Unfed (20 page)

“Nailed it, Petey,” drawls Smitty. “And are you going to write ‘Here be Monsters’ on it?”

Pete gives an impatient titter. “Glad to see you’re just as witty as ever, Smitty.” He draws an arrow to a point just west of Edinburgh. “I memorized the digits of Smitty’s hiding place, and here’re the numbers we remember from the second set of coordinates.” He writes:

He clears his throat. “So we can tell that the two locations aren’t too far apart. But the difference is that the second location will be south a little, and then three degrees farther east,” Pete says patiently.

“Yeah?” I say.

“Look.” He draws a vertical line that goes through Edinburgh. “We know this is close to three degrees west. Then we move east a little …” He draws a vertical line that goes through London. “We know London is at zero degrees.”

“We do?” Smitty says.

“Yes, because zero degrees is Greenwich, that’s where it all starts.” Pete flutters his white eyelashes at us. “Like the clock. Greenwich Mean Time, from when England was the center of the world.”

“OK, I’ll take your word for it.” It rings a bell with me, but I’m not going to admit it.

“So in summary” — Pete knows he’s talking to morons — “we know the location for the second coordinates is marginally south and significantly east of the shelter, at zero degrees.” He traces a finger on the map. “And if you go a little bit south and across to zero degrees, where will you end up?”

I look at the map. Britain hunches over like a witch riding an invisible broomstick. Or possibly a prawn. But I can see what Pete means.

“Zero degrees would be in the sea,” I say blankly.

“Yes!” He slaps the map. “Far out to sea. It’s impossible to go to zero degrees and be on land, unless you cross into England. And then you’d be way too far south to still be at fifty-five degrees north.”

“Then we’ve got it wrong, the code?” Russ says. “The second number means something else.”

“No.” Suddenly it’s clear to me. “She’s in the sea.” I look around at the staring faces. “Think about it. The border’s closed. She’s hardly going to be smuggling us into England by land. And I think chartering a jet plane might be a tad difficult at short notice, even for my mother. So what’s
she going to do? She’s going to get a boat.” I show them the lighthouse postcard. “The whole nautical theme. This is her idea of a total hoot.”

“All righty,” Smitty says. “We swim out to meet her, or … ?”

“Zero is
far
out to sea,” Pete interjects. “Many miles.”

“She did that so there’d be no doubt we’d guess she’s in a boat.” I nod my head. “We go to the lighthouse. Flash the damn light at her — something — she’ll have a plan.”

“I can estimate where that spot might be, but without a GPS it’s going to be one hell of a big guess,” Pete says.

“Doesn’t matter, we just watch for the lighthouse,” I say. “We’re following the coastline. When we see it, we stop.”

“What’s happening now?” Alice has chosen this moment to wake up, and is looking at me with a full face of filth. “Is there going to be a storm?”

“No doubt, Alice. The storm is definitely coming, and the lighthouse is our way home.” Outside I can see the beach, dipping in and out of the fog. “I just hope we haven’t missed it.”

Smitty’s back in the driver’s cab. He enjoyed filling Alice in on all the details, right up to the point where she flung a water bottle at him. Now she’s locked herself in one of the train’s bathrooms and will no doubt reenter looking pristine, as is her trick.

Russ is in the carriage next to the zoms, on lighthouse duty, and Pete is glued to the window in here, intermittently drawing lines on his map. I’m hovering by the seats next to the driver’s cab, willing Elvenmouth to suddenly spring into view. I want to go and talk to Smitty, but on the other hand, I don’t want to make it too obvious that I want to go and talk to Smitty. Least of all to Smitty.

Alice comes back.
Wowza
. She doesn’t look pristine at all, she looks green.

“You OK?” I expect the usual defensive slap in the face from her, but she just rakes her hand through her hair.

“No, I’m not.” She wipes the corner of her mouth with a delicate pinky. “I just spewed again. I never spew, and these days I’m all about the spew. It’s utterly gross.”

“Pregnant.” Pete doesn’t look away from the window. Again I expect Alice to spiral into a tantrum, but instead she just rolls her eyes halfheartedly. I chance putting a hand on her shoulder, and she lets me.

“You fell into a ravine. You got kidnapped. You jumped onto a speeding train. It’s a lot for one day.”

She almost smiles.

“Rest.” I self-consciously remove the hand. “We’ll wake you up when it’s time to move. I promise.”

She raises a blond eyebrow at me. “You’d better.”

“Hey.” I spot some drinks in a box under a table. “Thirsty, anyone?” I pull out a can. It’s bright red and orange and reads
NECTA!
in a whirly retro font. “Is this stuff for real? Not another Veggie Juice they just made up?”

Alice takes one and cracks it open. “No. They did ban this stuff in a few schools because it woke the students up.
Beaucoup de
caffeine and sugar. For all we know it could be the cure.” She drains the can and lies down on a seat.

“Hit me.” Pete holds out a hand, and I toss him a soda.

“I’ll give this one to Russ,” I say. Pete nods as I head to the other carriage.
Goody
. Now I’ve got an excuse to take one to Smitty next.
Gah!
Like I need an excuse
. How ridiculous.

So I’m kind of in my own head as I push the button for the door to open, and as I walk through and it closes behind me, I don’t immediately see Russ. I’m keeping one eye on the sea for that lighthouse, and the other on the far door, looking through to the zoms beyond the seat barricade he’s made. They’re still there, of course, just swaying with the train and not much else. They’ve probably given up trying to get to us. For now.

“… mfluffle … effer contact … blumm fer update.”

A tinny voice stops me in my tracks. Where’s Russ? That wasn’t him. The noise was coming from the far end of the carriage. I tiptoe toward
it. I can still hear the voice, but it’s very muffled by the sound of the train, the rain.

“… thesser situation … ollow, over?”

Last row of seats, on the left. Can’t see anything from here, but I’m still walking slowly toward the sound, a cold knot solidifying in my gut. That’s a walkie-talkie. Sounds just like the ones in the morgue. The memory makes my blood freeze.
Where’s Russ?
Jeez, did he go in the carriage with the zoms? The voice has stopped.

I reach the end of the carriage. Russ is crouched low, with something in his hand. He turns round and yells in shock.

“God! You scared the life out of me.” He clasps his free hand to his chest; the other hand, with the thing in it, sneaks behind his back.

“What’s that?” I point.

I watch for the twitch; some tiny little microfrown in that split second when he’s working out how to answer me. But he’s not guilty of anything, or he’s really, really good … his brow smoothes over and his mouth gives a relieved smile.

“So glad it’s you. I found this.” He holds out the walkie. “In Pete’s stuff.”

I didn’t know Pete had any stuff to speak of
.

“I heard the voice.” I search his face. “What were they saying?”

“I don’t know!” He does exasperated. “Couldn’t make any of it out.”

Well, that’s a lie, because I was several feet away and I clearly heard some words. “Is it the one from the morgue?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “Could be. Maybe he thought he’d keep it and it might come in useful?”

“But don’t people have to be quite near to talk to you on one of those?” I take a small step backward. It’s instinctual, I can’t help myself. But Russ notices, and he knows that I notice him noticing.

“Maybe he’s been contacting someone.” He steps toward me.

“Maybe he has,” I say. “Maybe he has been contacting someone all along, and that’s how they’ve known where we are at every turn. The helicopter …”

“That would make total sense.” He looks at me, face frowning. “I mean — crazy, but I have been noticing a few things that worry me about his behavior. Haven’t you?”

“What like?” I think I can guess, but I’m not going to volunteer anything.

Russ grimaces, as if this is causing him actual pain. “He smashed the GPS. He lost the paper with the numbers on, and then he was the one who had the chance to wipe the numbers in the Jeep.”

I think about it. Yes, I clocked those things, too. “He remembered the numbers, though.”

“
Some
of them,” Russ says. “Enough to divert suspicion, but not enough to be seriously helpful. And even before that, the phone went missing when he was the last one to have it — and now this walkie turns up in his things.” Russ shakes his head. “He’s always been fascinated with Xanthro, hasn’t he? Maybe they got to him in the hospital. Persuaded him to come on board.”

I gasp. But, yeah, I’ve had the same thought.

Russ holds a hand up. “We’re probably just being paranoid. I feel awful about doubting him.” He shrugs. “Let’s keep this between us. I’ll hang on to the walkie for now.”

I don’t say anything. I just stand there, because I really don’t know which way is up, and I can’t help thinking that Russ has just swung this whole conversation round to make himself look better, and Pete look worse. But then again, that might be That There Paranoia at work.

“Get in here!” Pete shouts down the carriage, making me jump out of my skin.

We’re both glad of an excuse to move, and I watch Russ pocket the walkie. He puts a protective hand over the bulge. I also have a full pocket, let’s not forget. Just because I haven’t pulled it yet doesn’t mean I won’t. Only I have to have a good enough reason.

Pete is holding the map from the wall and is up by the door of the driver’s cab, with Alice. I run as fast as I can up the wobbly train to get to them.

“Slow down, Smitty!” Pete is shouting, flinging the door open. I get to them just in time to see Smitty’s shocked expression. “Slow right down.” Pete is firm. “We’re in the zone.”

“What are you talking about?” Smitty replies.

“Here.” Pete puts the map on the dashboard and stabs at it. “I’ve calculated the spot as best as I can on the map, and I’ve located the area indicated by Bobby’s mother, give or take a few miles. Judging by our speed of travel and cross-referencing the minor conurbations we’ve been through — not to mention the fact that we’re in the section of track that hugs the coast and runs parallel to the motorway — I estimate we’re within shouting distance of our destination.”

“Eh?” Alice says.

“We’re nearly there,” I translate. “So how big’s this zone, Pete? How much could you be off by?”

He shakes his head. “Bobby, this map is hardly detailed. It may not even be to scale. And I’m working without those remaining numbers. It could be as much as five, ten miles out.”

“So do we stop? Where do we look?” Alice cries. “Do we just get out and walk along the beach and hope we see something?”

“Maybe that’s exactly what we do.” I lean forward against the windshield, eyes darting. “No obvious Undead out there.”

“The fog’s getting worse,” Smitty says. “Just saying.”

It’s moving off the sea, coming inland, like a slow-moving tidal wave. As the train descends a slight hill, we get a view of a bay up ahead. It’s different from the gently undulating coast we’ve seen so far, startlingly so. It’s a perfect little crescent of pale sand against the slate-gray water and the white wall of fog. The shape of the bay is so uniform it looks almost man-made.

“Wish ‘U’ were here,” I murmur. “It looks like a
U
.”

Oh god, Mother. Would you like some extra cheese with that?
I feel a chuckle in my throat as I take in the candy-colored houses that line the harbor. I know this place, I remember it.

“The lighthouse!” Smitty cries.

There it is, at the harbor, the top poking out of the encroaching mist. I remember there’s a red house on a hill that looks like a face with windows for eyes … I remember sunburn, ice cream from a van, being bitten by a horrible hairy fly that wouldn’t get off my arm even when my mother swatted at it …

“This is Elvenmouth,” I say. “We came here for a vacation. More than once, I think, when I was very little.” I murmur. “I didn’t even know it was Scotland. But I remember it well. She would know I’d remember it.”

“Thank god,” says Alice. “So what now?”

“We go to the lighthouse, turn it on, wait for the boat.” Smitty flings out a finger. “We should get as close as we can, stop the train, make for the harbor.”

I nod, and as I do, Alice screams, “Stop!”

“Be cool!” Smitty says. “Just let me get —” But then he’s facing front again, and he doesn’t need to finish his sentence.

There in the middle of the tracks, hovering, is the helicopter.

We all scream, and Smitty hits the brakes, slamming us against the wall. But the train won’t exactly stop on a dime.

“Can you reverse?” Pete yells.

“You tell me!” Smitty yells back, fiddling with the controls. The train’s brakes screech, but we’re still moving forward.

“We should make a run for it,” I say.

“I am not going out there now.” Alice starts to cry.

“Stay calm, everyone,” Russ says.

The train slows to a reluctant halt, the helicopter still hovering up ahead of us, ten feet or so off the ground. We fall silent, and we don’t move. We can see them looking at us, and for some reason, it makes us want to stand like statues.

“What do we do?” Alice whispers.

“Hit the gas. Maybe just crash into them?” I half joke. “They’re not going to think we’ll have the nerve. They’ll get out of the way in time, you’ll see.”

“I don’t think they can land on the tracks,” Pete says.

“We just sit tight,” Russ says.

“Or go backward,” Alice says.

“I don’t know how to do backward.” Smitty grits his teeth.

“They can’t hover there forever,” Pete says. “They’ll have to go off somewhere and land, and then we hit full speed ahead.”

“Better believe I’ll be ready.” Smitty wipes a bead of sweat off his brow. We wait.

But then the doors on the helicopter open, and three men in black lower themselves onto the legs of the helicopter and jump onto the ground.

“That’s that idea busted,” Pete says.

“Drive, drive, drive!” Alice cries. “Make them move!”

Before Smitty has the chance to crank the engine, there’s a
ping
and a
crack
, and we all hit the deck.

“They’re firing!”

“Is this thing bulletproof?”

“What are we going to do?”

“Stand up slowly!” A voice rings out through a megaphone. “All of you! Now!”

We don’t move.

“Don’t make us come in and get you,” the voice continues. “Stand up slowly, and you won’t get hurt.”

Smitty gives me a hug. “I’m going to give myself up. It’s me they want, after all. I’ll stand up really slow, and you guys make a run for it through the back.”

“Don’t be so frickin’ self-centered. You don’t know they’re after you. They were plenty interested in the rest of us before we even found you.” I grab him. “I hate it when you pull this crap.”

He shakes his head. “I’m going to stand up nice and slow, like they want. And you good folks are going to get the hell out. I’ll distract them long enough. So make the most of it.”

“He’s right, we should go.” Russ pats my shoulder, and crawls past me.

Smitty raises an eyebrow. “My, that was easy.”

“He’s going, I’m going.” Alice scrabbles across the floor and opens the door.

“How’s it going to work?” Pete hisses. “This distraction thing? They’ll shoot you.”

“Go, Pete,” I urge him. “I’m staying to help Smitty. We are not done yet. Trust me.”

Pete gives me a questioning look, but then he nods and crawls out.

They’ve all gone. It’s just me and Smitty. Stubborn, wonderful Smitty.

“Are you ready for this?” I ask him.

“Got a white flag?” He grins back.

“I’m all out.”

“On three?” He gives me a wink.

“Just like the good old days.”

“Not quite like the good old days …” he says.

I frown at him.

He leans in, puts a warm hand on my cheek. Then he kisses me. “
Now
it’s just like the good old days,” he says, then kisses me again. I close my eyes, and wish everyone would just vamoose.