E

Still stuck on the slope, Dan watched the zombie. He started playing with the hem of his shirt, realised he was doing it, and stopped.

Down on the car-choked road, Phil hadn't moved for a long time. He was sitting with his chin resting on his knees, holding onto his arms, in the shape of an egg. It was almost night. A whole day had gone by and they'd made no progress. Dan couldn't walk far and it didn't look like Phil was going to get up to make a fire any time soon. What if he'd decided that he didn't care if they both died? I can't die, Dan thought, panic bubbling through him. I can't.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself onto his feet, pain stabbing his left leg, and tried to half-hop, half-stagger down the slope to their old fire. By the time he made it the already dim sun had dipped completely behind the flyover, casting long, dark shadows around them.

`Phil,' he called, resting on the cracked curb and easing his leg out in front of him. No response. `Phil. Please.'

The mangled car was closer.

Dan steeled himself, got to his feet again and managed to get to the shovel, still sticking out of the shattered windshield. He pulled it out and used it as a crutch to get to Phil.

`You need to help me. We need to get a fire going.'

Slowly, Phil turned around. He didn't have tears in his eyes- Dan wasn't sure the zombies could cry- but every line of his face looked traumatized. It was as if everything, his mouth, his eyes, were pulled downwards and dimmed.

Guilt twisted inside Dan. He wished he could take back what he'd done. But if he hadn't done it, and unintentionally forced Phil to stick with him, then he'd be dead already. Maybe he didn't completely regret it…

And of course, there was his own group, all of them dead so, so fast. The bitterness and pain welled up again.

Dan shook his head furiously, trying to focus again. It was too much. Too confusing.

`Can you stand up?' He asked.

Phil didn't move, but then obeyed, jerkily. Nothing changed in his eyes. Dan worked out what to do. `Go and snap some branches off of that bush, and build a fire,' he commanded, like a parent ordering around their child.

Still with those broken movements, Phil did as he was told. Dan pulled some pocket-fluff out of his clothes and the lighter. Half its fluid was left.

That fire got going the moment darkness fell.

Dan shivered, thanking God he hadn't left it any longer. Not that he believed in God, but that was besides the point. `Get some sleep,' he told Phil. `I'll stay awake tonight.' Privately, he thought the chances of Phil spotting anything attacking them was pretty slim. And he didn't quite trust Phil to wake him up.

More time passed.

Dan pinched his face whenever he felt himself drifting, and fed the fire whenever it dimmed.

Another hour, maybe two went by. He had started yawning so hard his jaw cracked. Red pinch marks covered his cheeks and arms, but the pain wasn't working anymore. `Don't sleep,' he whispered to himself, head lolling and his eyes slowly sliding shut.

When Dan opened them, it was later. Much later. The tip of his nose was icy, and the sky looked greyish. Three in the morning, maybe.

Cold?

Dan bolted upright and pain shot through his whole body from his sprained ankle. Instead of the fire, a few embers were glowing in a pile of charcoal. It barely cast enough light to protect a cockroach. Dan just about fainted; he stirred it and laid down some more kindling, praying that he could get the fire going again. Nothing had got them yet… and then he made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder.

In the darkest pocket of shadow, in the corner under the flyover, he could have sworn something moved.

It might have been his mind playing a trick on him. Maybe.

Dan managed to get close to the ground again without jarring his ankle, and blew on the embers. They flickered again, their glow beginning to strengthen. More kindling…

The sounds of something slow and heavy was coming up the road, alongside the smell. The fire had caught hold, and the kindling was curling in on itself and turning black. More sticks, more air-

Dan's hands shook so badly he dropped everything- the fire sputtered and looked like it was going to die- no no no no-

And then finally, finally, light bloomed out, and a mangled, burnt-looking hand scuttled back into the darkness.

Harsh breaths sawed out of Dan. His pulse jumped in his throat and eyelids. Whatever It Was stared at him balefully, with it's glowing, red eyes.

Sulkily, it turned around and went away, making that slow, shuffling noise. The smell of musty old carpets faded along with it. Dan reached out behind him blindly, making sure it hadn't got the zombie when his back was turned, and felt a hand link through his.

`You're okay?' Phil asked, pushing himself upright. His hand was cold as a chunk of ice. Dan nodded, lifting up his goggles and rubbing his eyes with the cleanest bit of his mask.

`Yeah. I mean, I almost spontaneously fricking combusted, but yeah.'

Phil snorted. Sometimes, Dan wondered if his coping mechanism of turning into a comedian was normal.

He twisted around, watching his zombie carefully. Phil's knobbly neck and shoulders were still slumped. Phil looked up, the firelight casting his face into sharp contrast. `What?'

`Are you okay? From earlier?' Dan realised he was still holding Phil's hand, and decided that he didn't care. Actually, it felt nice. For a minute, he didn't say anything. Then Phil nodded, closing his eyes. `Yeah. I'm okay now. It was just- I was a bit angry.'

All the nervous tension made Dan laugh. `Yeah, no shit.' Phil's mouth quirked slightly, but then fell back down. `Well, um. That's good.'

`Get some sleep,' Phil said. `It's definitely my turn to be lookout now.'

After making sure his ankle was propped up, Dan lay down and closed his eyes. Immediately, he felt like he was floating, with bright white lights flashing behind his eyes.

`I think we might be even now, anyway.'

`Hhm?' Dan managed to open one of his eyes- they were fuzzy with exhaustion. The left side of Phil was lit up by the fire. The shadowed, torn part of his neck was black against the rest of him.

`I killed your friends, you killed mine, now we've got no one. Maybe this is like… fate's way to sort things out. We're even, so now we can just get on with it.'

What came out of Dan's mouth wasn't quite what he was thinking. `You believe in fate?'

Phil properly chuckled that time. `Yeah, I do. Get some sleep.'

He almost managed to say goodnight, but before he could, he was asleep.

The next day, Phil found some sticks that'd work just as well as crutches. After that, they began to make good progress. Actually, better than Phil had expected. They were halfway to Manchester within three days. It got closer and closer, until one day, through the haze of ash, they could see its cracked skyscrapers.

The sight of them sent a tiny spark of happiness through Phil's chest. Home. That was home.

`That's the first time you've smiled,' Dan said quietly.

`Huh?'

`I said, that's the first time you've smiled. Properly, I mean.' Then he looked down and rubbed his nose. `Just seemed nice. Ignore me.'

He really wanted a distraction after that stupid sentence came out his mouth. The trolley was a pretty good one. Replacing embarrassment with anxiety wasn't the healthiest of tricks, but it worked. Inside the trolley was three cans for him, and an arm and a leg for Phil. Those skyscrapers were barely on the horizon. He didn't think Phil would be able to make his food last that long.

`I think we'll be okay,' Phil said slowly, when Dan brought it up. `Just so long as we don't get held up.'

Dan nodded, then glanced at the sky. Still darker than usual.

`What if it storms?'

`Well…' well, Phil thought, if we get trapped somewhere, the hunger could make me kill you. `I'd…' Privately, he knew he'd rather let It get him than kill Dan. Who, speaking of, had a smile spreading across his face.

`Are you trying to look on the bright side?' He asked, laughter pulling at his voice.

`Yeah. Imagine if I looked on the dark side, life's bad enough already.' He paused. `Don't you?'

`Nah. You just get disappointed,' Dan said flatly. But he still felt a squishy feeling in his stomach. This was an actual conversation. He'd missed it.

The thunder drowned out what Phil said. It crashed out of the clouds, slamming through the ash. Oh, Christ…

`Car!' Dan yelled, starting to hobble. Phil understood instantly and began running along, pushing the trolley. They looked like two tiny ants, running and stumbling along the motorway and scuttling to avoid the stinging rain.

The closest car was a red, battered little thing, about ten metres away, abandoned in a lay-by. Phil tossed their food out of the trolley and underneath it, before wriggling under next to Dan, who was already lying on his stomach. He looked at the sleeves of his thick raincoat. They were bubbling white from where the rain had hit him.

`Did you get burned?'

`No,' Dan said. `You?'

`No.' They listened to the rain hammering on the roof of the car. Hail the size of marbles began clattering into the road, and roar after roar of thunder came out of the clouds. If this storm lasted for more than a day…

Phil tried not to remember the last time that had happened, almost four years ago. Hopefully, he'd be able to keep those memories locked away in the back of his mind. No, they were bubbling up- Phil began to shake, and seized onto the first thing he could find to get him out of his head.

`Can you tell me something?'

`What the hell are you on about?'

Phil almost screamed. `Please. Just tell me a story, whatever you want. What do you remember from before?'

Dan seemed to go with it, and exhaled slowly. `I remember my grandma. She looked after me sometimes. She let me and my brother watch films 'till way past our bedtimes whenever we slept over.' The corner of his mouth twitched. `My mum went crazy when she found out. Grandma didn't give a damn, she just kept on doing it.'

A picture swept into Phil's mind. In it was an old living room, like the one his own Gran had; Dan's grandma had really white hair, sort of fluffy and tied back, and was little and round. She had a dressing gown wrapped around her, and had her feet up, sat on a sofa. Her arm was around a tiny, sweeter version of Dan.

`You have a brother?' Phil asked softly, then caught himself. `Had?'

Dan nodded. `Dunno where he is. He probably died.' He took a shaky breath, then looked at Phil. `You had a brother, too. I remember you telling me.'

`His name was Martyn.' They both fell silent. `Do you sometimes wish you could die? Just to be with them again?'

`Yeah, obviously. But then it's like-'

`Like when you get close to dying, after all that, you'd do anything to survive.'

`Yeah,' Dan said. `Exactly.' He wiped under his eyes, leaving grey smudges behind. `Can you tell me something now?' He paused. `Can you tell me about your friends?'

At first it seemed strange, telling things about them to the person who killed them. But Dan regretted what he'd done; and anyway, Phil found that he genuinely wanted to. And so he did, telling Dan all of their weird quirks: Amy's combined control-freak and badass warrior, Adam's annoying habit of clicking his tongue when he was bored. He had even started to remember the more endearing things about Lydia. Once, she'd spent a good hour making up stupid puns with Phil to cheer him up after they'd accidentally killed a baby.

Talking about them seemed to draw out the grief from Phil's chest.

By the time he'd run through everything he could think of, he felt lighter than he'd done for ages. He turned his head, awkwardly in the claustrophobic space, so his nose was almost touching Dan's. `Thank you.'

Dan's eyes crinkled at their edges. `No problem.' They seemed a lot warmer and deeper up close. It felt nice to be this close to someone.

`What about your colony?' He asked.

Dan blinked, surprised, then exhaled slowly. `Well… There was Aiden, he was sixty or something. Used to be a soldier. He had this huge scar going from here to here- and he was terrifying if he was mad at you. Ben and Naomi used to work together at the BBC. Aiden found them a few years ago, hiding in a hotel. They were so funny, like this proper comedy duo.' He'd started to smile. `Reckon they used to do that on the radio.'

Phil knew who was coming next. Half of him wanted to hear, half of him twisted and screeched no!, but did it matter if it helped Dan?

`Aaliyah was the youngest. She travelled everywhere with her mum before all this, so told us these stories about places she's been to. She had this amazing way of describing it, so we felt like we were really there...'

And suddenly, a cold, shadowy thing wriggled beside Phil, invisible to Dan. It had blood-filled eyes and a throat necklaced with bruises, and a scarf, a long scarf so much like a noose-

`I don't reckon she'd be too mad at you, though.'

`Huh?'

`You would've been friends. You've got the same sense of humour. And she'd know you were just trying to survive.'

Something warm and brave swelled up in Phil's chest. He edged his hand out and leant it against Dan's, then carefully threaded his fingers through. Dan squeezed it back. Right that second, Phil decided he would go through the end of the world all over again, just so long as it ended with this: holding Dan's hand, underneath a car, with a storm raging above them.

Then Dan started breathing more gently. Phil looked- he'd fallen asleep. There was a whistling noise every time he breathed out through his nose, making Phil smile. Now Dan was asleep, he looked so much younger. A lot more like the Dan getting snuggled by his Grandma on a sofa.

At the same time, this close up, Phil could see the sickness shining out of Dan's face; his closed eyes were rimmed red, and his lips were white and chapped. Hollows had formed at his cheeks and under his jaw. Scabby bald patches spread under his long, curly hair. Phil wished he had something to cover them up, so Dan would look less vulnerable.

I'll miss you, when you're gone. Most of Phil meant when we get to Manchester. A very small part of him meant… the other thing, but from the looks of things Dan hadn't been poisoned too badly by the radiation seeping out into the planet. It'd take a while, anyway.

Phil looked at their hands. They were still intertwined. His thumb rested over Dan's. Both their hands were a mess, covered with scars, filthy, bleeding, blistered and calloused, but somehow, they still looked nice together.

Outside, the pattering quieted down. Phil smiled. The storm was nearly over.