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“So this ‘event’ has happened all over the country,” said Magnus.

“Yes, I think so. Before the power went out I saw on the BBC News the cities had been affected as well. It’s worse in the cities. We’re lucky, really, when you think about it.”

“I’ve got a cousin in London,” Joel said. “He’s got a family.”

“I think my son is dead,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “I hope he’s dead rather than one of those monsters. You should hope the same for your cousin and his family.”

“Demons,” said Joel.

“Do you have any idea what the creatures are?” said Magnus.

“Depends what you believe,” she said. “I’ve heard many rumours in the past two days, some believable and others not so believable. I don’t think it really matters, in the end. I’m sorry – where are my manners? My name’s Susan Blake. You’ve already met little Alfie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Susan,” said Joel. “I’m Joel, this is Magnus, and that’s Ralph.”

“We’re all refugees now,” she said. “We’re never going home.”

* * *

Joel trudged to the toilets. The corridors were full of people leaning against the walls. There were plastic bags and belongings on the floor. He stepped carefully. Nobody spoke. Eyes flicked towards him but didn’t linger. Through a ground floor window he looked out at the rear of the schooclass="underline" a high wall surrounded the playground, which had become another gathering place for other refugees. Makeshift tents covered the playground. A child was crying out there.

The toilets smelled of disinfectant and piss. Low urinals lined the wall. A row of sinks topped by bottles of semen-like liquid soap, a forgotten toothbrush and a damp roll of paper towels. Smudges of grime on the taps. Hand-dryers attached to the walls. A sign above the sinks reminded him to wash his hands after using the toilet.

He stood there for a few seconds. He felt off-kilter, confused and scared. He entered an empty cubicle – the other three were occupied. The door didn’t lock properly. There was a turd amidst a soggy smattering of white paper in the toilet bowl. He screwed up his face, covered his mouth. There wasn’t much paper left in the dispenser. He tore away a few sheets and used it as a glove to touch the flush lever. The dirty water rose, crested by the turd, almost to the rim of the bowl. Joel backed away, grimacing.

The water didn’t rise above the rim, and the tide receded. A cloud of sewer gas drifted to him. He coughed and waved one hand in front of his face.

He raised the toilet seat, tossed the paper into the bowl.

The man in the next cubicle was grunting; weird, ape-like sounds like he was taking a painful dump. Or something else. Joel tried to ignore him; he didn’t have the nerve to tell him to shut up.

When he had finished pissing he grabbed another wad of paper and lowered the toilet lid, which he wiped clean. He discarded the paper and took out the small crucifix chain from his pocket. He sat down. The grunting sounds from the next cubicle stopped.

There was marker pen graffiti on the cubicle walls. Drawings of male and female genitalia.

One scribble read: This is the end, boys and girls.

Another stated: All flesh can be used.

He hated public toilets; the last time he’d used one, in Weymouth last year, there had been a phone number scribbled on a cubicle door, underlined with the offer of ‘manly sex’.

Joel wrapped the chain around his hand so the crucifix was hanging over his knuckles. The chain was warm from resting against his thigh in his pocket. He closed his eyes. He held his hands together. Joel was embarrassed by his faith. He hid it from his friends and family. Only Anya knew. She was Catholic, although she had lapsed. He knew his mates wouldn’t mock him for his belief, but he was scared to tell them anyway, especially Ralph, who was a passionate atheist and hated organised religion.

He prayed silently. He prayed that his God was listening.

Because if God still cared, what was happening outside? Was it the work of the Devil? Did that mean the things that had attacked him and his friends were demons? Were they people possessed by demons?

If they were possessed, could they be saved? And if they could be saved, was killing one actually murder?

He opened his eyes. What if he had to kill one of the afflicted to protect himself or his mates? Could he do that? Why did this disaster have to happen when he was away from Anya? Was it just God’s sense of humour? His idea of a joke?

Remember, your God let Frank’s daughter die. Emily. Always remember her name. God let the cancer eat her alive and destroy her body.

Joel sighed. He hoped God would provide him with an answer.

He stared at the door and waited for a sign.

The walls began to vibrate. From above him came a quick throbbing that could be felt at ground level. Joel looked to the ceiling. He felt something above the building. Something in the sky moving over them. Something massive.

A sign.

He pocketed his crucifix and rushed back to the others. He didn’t wash his hands.

The windows were rattling in their frames.

Susan Blake’s dog barked skywards.

Every person in the room looked towards the ceiling.

Ralph got up. “I’m going to see what’s happening.”

Joel and Magnus followed him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Early morning mist. Where the monsters were hiding.

Frank held the girl’s hand as they walked the road. They left Wishford behind. Frank kept an eye on the hedgerows and skeletal trees flanking them. Distant booms echoed beyond the mist. Thunder in the darkening clouds. Frank looked up, didn’t like what he saw.

Florence glanced over her shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“Horsham.”

“Are we going to walk all the way there?”

“If we’re unlucky, yeah.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re walking if we can’t get a lift.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind walking.”

“I do,” Frank said. “I’m old.”

“You’re very old.”

“Cheers.”

They walked on.

A Ford Escort was stopped on the road.

No keys in the ignition.

“You know how to hotwire it?” asked Frank.

Florence shook her head.

“Fair enough.”

“What’s this?” Florence was rooting around the backseat.

“What?”

Florence handed him a man’s wallet. He opened it, checked the driver’s licence filed within.

Joel’s wallet.

“This belongs to a good friend of mine. He was here. Hopefully the other two were here as well.”

A mournful wailing came out of the mist.

Florence stared into the mist, her mouth moving silently.

“Come on, let’s keep moving,” Frank said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Joel and Magnus emerged into the grey daylight. A few others followed them.

The front of the school. A car park. There were armed police here. Submachine guns, Kevlar vests and holstered pistols. They were standing guard by the school gates, staring at the sky. A road ran adjacent to the school. A row of semi-detached houses along the street.