"No, Charlie! Get back in the house. You can't help him. Quickly! Run!" Lisa shouted.
Charlie didn't seem to hear. She called out.
"Richard!"
One of the infected raised its head and looked up the drive towards her. She took another step forward.
"Richard!" she cried again, louder this time.
The infected, a man in his thirties, in jeans and an Aston Villa football shirt, got clumsily to his feet. He started moving towards Charlie, moaning, arms outstretched, hands and face covered in Richard's blood. She let him get too close before she turned to run. She almost made it to the top of the steps but seemed to catch her heel and stumble. She wobbled precariously for a moment, her arms flailing to try and pull herself forward.
Then she fell. She tumbled backwards down the steps and into the open arms of the Aston Villa fan. Lisa turned away. She closed her eyes and covered her ears to block out the sounds.
They didn't need to talk about what to do next. They waited in grim silence for Richard and Charlie to reanimate. Lisa shook her inhaler and sucked in a couple of puffs. Anita gently called out their names.
"Richard. Charlie. We're over here."
Richard was first. Lisa closed her eyes as he strained to reach them through the bars of the gate. Anita took aim and fired.
A few minutes later she did the same for Charlie.
They got back into the car and sat in silence. Anita reached for Lisa's hand and held it. Lisa squeezed back. They sat like that for a long time.
Anita broke the silence. "It's all our fault. We killed them. They'd be fine if they hadn't helped us."
"I know," was all Lisa could manage.
Anita looked at her. "But they wanted to help us. Richard came to find us."
"Even so, we should've been more careful. We should've checked."
"All of us should. Richard included. We were all too careless. Far too careless. We've got to do better if we want to survive."
"We owe it to them to stay alive, Nita, or they died for nothing."
Lisa put the car in gear and programmed the satnav with her home postcode. They planned to use it to keep them on track but use the map to find minor roads that avoided populated areas. As they turned up the lane, a few more infected appeared at the far end, heading quickly in their direction, obviously attracted by the gunfire and the sound of the car engine running. But they pushed on past them, easily getting through the small group, before turning right at a junction that led away from the village.
"Look, Lisa!" Anita pointed to their left where a significant number of reinforcements were shambling down the high street.
"We just got away in time," Lisa replied. "Whatever happens next, we're not going to be able to hang around in one place for very long."
Their strategy of sticking to minor roads was working. For the first time since they had left the farm the previous day, they were actually making significant progress. Before they left, Lisa had shown Anita their destination on the map. It was on the other side of the M42, which was about ten miles ahead of them to the northwest. Their route was flanked by the M40 to the southwest, and the M6 to the northeast, placing them in the middle of a triangle of major motorways, which they had to avoid. But one other route, the A46, cut straight through middle of the triangle. This was going to be impossible to miss, but Lisa thought there was an underpass they could use between Stoneleigh and Kenilworth.
Compared to the previous day, when their route had been thick with infected and fleeing survivors, there seemed to be no-one around. They met no traffic, and any properties they passed either appeared deserted or were in the process of being fortified.
Gates, doors, blinds and curtains were all firmly closed. Some people had constructed makeshift barricades around their homes using cars, wheelie bins and bits and pieces of whatever they could find, like fencing and chicken wire. They passed one house where a man was fixing wooden boards across the ground floor windows of his home. He stopped what he was doing to turn and stare, hammer in hand, as they approached. He followed them with an expressionless gaze as they passed before turning back to his work.
There were a few infected around, but just ones or twos, on driveways or in front gardens ambling about, heads down. They also looked up as the car approached, raising their arms and opening their mouths wide, reaching forlornly towards them as they passed quickly by. Lisa watched every single one in the rear-view mirror until they were out of sight. Even though they had no chance of catching the car, they followed it doggedly, apparently through instinct or reflex rather than conscious thought or decision.
They skirted around Stoneleigh Park and Showground until they turned into a narrow lane that brought them to the concrete underpass that Lisa had remembered. It passed beneath a raised bridge section of the A46. They slowed to a stop as they approached and sat, with the engine idling, to assess the situation. The underpass was narrow and dark, but they could see that the road beyond curved round to the left and out of sight.
The road above was a tangled mess of abandoned vehicles. Two or three infected moved between the cars. Lisa felt anxious and indecisive, wary of what was above and what might be beyond. According to the map, the edge of the small town of Kenilworth was just ahead. They would have to go through a section of the town before they were back into open countryside.
