Autumn Page 0,22

taking careful aim, he threw the tile at the staggering corpse. He was surprisingly accurate and the tile hit the body in the small of the back. The body tripped and stumbled momentarily but carried on regardless.

'Why did you do that?' Carl asked, still bemused.

Michael shrugged.

'Just proving a point I suppose.'

'What point?'

'That they don't react. That they don't live like you and me, they just exist.'

Carl shook his head with despair and disbelief. Michael walked away again. In a strange way he regretted throwing the slate at the body. No matter what it was today, it had been a living, breathing human being just a few days ago. He felt like a mugger, preying on an innocent victim.

'Do you think it was a virus that did this?' Carl asked. 'Emma seems to think it was. Or do you think it was...'

'Don't know and I don't care,' Michael replied.

'What do you mean, you don't care?'

'What difference does it make? What's happened has happened. It's the old clichй, isn't it? If you get knocked down by a car, does it matter what colour it is?'

'So what are you saying?'

'I'm saying that it doesn't matter what did all of this. Okay, it matters in as far as I don't want it to happen to me, but what's done is done, isn't it?'

'Suppose so.'

'Look, I've lost friends and family just like the rest of them. I might sound like an uncaring bastard but I'm not really. I just can't see the point in wasting any time coming up with bullshit theories and explanations when none of it will make the slightest bit of difference. The only thing that any of us have any influence and control over now is what we do tomorrow.'

'So what are we going to do tomorrow?'

'Haven't got a fucking clue!' Michael laughed.

It started to rain. A few isolated spots at first which, in just a few seconds, turned into a downpour of almost monsoon proportions. Carl and Michael quickly squeezed back through the skylight and lowered themselves into the ominously silent hall.

'Does you good to get out now and then, doesn't it?' Carl mumbled sarcastically.

'There's a lot of truth in that,' Michael replied, fighting to make himself heard over the noise of the rain lashing down.

'What?'

'You're right. I think it would do us good to get out. Have you stopped to think about the bodies yet?'

'Christ I haven't thought about much else...'

Michael shook his head.

'No, have you stopped to think about what's going to happen when they start to rot? Jesus, the air's going to be filled with all kinds of germs and crap.'

'There's not a lot we can do about that, is there?'

'There's fuck all we can do about it,' he replied bluntly. 'But we could get away.'

'Get away? Where to? It's going to be like this everywhere, isn't it?'

'I don't know.'

'So what good will leaving here do?'

It became immediately apparent to Carl that Michael had been doing more logical thinking than the rest of the survivors put together.

'Think about it. We're on the edge of a city here. There are hundreds of thousands of bodies around.'

'And...'

'And I think we should head for the countryside. Fewer bodies has got to mean less chance of disease. We're not going to be completely safe anywhere but I think we should just try and give ourselves the best possible chance. We should pack up and leave here as soon as we can.'

'You really thinking of going?'

'I'd go tonight if we were ready.'

Chapter 11

Despite the fact that each one of the survivors had reached new levels of emotional and mental exhaustion, not one of them could even contemplate trying to sleep. This lack of sleep meant that the disparate body of frightened and desperate people were becoming even more frightened and desperate with each passing minute. The hall was lit only by a few dim gas lamps and the odd torch, and this lack of light seemed to compound the disorientation and fear felt by all of them. By midnight the tensions and frustrations felt by even the most placid members of the group had risen to dangerously high levels.

Jenny Hall, who had held her three month old baby boy in her arms as he died on Tuesday morning, had dared to complain about the food she'd been given earlier in the evening. Although she'd meant nothing by her innocent comments, the cook - the usually quiet and reserved Stuart Jeffries - had taken it personally.

'You stupid fucking