right.
He looked at these bodies, and as much as his instincts told him this was related to him… there was another voice in his head telling him something was different.
But fuck it. He needed to get up. He needed to get away. He needed to find Kirsty and Iqrah and Bruno and—
A cough.
He froze.
Looked around.
One of the guards spluttered blood onto the road.
He lay on his back. Blood oozed down his bared face.
It was only then that Noah realised this was Colin.
Noah stood up. He wanted to walk away. He didn’t want to give this bastard any time of day. Not when he’d shot his dog and then pumped him full of darts.
But Colin was looking at Noah with wide, bloodshot eyes.
He was saying something. Trying to speak. Gasping.
Noah stood there a few seconds. Still torn between walking away and staying—maybe even kicking the life out of this fucker.
But the way Colin mouthed something.
The way he looked at Noah. Desperately stretched a shaking, veiny hand out.
Noah walked over to him. Didn’t want to get too close in fear of catching something. There was an irony. Fear of catching something he truly didn’t understand.
“Heli…” he said. “Heli…”
Noah frowned. “What?”
Colin coughed. Spat blood onto the road beside him. Wheezed. The life drifting from his body.
“Hey,” Noah said. “Stay with me. What? What’re you trying to say?”
Colin closed his eyes. Took as deep a breath as his crackly lungs would allow.
Then he opened his eyes and looked right up at Noah.
“Heli… copter,” he said. “They came from… It came from… heli… copter.”
And then he descended into more coughing blood. More gasping. More choking.
And all Noah could do was back away. All he could do was keep his distance. He didn’t want to risk catching whatever Colin had.
Because he had a feeling there was something different about it.
Something wrong about it.
“Heli… copter,” Colin said. “It’s… it’s too late. Heli…”
He coughed. He spluttered. And as he lay there on the road choking on his blood, those words haunted Noah.
The helicopter.
It’s too late.
And as he backed away further, he swore he remembered something.
It was distant, hard to put his finger on.
But as he’d faded into unconsciousness, and as he’d found himself being dragged away from here… he swore he’d heard a helicopter overhead.
He looked at his skin. Saw that same shininess across
