Bose Surround Sound System’ printed boldly on them. He reached up to his ears and pulled out a pair of small earphones, hissing music loudly in the stillness. His eyes warily appraised Nathan.
‘Uh . . . look, I don’t have any food,’ he said, licking his lips nervously and shifting from one foot to the other. ‘Honest, bro, I’ve got nothing you want. No food or water. I just—’
‘Hey, don’t worry,’ said Jacob stepping forward to stand beside Nathan. ‘It’s all right, we’re not going to rob you or anything.’
The man’s eyes were drawn to movement from the Halfords’ entrance.
‘Who’s there?’ came Leona’s voice across the car-park, echoing off the storefront like a gunshot.
‘A man!!’ Jacob yelled over his shoulder. He turned back to him. ‘Are there other people with you?’
The man’s face flickered anxiously. He looked relatively young, perhaps Leona’s age; on his pallid face the meagre tufts of a trimmed ginger goatee. He pulled a Jesus-long cord of lank, greasy hair out of his eyes and tucked it behind one ear.
‘No . . . uh . . . it’s just me.’
Jacob offered him a friendly smile. ‘Well that’s all right then.’
The man watched Leona and Helen approach, his eyes on the gun she was holding.
‘Hey! No need to shoot me. Look, I’m leaving!’
Jacob shook his head. ‘Don’t worry. It’s okay.’
‘You want this stuff? Fine, take it. There’s loads more inside—’
Nathan shook his head. ‘Relax, man.’
‘Or jack my truck?’
‘Shit. You got a workin’ truck?’ exclaimed Nathan.
He nodded, his eyes darting to a blue Ford Transit pick-up truck across the car-park.
‘I’ve got a little diesel,’ he replied cautiously, his eyes still on Leona; still on the gun in her hands. ‘Not a lot. Just enough that I can run into town every now and then.’
Leona stepped past Nathan, discreetly lowering the barrel of the gun so that it wasn’t levelled at the man any more.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Raymond.’
‘I’m Leona.’
She appraised him in much the same way she’d seen Mum silently judge newcomers. The man seemed well-fed and practically dressed with clothes either washed or recently pulled from a shop. He didn’t appear to be a shambling loner draped with tattered rags and a dangerously haunted look in his eyes. He looked like he might have come from a community better furnished than theirs, actually. She noticed his earphones hissing music and dangling around his knees, wires snaking up to an iPod poking out of a hip pocket.
‘How many of you?’ Leona asked finally.
Raymond shrugged. ‘Not many. Just me, actually.’
She pointed at his iPod. ‘You’ve got electricity, right? I used to have one of those . . . they don’t take batteries, you’ve got to recharge them.’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ve got a few things running at my place,’ he conceded warily.
‘But it’s just you?’ said Leona.
Raymond nodded. He studied them in silence for a while. ‘You’re all young. Just kids—’
‘I’m twenty-nine,’ she replied flatly. ‘What’s your point?’
‘Sorry. Thought you were younger,’ he replied. ‘It’s just that, occasionally, I come across groups of survivors. The younger groups, your age and younger, they’re more dangerous. Well, to be honest, almost like wild animals sometimes. I try to steer clear of them.’
‘We’re good ones,’ said Helen.
He nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘We’re headed south to London,’ said Leona. ‘Apparently they’re rebuilding things there. You heard anything about that?’
He shook his head. ‘Nope.’
Helen took a step forward, entranced by the hissing still coming from Raymond’s headphones. ‘Is that . . . like, proper music?’
He shrugged. ‘I got hip-hop, some garage, some rock . . . all sorts really. Just listening to a bit of Jay Dilla right now.’
Nathan cocked his head. ‘Shit, I remember! My mate’s brother had his stuff,’ he uttered, approving. ‘Dilla was well cool.’
‘Yeah. I cleaned out a record shop and ripped all their CDs onto my hard drive. I’ve got pretty much everything, more or less.’
‘Hard drive?’ said Nathan. ‘You got a computer?’
Raymond shrugged. ‘Yeah, several, actually.’
‘We have loads of spare food,’ blurted Helen, ‘could we come stay the night at your place?’
‘Helen!’ snapped Leona angrily.
The girl shut up, her face flushing crimson as Leona glared at her. She turned back to Raymond. He didn’t look the dangerous schizo type; he had a slight build, looked like the kind of guy you’d see working in a comic store, or turning up at some Star Trek geek-a-thon, dressed as a Klingon.
‘There’s just you?’
He nodded.
Leona considered Helen’s blurted suggestion quietly for a moment. ‘All right then. Could we stay the night? Just one night, if we,