Disintegration

And if they’re doing that, then they ain’t going to be flying over here many more times.”

 
     
    42
     
    “They’re a bunch of fucking wasters,” Webb cursed, finishing another can of beer—he’d lost count of how many he’d already had today—and throwing it onto the growing pile of empties in the corner of Sean’s room at the back of the hotel. “They’re going to sit in here and fucking rot, I tell you. Just fucking look at them.”
    He held back a corner of the curtain, letting a little light into the otherwise dark room. They were all still out there, writing their pointless message on the grass with dirty bedsheets.
    “Don’t let them get to you,” Sean said. “You just have to ignore them. I’ve had weeks of that kind of bullshit since I’ve been here. They’re always telling me you can’t do this and you can’t do that. Honestly, mate, it’s been worse than living with your bloody parents!”
    “What happens if that helicopter does see us and lands? Where are we going to end up? We’ll still have them with us. Same shit, different place. Don’t know how you’ve put up with it for as long as you have, mate.”
    “What else could I do?”
    “You could have stood up for yourself. Could have told them how pissed off you were.”
    “And what good would that have done?”
    “You could have left them. I would have if I was stuck here. At least back at the flats I could get out when I wanted to.”
    “But I didn’t want to go out. They told me how bad it was and how we had to keep our heads down and I believed them.”
    “That was all bullshit! You saw it for yourself yesterday. It’s no fucking walk in the park out there, but we did okay, didn’t we?”
    “I was scared because they were scared, I can see it now. Until yesterday I was fucking terrified of going outside, but you were right, it was an absolute fucking breeze.”
    “Thing is,” Webb continued, the alcohol increasing his ire, “they don’t actually want us here. We’re just a pain in the backside to them. They wouldn’t miss us if we went.”
    “So let’s go, then.”
    “How?”
    Sean opened the curtain fully. “See the road between here and the golf course?”
    Webb nodded. “What about it?”
    “Follow it back towards the front of the hotel.”
    Webb did as he was instructed. He followed the curve of the road right around the outer edge of the hotel grounds. All he could see was a field on the other side of the road, empty save for a few hundred bodies staggering around aimlessly. A ragged group of them—he couldn’t see how many—appeared to be hanging around close to the hedge in an unruly mob.
    “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
    “See there?” Sean said, pointing down toward the front of the hotel complex. “There’s a car parked in the road.”
    “Yeah, so?”
    “Martin and Howard put that car there to block a gate.”
    “Into that field? So what? You thinking of going for a bloody picnic?”
    Sean shook his head.
    “Point is there’s another gate on the opposite side of the field. We can get out that way without moving any of their bloody trucks and buses. Go the other way at the fork in the road, take the brakes off and shift that car, and we’re out.”
    “But what about the bodies? I can see plenty, but aren’t there supposed to be thousands of them ’round here?”
    “Didn’t think that bothered you.”
    “Doesn’t bother me,” Webb replied arrogantly, “but I’m not about to stick my bare arse out in the middle of a massive crowd of corpses unless I’ve got no choice.”
    “They’re all on the golf course up there, well out of the way. Those are just the stragglers. Come on, you’ve told me you’ve dealt with bigger crowds than that before.”
    Webb didn’t answer at first. He continued to stare out the window into the field that Sean had showed him. There weren’t that many bodies; even the unexplained mass clumped around the hedge wasn’t huge. Could they try running for it? Maybe that was too risky. There had to be another way of getting out.
    “How did you say you got here?” he asked, a plan forming.
    “Scooter,” Sean replied, “but it’s fucked. I’ve got a flat tire and hardly any fuel.”
    “Can you ride a bike?”

 
     
    43
     
    Almost eleven o’clock. Gordon, Ginnie, Lorna, and Caron were still unloading and sorting supplies from the bus. They were working deliberately slow, dragging out the job to keep themselves occupied and