The City

overrun by hundreds of wandering corpses, attracted to their remote and otherwise inconspicuous location by the activity and sounds the survivors had made simply by existing. They had taken many precautions to separate themselves from the rotting remains of the population, but all their efforts had ultimately been in vain.
    Michael and Emma had learnt to their bitter cost that there was no way of escaping the unwanted attentions of millions upon millions of desperate, diseased and increasingly vicious corpses.
    The couple had heard the engine in the distance when the soldiers had emerged from their hidden base earlier in the day.
    At first it had seemed impossible to believe - since leaving the farmhouse neither of them had seen any indication that other people remained alive - not a single sound or movement that might have pointed to the existence of other survivors. But the noise of the engine had been definite and unmistakable, and it had filled them both with sudden unexpected hope where before they had felt nothing but pain, emptiness and desolation.
    By the time they were out of the motorhome and were able to look for the source of the sound the soldiers had been long gone.
    They did, however, stumble upon a straight gravel track at the bottom of a hill near to where they were parked. In the absence of any other roads or pathways for miles around, the track seemed logically to be a good starting point in their search for other survivors. Michael had supposed that anyone else attempting to survive in this brutal, inhospitable world might have found themselves a base similar to the farmhouse where he and Emma had hidden. It followed that if these people were heading out for supplies, there was a fairly good chance they would be back again before long.
    He was right.
    The darkness of early evening had all but swallowed up the last light of the gloomy afternoon when they heard the sound again. Distant and faint at first, it had quickly increased in  volume. Ignorant to the dangers of being outside and exposed, Michael threw open the motorhome door and jumped down the steps. He sprinted across the long, rain-soaked grass and crouched down on a small rocky outcrop from where he was able to get a clear view of a long stretch of the track below. And then he saw it - a huge, powerful military transporter which roared defiantly along the track. Michael couldn’t see the driver of the vehicle, or how many people were inside, but it didn’t matter.
    More important than just finding other survivors, he now knew that these people were strong and well organised. And if they really were the military, what did that mean? How many hundreds of them could there be nearby?
    The transport disappeared into the darkness. He stood up and ran cautiously along the exposed brow of the hill, following the machine until it was completely out of view. Where did the track lead? He stared into the darkness and contemplated what he had seen for a few silent seconds before remembering the danger of being alone outside and running back to the motorhome.
    ‘Well?’ Emma asked as he let himself back inside.
    ‘Well what? I saw a bloody big army machine. Don’t know exactly what it was but…’
    ‘The
    army?’
    ‘Looked like it,’ Michael said breathlessly as he locked the door behind him and drew the thick curtains which they used to stop any light from spilling out into the darkness and revealing their location to the rest of the world. ‘Couldn’t be sure, but it was definitely some kind of armoured machine.’
    ‘Where did it go?’
    He shrugged his shoulders. Emma had an infuriating habit of asking questions which she knew he couldn’t answer.
    ‘It was following the track we found earlier,’ he sighed, ‘so I guess it was going wherever the track leads.’
    ‘And where’s that?’
    ‘How the hell am I supposed to know? I suggest we should try and find out tomorrow.’
    ‘Don’t you want to look tonight?’
    ‘No,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘The light’s almost gone.
    It’s too dangerous. We’ll wait until morning.’

24
    Cooper was becoming increasingly claustrophobic in his protective suit. Made from a number of layers of rubberized material, as well as preventing any contamination from getting inside, it also stopped everything from getting out. Although it was cold in the building he was dripping with sweat. He decided he would make a move in a short while but, for now, he wanted to rest and gather his