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  Come on! Come on! You can make it!

  The chopper touched down with a rattling thump, and the engine cut out with a bang. Paul let out a breath. For a minute, there was only the descending whine of rotors and the whup-whup-whup of the slowing blades. And then there was silence.

  Mark came up beside him and stared down at the wide stretch of open ground between the science block and the sports hall, where several Infected still roamed aimlessly. Then he raised his head, looked at the helicopter, and scratched the back of his neck.

  “Well,” he said. “That’s kind of inconvenient.”

  “Someone’s coming out,” said Mr. Sutton.

  The light was just enough to see two people emerge from the craft. Two men, by the looks of it. One of them wore a lab coat and looked like a scientist; the other wore the helmet and fatigues of a pilot. The pilot leaned on the scientist’s shoulder, and he was limping badly as he got out.

  “Hey!” Adam yelled at them, hands cupped to his mouth. “Oi! You alright over there?”

  They waved their hands and shouted something back, but the wind took their words and carried them away.

  “I said, are you alright?” Adam roared, loud enough to dislodge a lung. But it was still no good: Their replies were lost. They were too far away, and the wind was blowing in the wrong direction.

  The pilot seemed to realize there was no point in shouting. He hobbled back into the helicopter. After a moment, the spotlight began to flash intermittently. Three short flashes, then three long, then three more short, followed by a pause. After that, it would begin again.

  “What’s he doing?” Adam asked.

  “It’s Morse code,” said Mark.

  “Three short, three long, three short,” said Paul. “SOS.”

  “It means ‘Help,’” Mark added, for Adam’s benefit.

  It took Adam a moment to catch up with everyone else. When he did, he threw his arms up in the air. “Help?” he cried. “Well, that’s bloody great. I thought they were supposed to rescue us?”

  “Are you sure about this?” Mr. Sutton asked, for the third time.

  “Course I’m sure,” said Paul, not sure at all. He stuffed another flash bomb in his satchel. “I said I’d do it, didn’t I?”

  Mr. Sutton looked at him a long time with those sad, droopy eyes of his, until Paul began to feel uncomfortable under his gaze. Paul could tell the teacher didn’t want to be endangering one of his students; it went against everything he believed. But he also knew that beneath that calm appearance, Mr. Sutton was as scared as the rest of them, and he didn’t want to go out there alone.

  “Look, it’s got to be done, right?” Paul snapped, as if Mr. Sutton had tried to dissuade him. “They’ll never get to us without flash bombs, not with the pilot’s leg the way it is. So someone needs to go over there.” He looked out the window at the sports hall, its curves sleek in the dark. “Anyway, they might be able to help us. If they came from outside, they might know what’s going on. And there could be stuff in that chopper, even if it can’t fly.”

  Mr. Sutton didn’t say anything more.

  Mark readied the escape ladder for them. They’d found it in a wall-mounted case with the words BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY printed on the glass. Adam had accepted the invitation with glee. It came in a bundle that could be attached to a windowsill and unrolled into a plastic-fiber rope ladder. Paul presumed it was there so people could climb to safety in case a fire blocked their route downstairs. With all the Molotov cocktails they’d thrown around earlier, they’d come pretty close to needing it.

  Caitlyn had protested when they told her about the plan, then become upset and left after Paul had volunteered. Paul didn’t really understand why, but then he often didn’t understand girls. Erika had gone to check on supplies. Paul found himself wishing she were here now.

  Is it because of her? he asked himself. Is she why I’m doing this?

  A detonation echoed through the night, making the window shake in its frame. A clamor followed in its wake: pots clattering, whistles blowing, shouts and taunts.

  “They’ve started,” Mark said quietly.

  The Infected that were roaming the open ground between the science block and the sports hall lifted their heads at the noise coming from the other side of the building. One by one, and then all together, they started running toward it. Another bang went off: a homemade firework, courtesy of Mark.

  After a short time, the way to the sports hall was clear. To the right was the wall that bordered the campus grounds, to the left was the school building. They glimpsed other Infected running in the distance, but nothing nearby. It was as safe as it was going to get.

  “Ready?” Paul asked Mr. Sutton when he didn’t appear to be making a move.

  Mr. Sutton drew a deep breath to steady his nerves, and nodded. “Adam. You’re in charge till we get back, okay?”

  Adam grinned. “Right.”

  Paul was surprised. Him? He didn’t think that was a good idea at all. He glanced at Mark, but Mark just looked relieved that Mr. Sutton hadn’t picked him.

  Mr. Sutton caught the look on Paul’s face. “Anything you want to say, Paul?”

  Adam stared at him, a challenge in those piggy eyes, as if daring him to protest.

  But all Paul said was, “Good luck.”

  Mr. Sutton tossed the escape ladder out. It unspooled from the windowsill and thumped onto the grass.

  Better make sure we come back alive, thought Paul. Because they won’t stand a chance with that goon in charge.

  And then there was nothing left but to go for it.

  Paul dropped off the end of the ladder and was running the moment his feet hit the lawn. His senses screamed danger. The air was loaded with threat. It was fear such as he hadn’t felt since he was a child, the fear of the empty house at night, where monsters lurked in every nook. But then it had been the dark he was afraid of: Now it was the light, the yellow glow from the lampposts, exposing him. Only by going forward could he stop himself from going back.

  It wasn’t far, really. A few hundred yards. You could sprint it in a minute at full speed, and Paul had always been a fast runner. Mr. Sutton was ahead of him, and for a guy in his thirties, he could move at a fair clip, too. They ran full-out, looking in every direction, Paul’s head jarring on his neck as he fought to cover every angle. No telling where one of the Infected might come from. No telling how fast it might be, what it would look like.

  Panting breath, the dull impact of their shoes on the turf, iron bars swinging as their arms pumped. Behind them, the noise of the fireworks. The kids were making a heck of a racket back there. That was good. But the Infected weren’t all stupid. How long before one of them worked out what was going on? Did they think like human beings anymore? Or were they more like smart animals, incapable of understanding deception?

  I hope that’s true. I hope they’ve already gotten as smart as they’re getting. Because if they get much smarter, we’re all dead meat.

  Dead meat, or worse. Live machinery.

  Paul didn’t want to think about it. Not for the first time, he asked himself why he’d volunteered for this ordeal. But the answer was always the same. He couldn’t just do nothing. And he simply didn’t believe that anyone was going to rescue them. The world had already proved its cruelty to him by taking his parents: His faith in miracles was all out.

  So make your own miracles.

  Halfway there now, without cover, without anywhere to hide. Farther to go back than to go onward. He abandoned himself to chance, the way a soldier did when he ran onto a battlefield, not knowing if the next bullet would take him down, or his neighbor. At any moment he expected to hear an accusing screech, to see blue eyes glowing in the shadows of a nearby building.

  This time, chance was kind.

  He slammed up against the side of the sports hall, hugging its sheet-metal walls and the shadow they provided. Mr. Sutton came staggering up a few moments later — Paul had overtaken him on the way. Bot
h of them were momentarily exhausted; terror had driven them hard.

  But they’d crossed the divide. And nothing had come for them.

  Paul looked back at the science block. The distance didn’t seem half as far now. The building looked small, an ugly island, its lower windows gaping, shattered boards like rotten teeth. Mark was watching from upstairs. He’d already drawn up the ladder and was standing guard.

  Mark. Mark, who’d built the weapons they used, and the radio. Mark, who’d electrified the doors to keep the Infected out. Strange how quickly they’d all come to rely on him. A few hours ago they’d hardly have noticed he was there.

  “You okay?” he whispered to Mr. Sutton. Mr. Sutton, doubled over and leaning on his knees, just about managed to give a thumbs-up.

  The front doors were too exposed, so they crept along the back of the hall, where they were screened from view by the campus wall to their right. They found a fire door, which couldn’t be opened from outside. Nearby, a window looked in on a small office area for the staff. Paul, not wanting to be outside a moment longer than necessary, hefted the iron bar he was carrying and smashed the glass in.

  “Vandal,” Mr. Sutton said. Paul grinned.

  They climbed inside, taking care not to cut themselves. The lights were out in the room, and it was chilly and full of shadows, but Paul felt immediately safer now that he was out of the open.

  “The sports hall would have been locked up by dinnertime, right?” he whispered.

  “Right,” said Mr. Sutton.

  “So there shouldn’t have been anyone in here when it all happened. And there would be no reason for any Infected to try and get inside.”

  “Let’s just keep an eye out anyway, hmm?”

  Paul remembered the rats in the basement, the janitor’s screams, Caitlyn crying as Mark electrified her arm. A chill ran through him. Nowhere was safe. He had to remember that. One little slip, one careless moment, and it would be over.

  He opened the door to the office and peered out into the corridor. Nothing moved. The building was silent, the echoing hush of a leisure center. The main lights were off, but dim night-lights cast a faint yellow glow, providing enough illumination to see by but not enough to drive away the dark.

  Paul was conscious of the need to hurry. The distraction caused by the kids in the science block wouldn’t last forever. They followed the corridor toward the stairs, listening for movement.

  They hadn’t gone far when they came up against a pair of doors barring their progress along the corridor. When Paul tried them, they were locked. They looked too thick to break through.

  “We can cut through the pool area,” Mr. Sutton suggested.

  Paul nodded. His nerves were taut. He knew there was no reason why any Infected would be in here, but it didn’t stop him from thinking they were going to jump out of every doorway. The silence pushed in on him.

  “Sir? Why’d you put Adam in charge?” he said as they backtracked and went up a new corridor. He needed to talk, to break the quiet a little.

  “Who would you have picked?” Mr. Sutton asked.

  Paul thought about it. Who was there? People might listen to Mark, but they wouldn’t take orders from him, and he didn’t want to be a leader anyway. Erika? Well, she had a smart head on her shoulders, but he was yet to be convinced that she was any good in a crisis. Caitlyn was a mess at the moment. All the rest were too young.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But Adam … I mean, people will do what he says ’cause they’re afraid of him, but he’s not all that bright, is he?”

  “He’s been very brave, though.”

  “Dunno if bravery and being too dumb to realize you’re in danger are quite the same thing, sir.”

  “Now come on, Paul. I expect a bit more from you than that.”

  Paul felt vaguely ashamed. He thought about how Adam had gone out in the rain to round up everyone into the science block, how he bullied the kids into staying at their posts and fighting the Infected, how he’d covered their retreat upstairs. And he remembered how Adam had stood with him on the stairway when he was waiting for Erika.

  “Yeah,” he said eventually. “He’s done alright, hasn’t he?”

  They reached a pair of solid doors that led to the swim hall. Paul could smell the chlorine from the pool beyond. He pushed them open a crack and peered through.

  The hall was full of whispers and the echo of lapping water. Underwater lights cast blurred ripples on the ceiling. He could see no sign that it was occupied, so he went in. Mr. Sutton followed.

  It was a large hall for competitive swimming, with bleachers along one side and lanes marked out in the pool. They walked along the edge of the pool toward the other side.

  “You know who I would have left in charge?” said Mr. Sutton. “You.”

  Paul frowned.

  “When the Infected attacked us, you were the one who got everybody organized,” the teacher continued. “You didn’t try to do it all on your own. You got everyone working together.” He paused. “That’s what a leader does.”

  Paul was beginning to feel uncomfortable at the way the conversation was going. He didn’t see himself as any kind of leader. He’d just been frustrated with Mr. Sutton’s indecisiveness.

  “We all have to trust each other now,” said Mr. Sutton, quietly enough that it seemed he was talking to himself. “Rely on each other. Even Adam. We’re going to need one another to survive.”

  The words settled like a weight on Paul. He knew the teacher was right, and yet the thought of it scared him. He’d relied on people before. He’d put his faith in his parents, trusting them to come back each time they went away. How could he do that again?

  A loud scraping noise rang through the swimming hall, a screech of metal, like a bucket being dragged briefly along the floor.

  Paul’s blood froze. They looked over in the direction it had come from. On the other side of the pool, there was a corridor that led to the locker rooms.

  “Nobody has the keys to this place, right?” he said quietly. “Nobody that might have, I don’t know, hid in here after dinner?”

  “No students, but … well, there are the PE teachers…. I suppose Mrs. Fowler might have …”

  Paul swore under his breath. “Come on,” he said, and they hurried to the door at the far end of the hall. As they slipped through, Paul looked back. In the dim yellow glow of the night-lights, he caught a glimpse of something. Something that was crawling slowly up the corridor from the locker rooms toward the pool.

  He shut the door. He didn’t want to see any more.

  The roof of the sports hall was reached by a ladder and a hatch, and they got there without seeing another sign of the Infected. Once, Paul would have thanked whoever might be listening for that good fortune. These days, given the evidence, he suspected that nobody was listening at all.

  He pushed open the hatch and popped his head through. The first thing he saw was a shadowy figure that was about to bring a wrench down on his skull.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Wait!” he cried, holding his arm up to fend off the blow.

  The pilot lowered the wrench a little, but he was still half-cocked for a swing. With his helmet off, Paul could see a long, deeply lined face with a short, grizzly beard.

  “You been bitten? Scratched? Any of those things touched you?” he demanded in a gravelly voice.

  “No!” Paul said irritably, as anger overtook fright. “Now put that bloody thing down, unless you want us to leave you here.” After the risk they’d taken to run over from the science block, he’d expected a friendlier reception.

  “Put it down, Carson,” said a quiet voice. Paul turned his head and saw the scientist standing nearby. He was a black silhouette with yellow rectangles for eyes: his glasses, reflecting the light from the campus.

  The pilot grunted and backed away, keeping a wary distance as Paul and Mr. Sutton climbed through and onto the roof.

  “I hope you’ll pardon our rather nervous welcome,�
� said the scientist. He stepped closer, though not too close. He was a small man with graying hair at the sides of his head and none on top, and he wore a lab coat. “My name’s Radley. We’ve had a somewhat harrowing day.”

  “I should think we all have,” said Mr. Sutton.

  Paul looked past Carson at the helicopter. Carson caught his thought. “That ain’t going anywhere right now,” he said.

  Paul’s faint hope dwindled. “What about a radio? You got something we can call for help on?”

  Carson and Radley exchanged a glance. Paul spotted it, and wondered at its meaning.

  “Radio’s out,” said Carson.

  “We should get moving,” said Mr. Sutton. “The students have set up a distraction, but the Infected won’t stay distracted forever.”

  “You want us to come back with you?” Radley asked in surprise.

  “You’d rather stay here?” Paul said. “There, we’ve got weapons. If they come for you here, you don’t have a chance. And there’s at least one of them in the building somewhere.”

  He saw how that news concerned them. They thought for a moment. “Carson can’t run,” the scientist said.

  “Twisted my ankle,” Carson grunted.

  “Well, then he’ll hobble,” said Paul. “But we’re not sticking around. So if you want to come with us, grab anything useful from the chopper and get moving!”

  Caitlyn stood at a window in a deserted classroom, looking out through the gaps between hastily nailed-up planks of wood. She’d left the lights off to suit her mood. The crashing of metal objects echoed through the corridors of the science block, the defiant yells of twelve- and thirteen-year-olds, the occasional blast of a dangerously potent firework. From the far side of the building, the hungry wails and howls of the Infected drifted up into the air, where they were dashed away by the wind.

  Madness. Madness all around her. Madness inside her, too. The world had taken on the surreal tint of a nightmare. Only a few hours ago, everything had been so … so normal. And so had she. A normal girl living in her normal world: Caitlyn the Unexceptional.