A few people gestured at them to turn around. Lisa felt a tiny seed of doubt take root. Were they heading straight into something that everyone else was fleeing from?
She had to get home. She had to get back to Neil. Nothing was going to stop her. Until now, she'd worked hard to think clearly and logically, to give them the best chance of survival. But was she still doing that? Or had she started allowing her judgement to be clouded by her irrational desire to get home? Was she making a mistake?
She looked at Anita who was still frowning and chewing on her thumbnail again, as she watched the endless stream of cars on their right inching their way away from the city. She didn't want to reveal her unease in case the girl suggested turning back.
If Anita was thinking it was a bad idea, she didn't say a word.
"This is better." Lisa tried to make her voice sound cheerful and upbeat. "Better than sitting in that procession waiting for God only knows what." She forced her lips into a smile.
"Yeah." Anita sounded unconvinced.
Lisa picked up speed, taking advantage of the empty road. It should be ok until they got to the other side of the city, and then it would probably be jammed again heading down the M42. It might take longer than she'd thought, but at least they would be moving in the right direction. If they kept moving and didn't meet another crowd of infected, they were relatively safe in the car. They had a full tank of petrol. They'd be fine.
But what about Brian?
Brian! She'd almost forgotten about him. The prospect of a longer-than-expected journey might not be so good for him.
"How's Brian doing, Nita?"
Anita twisted in her seat to look at him. "He's not as flushed." She reached back to touch his hand. "Jesus, he's freezing now."
Lisa glanced over her shoulder. Brian was now deathly pale with a grey tone to his skin. His fingers and lips had a blue tinge to them. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes were partly open, even though he was still deeply unconscious.
"He looks bad, Nita. He might be dying."
"Jesus, what can we do?"
"Nothing … except try to get him help as soon as we can."
She pressed down on the accelerator a bit harder. The engine revved and they picked up speed.
They carried on for several miles until they reached the obelisk roundabout they'd seen when they'd had to turn back earlier. The two cars were still blocking the road back to Wolston and the farm. The roundabout was gridlocked. Most traffic was still heading in the opposite direction, but some was slowly peeling off towards Princethorpe and Southam.
It took them a good ten minutes to create a gap to squeeze through, the other drivers gripping their steering wheels and avoiding eye contact as they anxiously pushed onwards to their destinations. Tired, nervous passengers eyed them with fear and suspicion. Wide-eyed, fearful children and family pets stared from back windows surrounded by piles of clothes, bedding and hastily packed bags.
Once they got over the roundabout, they made good progress for another few miles. Still, the route into the city was disconcertingly clear. When they crossed the brow of a hill, they got their first proper view of the City of Coventry on the horizon. Plumes of black smoke rose into the sky and the whole city seemed to be enveloped in a dusky haze. A couple of dark helicopters circled over the east side of the skyline. The queue of traffic on the other side stretched as far as they could see.
They pressed on, negotiating a second roundabout near Ryton more easily than the first, even though the oncoming traffic was now almost stationary. Less traffic was turning off here, and the exit for Leamington was almost completely clear. Lisa briefly considered taking it herself, but the thought was in and out of her head before she could decide.
The mental effort of working through the implications of a new, longer route was too much for her overloaded system. She was on autopilot for the M42. She was aware on a deeper level that she needed to dig deep and do what she did best. Her usually rational and logical thinking was clogged by fear, desperation and a lack of reliable information.
Just after the roundabout, the edge of the little village of Ryton spilled across the road with a few houses and shops on both sides. On their right, the stream of traffic had now completely stopped. A few infected wove between the vehicles, and a few more ambled about on the roadside. They had to swerve to avoid some on their side of the road, reaching out with claw-like hands, their faces distorted with ferocious rage as the car passed by, out of their reach.
The closer they got to Coventry and the major island Lisa knew as Tollbar End, the worse it got. The numbers of infected were increasing dramatically and now they were all around them. Some cars on the other side were surrounded by small groups, banging and scratching at their windows. A few people had left their cars and were running for safety into fields and gardens, pursued by slow-moving but determined groups of diseased.
A metal crash barrier running down between the carriageways prevented most of the infected crossing over onto their side. Although it was only just over knee height, they were walking into it and pushing against it, but seemed unable to climb over. On their left, a tall metal fence lined the road,
