"So that's what all the fuss is about," Abigail said, lying on Chris's chest. "It was great while it lasted, but now that's it over... I don't know. I feel a bit disappointed."
"Don't feel bad," Chris said, "that's how everyone feels."
"Then why does everyone keep going on about it?"
"Because it's a basic human desire. It's like feeling hungry. Eventually you need to scratch the itch."
"Now that I've done it, I don't see the problem with doing it with anyone much older or younger than me."
Chris stared at her.
"What have I created?" he said.
Abigail giggled.
"A monster," she said.
She pressed her small pert breasts to Chris's chest.
"Do you want to do it again?" she said.
"I can't. Maisie will be back soon."
Chris put on his shirt and jacket, did up his trousers and stood up. Abigail put her T-shirt and skirt back on.
"There was glass on the road outside the village," Chris said. "Was there an accident?"
"We put it there as protection. People thought if the zombies' feet were damaged they wouldn't be able to walk into town."
Chris snorted and shook his head.
"Haven't you ever seen one of these things?" he said.
"No. None of us have. Except on TV."
"They don't feel pain. They keep coming at you again and again and again. There's no stopping them, except by destroying their brains."
Abigail straightened her hair.
"How do I look?" she said.
"Ruined."
She smiled at that and swaggered toward the door.
"If you're ever in town again, make sure to drop me a line," she said.
"I will," Chris said, knowing he wouldn't. She might know how to bump and grind now, but he doubted if she knew much about family planning.
Abigail headed down the street back toward her home. Chris put on his boots and tied the laces. He crossed the road to the Mini Mart. The bell rang when he entered.
"Maisie?" he said.
There was no reply.
"Maisie?" he said again.
He walked down the short aisles, but found no sign of her. There was a basket full of food on the floor. He opened his mouth to say her name again when he heard voices. He looked through the glass in the backdoor.
Four tall young men with broad shoulders stood around Maisie. Two held her arms. Another, the leader, Chris thought, had his face up close to Maisie. His face was curled up in a mask of rage. Another boy stood blithely on, watching from the side lines.
"Why were you stealing from our store?" the leader said.
"I told you," Maisie said, "I wasn't stealing. A girl told me I could shop there!"
"And what's this supposed girl's name?"
"Anne? Agnes? I don't remember. She's young and pretty."
"This food is meant to provide for all the village till all the zombies are gone. It's not going to last long with someone stealing it."
Maisie was in tears.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know. Please, let me go!"
"Well, you know now, but we're going to have to make sure you remember in future."
The leader approached with his finger in Maisie's face. Maisie stopped crying and stepped forward. She bit the end of the leader's finger, and then aimed a swift kick at his shin. The boy howled, and shook his hand off. Red droplets stained his shirt.
Amidst the confusion, Maisie turned and ran toward the shop, slipping free of one boy's fingers. But the second boy kept hold of her. She turned to kick him on the shin too, but he turned at the last minute, and it was only a glancing blow. Maisie spat in his face, and clawed at his cheek with her fingernails, drawing blood.
"My face!" the boy said. "My beautiful face!"
The boy let Maisie go, but she got nowhere as the leader grabbed her and threw her to the ground.
"You're going to pay for that!" the leader said, raising his heavy boot.
The shop doorbell rang and Chris stepped outside.
"I'll pay for it," Chris said.
"She was stealing our food!" the leader said.
"It's not stealing if no one owns it."
"We own it!"
"No," Chris said. "The shop owners own it. If they present themselves, I'll pay for what we've taken."
Chris helped Maisie up, and led her toward the shop.
"You can't take our food!" the leader said.
"Watch me," Chris said.
Chris heard heavy lumbering footsteps behind him. He was expecting it, and spun around, bringing his leg up, catching the leader in the chest, and pushed him back. He landed on his backside with a heavy "Oof!"
"What's going on here?" a deep voice said.
A squat man with a scraggly brown beard and barrel-chest approached. He had no neck, and instead had large muscular rounded shoulders, like a bull. The type of man who'd normally spend every free minute and penny he had in the pub, swiftly followed by bar room brawls, but circumstances had forced him into a position of power. He wore a club at his waist. There were three men at his side. Chris sensed trouble and put himself between the man and Maisie.
"They're trying to steal our food, Dad," the teenage leader said, rubbing his chest and getting to his feet.
"All right, son," the bearded man said, "I'll take care of it from here."
The teenage leader backed away, glaring at Chris, and watched the show from a safe distance.
"What's your name, stranger?" the bearded man said.
"Chris. Chris Smith."
"I'm Lionel. No doubt you've heard about the undead situation we're faced with these days."
"Yeap."
"This village decided to do something about it. We've boarded up our windows, put defence measures in place, and collected all our food in one location. So, you see, we can't let you have those items. We're going to need them if we're going to survive."
"Someone said we could take some."
"That someone isn't in charge. I am. Now, if you keep on driving, you'll come to a village down the road. They might have something you can have."
"Or they might not."
Lionel shrugged.
"That's the way it is, I'm afraid," he said.
The silence was electric. On another day Chris might have let the situation slide, but the man's tone irked him. It was cold, arrogant, and expected compliance. But Chris had never been the type to comply.
"No," Chris said. "I think we'll take what we have here. You can go forage in the next village."
Lionel smiled.
"You must not have heard me," he said. "These items are for the village. You're not part of the village, therefore you can't have them."
"I'm in the village right now. So, I'm temporarily of the village, therefore... You know what? I don't give a shit about your inbred politics. We're taking this food and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
"Chris," Maisie said, tugging on his hand. "Let's just go."
Maisie's lip was bleeding from where her head had struck the concrete. The sight of it did nothing to soothe Christopher's mood.
"I'd listen to your girl there, if I were you," Lionel said.
"Your brave boys attacked an eight-year-old girl," Chris said. "I think she's entitled to a little recompense, and the items we're taking ought to about cover it. Come on Maisie, let's go."
Chris took Maisie's hand and led her toward the shop. As he shut the door he saw the murderous look on Lionel's face.
"Grab anything that takes your fancy," Chris said, putting a few more items in the baskets.
"Are you sure you should do this?" Maisie said.
"We'll be fine."
They came out through the front door to find Lionel and the other three men before him.
"It's nice of you to see us off," Chris said. "You really didn't have to."
"That's a nice set of wheels you've got there," Lionel said, looking back at the Porsche.
"Bought it today," Chris said. "You know what they say. Live every day like it's your last."
"I'm going to tell you this one more time: put down the food, get in your car, and go."
Chris put the basket down, and then straightened up.
"No," he said.
Lionel shook his head. The wind made his beard shiver.
"We're going to have to make an example of you now, you understand," Lionel said, shrugging off his coat.
Chris sensed all the eyes watching from the boarded up houses.
"All right," Chris said. "But I think it only right to tell you. I'm infected."
The three men at Lionel's side murmured and backed away, eyes wide with fear. Lionel turned his head to the side as if in deep thought.
"Show me," he said.
"Show you what?"
"Where you've been bitten."
"I wasn't bitten. A zombie sneezed on me."
"Then how do we know if you really have it?"
"Do you really want to take the chance?"
Lionel thought for a moment, and then smiled.
"I think you're full of it," he said.
Lionel squared up against Chris, who checked his watch.
"All right," Chris said. "But don't blame me when your limbs start falling off."
Lionel came at Chris. He threw a punch. Chris sidestepped it. Lionel's weight threw him forward, almost falling over. Rookie mistake – trying to be the hero and end the fight with one punch.
Lionel threw another punch. Chris blocked it. He had an opening, but didn't retaliate. Lionel stepped forward and threw one, two, three punches. Chris ducked and stepped to the side, and then slapped the side of Lionel's head.
Lionel gritted his teeth and came at Chris again. He threw another two punches. Chris blocked them and slapped Lionel on the other side of the head. Lionel's face glowed red.
"Are you going to fight or just keep dancing like a fairy?" he said.
Lionel roared and rushed at Chris, who stepped to the side, caught Lionel's arm and pulled him into a concrete wall. Lionel's face smashed against it. He roared and spun around. Chris pre-empted the attack and ducked, and then stepped back as Lionel's knee came up to meet him.
Lionel flew at Chris again, swinging his arms wildly, his breath rasping in his throat. Chris kicked out, striking Lionel's shin. There was a sickening crack, and Lionel crumpled to the ground. He screamed out in pain and hugged his leg. His foot pointed back at his knee.
Chris swung around to face the other men, but none of them stepped forward. All eyes were on Lionel.
"We're going to go now," Chris said. "I don't want to see any of you following me."
He scooped up the baskets and headed toward the garage. He dumped the food in the boot and tossed the baskets aside. They got into the car.
Chris reversed out of the garage. The light caught the teenager ringleader's blond hair and delicate features. Chris opened his window.
"Do you have a sister called Abigail?" he said.
"Uh, yes sir," the boy said. "I do."
"If I were you, I'd get her some Lovenelle, unless you want an alcoholic savage like me in the family."
The car's wheels spun, kicking up dust. The engine roared as if happy to be free, and tore down the road. Chris looked for the familiar glint of sunlight, and after driving a hundred yards at a snail's pace, found the splinter glass barrier.
He turned the car onto the wide grassy verge and drove along the grass, keeping the speed low, the revs high. The car took the bumps badly. The earth scraped along the car's underside. Chris saw the sign, 'You are now leaving Little Bytham'. He turned onto the road and drove away.