Disintegration

are going to make some noise,” Hollis said. “It’s inevitable.”
    “Yes, but I don’t think you understand how dangerous that might be.”
    “I don’t think you’ve got any idea how dangerous it might be,” Harte said, obviously annoyed. “How would you know? You haven’t been out for weeks.”
    “That’s right, and we’ve done perfectly well so far. I’m starting to think we should just delay this and see how long we can last.”
    “But there isn’t enough food,” Harte sighed.
    “You’re right,” Martin agreed, “but there is some food. If we ration ourselves properly we could make it last for a while. Then when we do leave here the bodies will be weaker.”
    “And so would we,” he protested. “Why the hell should we ration anything? Christ, we’re probably the only living people for hundreds of miles. There’s never going to be a queue at the fucking supermarket, is there?”
    “No, but—”
    “You’re out of your damn mind if you just want to sit in here and do nothing. Like we’ve already said, half a day’s effort now and a little risk will make the difference between us living like beggars or living like kings.”
    The strength of Harte’s outburst surprised the others, even those who had spent the last few weeks living with him.
    “Nicely put,” Hollis said.
    “Well I’m not going back out there,” Caron mumbled from behind the pages of one of her books. “I’d rather starve and be safe.”
    “Me too,” Ginnie agreed.
    “I’m going,” Sean said defiantly. “I’m sick of sitting here doing nothing. This isn’t living, this is just existing. We’re no better off in here than those poor bastards out there. Christ, they’ll have a better quality of life than us if we stay locked inside this bloody hotel any longer.”
    “Do you have any idea how stupid a comment that was?” Martin complained, belittling Sean and trying unsuccessfully to put him in his place.
    “Piss off!”
    “Don’t you dare use that kind of language with me.”
    “You see,” Webb interrupted, “that’s half the problem here. You’re not his fucking parents, you know.”
    “We’re looking out for him.”
    “Yeah, well, it’s all going to come to nothing if you starve to death,” Harte said, silencing the argument. Hollis rubbed his eyes and wearily looked up from the map again.
    “The way I see it,” he began, “is we don’t have enough food to last. We need to get more and I’d rather go out there now than wait until I’m half-starved. We’ve got a town just a few miles from here which has probably been left untouched. If we can get there and fill the bus, that’ll do us. Harte’s right, half a day’s effort will make a massive difference to all of us.”
    “I know that,” Martin reluctantly agreed, shaking his head sadly, “but I just—”
    “No one has to go outside if they don’t want to,” Harte continued.
    “I’m going,” Sean quickly said again, desperate to secure his place. Harte glanced up at him, then carried on speaking.
    “As long as there are enough of us then we should be fine. We’ll get in, get what we need, then get out. We’ve done this loads of times.”
    “I know you’re right,” Martin said again, his voice suddenly frightened and quiet, “but just be quiet. For Jesus Christ’s sake, be quiet. Make as little noise as you can.”

 
     
    35
     
    The brightness of the early afternoon belied the low temperature. The sky was clear, uninterrupted blue and the sun held a position high above the red-tiled roof of the hotel. Despite pushing to go out for supplies sooner rather than later, last-minute nerves and tiredness had combined and the planned trip out had been delayed until the next morning. Most of the group found themselves outdoors, relaxing in the relatively fresh air and enjoying the luxury of being able to spend time out in the open. It wasn’t long before the football had been found.
    “Shoot, you idiot!” Jas yelled at Harte, who’d just dribbled the ball between Webb’s legs and now had a clear shot at goal. Sean waited on the goal line, trying to guess which way he needed to dive.
    “I’ve got him!” shouted Amir, sprinting toward Harte, ready to throw himself at the ball. Aware that he was there, Harte waited until the last possible second, then sold him a dummy, flicked the ball a couple of feet to his right, lined up his shot, and blasted the ball at Sean. To his credit Sean moved in the right direction. He