It took almost an hour to agree who would go. After a long discussion – or argument, depending on where you were sitting – it was concluded that Kayo, Penelope and Scott would go, then, following another ten minutes of raised voices and saturated stubbornness, it was decided that Virgil would accompany them too.

Scott was not a fan of this plan but he knew better than to waste energy on trying to talk Virgil out of it. Gordon was furious that he'd been ordered to remain behind. John wasn't too happy about it either. Alan had accepted his fate from the beginning.

It didn't take long for Scott's Big Brother senses to pick up on Kayo's uneasiness. Once he'd noticed, he couldn't stop noticing. It was rare for Kayo to be nervous and so it was a glaring red flag.

She remained elusive throughout the day but, as sunset struck gold into the sky, he finally tracked her down on the roof. He took this as an open invitation; if she hadn't wanted company, she would never have allowed herself to be found.

"Hey," he ventured softly, lowering himself to sit beside her. He wished that she'd chosen a warmer place to hide, but at least it was quiet up here; peaceful; easier to breathe beneath the vast sky.

He picked out Orion amongst the darkening dusk, a reflex honed throughout years of spending nights under the stars with brothers. A gentle breeze had brought warmer air up from the south following the storm and although there was still ice everywhere, the promise of a thaw was already gracing the horizon.

He stretched his legs out, leaning back against his hands as he studied Kayo's profile. Framed against the dying light, she seemed more vulnerable than usual.

"What's on your mind?"

The breeze tousled her loose hair, blowing strands across her face but she made no move to brush them away. For a long moment, it seemed as if she wouldn't answer, but then she turned to face him with a sigh.

"Last time I was in London, I didn't go with Penelope. I accompanied a GDF mission to retrieve supplies from an old warehouse. It… didn't end well. Out of a team of five, only two of us made it back. One of the people we lost… he'd become a friend of mine."

She drew a knee up to her chest and wrapped her arms around it, shivering slightly in the breeze. Her gaze fell on the horizon, haunted by grief. Scott shuffled a little closer to act as a windbreaker, shielding her from the worst of the chill. He didn't know what to say. Sorry seemed inadequate.

"His name was Rigby. Since I lost him, I've tried to avoid working with the GDF as much as possible. I don't do missions without Pen anymore. Not that I did before – the only reason she didn't come along was because she'd caught a bad cold – but you know. I can't…"

She swallowed as her voice wavered.

Scott cautiously put an arm around her shoulders. When she didn't shy away, he tightened his hold and tugged her into his side.

"I'm so sorry, Kay," he whispered, rubbing a hand down her arm as she melted against him.

Kayo curled her hands into fists. "I couldn't save Rigs. What if I can't protect you guys out there either?"

"It's not your job alone. We're a team, remember? We'll protect each other." He nudged her shoulder, earning a small smile. "Besides, Virgil and I aren't helpless. We did survive nearly an entire year by ourselves."

"Doesn't count, you were in safe zones for part of that time."

"Doesn't…? Two of those safe zones got infiltrated by rotters! It does count."

"Debatable."

"Kayo!"

She tilted her head to glance up at him; a gleam of mischief had returned to her eyes.

"You're so easy to rile."

"Oh, we're done here."

"Scott." Her voice lifted from teasing to genuine amusement. "Scooter, c'mon. You know I was kidding. Sit your ass back down."

He dropped back onto the roof with a good-natured huff. Kayo shook her head, her smile turned softer by the fading sunrays.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. It felt good to have chance to sit and breathe and process all that had happened over the past twenty-four hours. Distantly, the screech of a tawny owl called to the approaching night. The world looked very wild from up high; even the leaf-bare sullenness of winter couldn't disguise how nature had reclaimed the landscape.

"I can't believe the vaccine worked," Scott said at last.

The words had been pressing against his mind throughout the day but it hadn't seemed right to broach the subject to Virgil or John, both of whom had seemed betrayed by the way Gordon had kept such a massive secret from them.

"I don't think any of us have really considered what that means. A working vaccine, that's…"

"I know." Kayo shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket. "It could change everything. It probably will change everything. It makes me wonder if a cure isn't so farfetched after all."

Scott recalled the way that rotter had frozen at his command. It seemed like something he should probably keep to himself until he understood it better. Hell, it could even have just been a fluke. Who knew?

He ghosted a hand across the back of his neck, uncomfortably aware that he was being a massive hypocrite. He'd complained about Gordon keeping secrets that could potentially impact all of them and now he was doing the exact same thing.

Do as I say, not as I do, he thought wryly.

"Will you be okay tomorrow?" he asked instead, changing the subject. "Going into London…"

"I can handle it."

"Handling it and being okay with it are two very different things."

"I lost my friend, Scott. Obviously I'm not okay with it. But we need those generator parts and we don't have any other options, so I can and will handle it."

They were too far out to see any hint of civilisation on the horizon, yet Scott found himself searching that thin grey line as if he could glimpse the city anyway. For the first time in weeks, Noah Warren's pleading face resurfaced from his memories; it had been horrific enough killing a man whom he hadn't particularly liked, so he could only imagine how much worse it had been for Kayo to put a friend out of his misery. He knew her too well to believe she'd have let him remain a monster.

"Tell me about him."

Kayo took an unsteady breath. "Which part?"

"Anything if it'll help."

She picked at the scab on her knuckle. It took a while for her to collect her thoughts, but then she began, hesitantly:

"Rigby was stubborn as hell. I wanted to punch that smug smile right off his face when we first met. I thought he was a sanctimonious bastard who would get us all killed with his overconfidence. But he proved me wrong and God knows that's rare."

Her voice trailed into a whisper.

"He was brave. He didn't take shit from anyone; when the GDF rode too close to the line, he told them where to shove their orders. He knew his morals and he'd sooner give himself over to the infected than stand on the wrong side of history. And he could be kind. I only got to see snatches of it, but it was there… this compassion for survivors we pulled out of ruins. He deserved to survive."

"When…?"

"September."

Kayo's eyes were overly bright as she glared at the setting sun, almost entirely extinguished now.

"No one else is going to die on my watch. I refuse to let that happen. So, tomorrow? I need you to trust me. If I say run, run. No self-sacrificial bullshit, okay? I don't need someone to play hero, I need my family to stay alive."

"We're going to make it back. All of us."

"Don't tempt fate."

"Since when do you believe in fate?"

"The world ended. A lot of things have changed."


With the exception of the airbase mission, it had been a long time since Scott had been surrounded by what he had secretly coined The True Apocalypse Experience; wrecked roads littered with the remains of society; broken vehicles in various states of disrepair; bloodstains and rotten smears from the infected; hollow buildings and an eerie, unfounded certainty that he was being watched.

He wiped condensation from the window and peered out at the passing streets. It had barely struck sunrise but it was just light enough to spy little details; a fox carrying what looked awfully like a human arm; crows pecking at intestinal residue in the gutters; the glint of old shells.

"This is far enough," Kayo decided aloud once they'd ventured deep enough into the suburban sprawl to spy inner-city high-rises on the horizon.

"I don't see any movement," Penelope murmured. "We could try to get closer."

Kayo's gaze flickered to Penelope's reflection in the windscreen. Given the amount of silent conversations that had gone on between them throughout the drive, it would have made more sense for Penny to take shotgun but Scott was already ruffled by Kayo's claim on the driver's seat.

They rounded a sharp bend onto an overgrown road lined on one side by once-prestigious white houses. Ornate front doors were splattered with the crusted stains of dried blood; most of the windows had been smashed. Graffiti marked which properties had already been looted. Somewhere, a stray dog barked. On the other side of road lay a wrought iron fence which bordered a large public park. A lone rotter had become snared between the bars and snapped lazily at them as the car trundled past.

"We're not risking it," Kayo replied after a moment of intense concentration as she navigated the maze of furniture and technology that had been dragged into the road during the earliest days when people hadn't known to only loot items necessary for survival. "There might not be any here yet but I don't want to draw them closer with the sound of the engine. There's a reason why we didn't just take Shadow all the way there."

"The fact that Shadow is the only thing keeping the lights on since Isaiah fixed the emergency backup might also have had something to do with that," Virgil pointed out, elbows propped on the back of Scott's seat as he leant forward to examine the road ahead.

Kayo gave a loose shrug. "Sure, we can say that was a contributing factor if you like."

Penelope cast her an exasperated look. "It was a leading factor, darling."

A section of the fence had been brought down – evidently early on in the apocalypse for the fallen bars had been engulfed by tall grasses and bracken. Kayo drove through the gap and continued deeper into the park.

The lawn was a straggly mess of frostbitten grass and body parts. Several rotters were strewn across the slope, each despatched by a bullet to the head with the neat precision of a military marksman. An abandoned army jeep was situated next to a lake, windows smashed and tyres stolen. The doors still hung open; a uniformed rotter was trapped by its seatbelt.

Kayo left the car in a dense thicket. She pocketed the keys, grabbed her gun and machete from the glovebox, then slid out of her seat without a word.

The slam of car doors was the only sound for miles. Now that the engine had been cut, the unfathomable end-of-the-world silence returned.

Scott leant against the car and inhaled deeply, giving his senses a few seconds to adjust. The lack of noise was disorientating; months in safe zones had reaccustomed him to the background hum of human innovation.

Virgil nudged him. "You good?"

"Yeah." He swung his rifle over his shoulder. "Just not a fan of this type of silence."

Kayo whistled to catch their attention.

"Pull some of those branches across. I don't want anyone stealing our ride home."

It wasn't a perfect camouflage but it would do the job unless someone knew specifically to look there. Virgil covered their tracks whilst Penelope cast a final glance over the maps and committed the route to memory. Kayo kicked more leaves up against the rear tyres as Scott trained his rifle on the infected milling around the park; they were downwind of the rotters but the creatures rarely played by nature's rulebook.

Virgil eyed the rising sun – a perfectly red disc between two high-rises on the horizon – as he reset his watch.

"We're on a tight schedule. It won't be long until the sun goes down again."

Kayo tossed another knife to Penelope. "Gotta love winter, right?"

"Fun and games," Scott muttered, twisting the strap of his rifle around his wrist as he kept an eye on the infected. "Ready to go?"

Penelope slid the spare knife into the side of her boot. "Let's get this over with."

In the apocalypse, it was a widely accepted rule that getting out of a city was a good way to stay alive. Most survivors had fled already. There were occasional pockets of recent activity which implied that a few had stuck around but by far and large the place was empty of life. London had fallen; the infected ruled it now. They were everywhere; the streets were crawling with them.

On the upside, it was a lot easier to hear them coming.

In the countryside, the majority of noises could be attributed to natural causes such as the wind through leaves or wild animals scuffling in the undergrowth, and so it was easy to grow complacent.

But in the city, their movements were audible. It was impossible to take a step without glass crunching underfoot or knocking aside some trash or accidentally kicking empty shells leftover from the final military stand.

So, an unexpected ambush on the streets was not on the cards. That being said, it took concentration to distinguish between their own movements and that of the rotters. Scott's knuckles ached from constantly gripping his rifle. The streets were dangerous enough without the menace of dark alleys on both sides; sinister shadows twisted into zombies which lunged into the path of Kayo's blades or Penny's and Scott's bullets. He tried to keep count of ammo but it was near impossible.

Wind whistled through shattered windows. It sounded eerily like a woman weeping. Their steps crunched on bloodied glass. Graffiti smeared shuttered shopfronts. A detour took them down darker streets which had been the site of violence that had left human entrails coating the walls. The distant wail of a stray cat made Virgil jolt; Kayo dropped back to fall into step beside him for a while.

London was in worse shape than some of the US cities had been. Scott mentioned it during one of their breaks, perched on the roof of an abandoned police van, bottles of water split between them along with shared cereal bars and their silent radio.

Penelope ran a nail along the seam of the radio with a dark laugh.

"You should see the rest of it. Wait until we reach the Thames. There's only one bridge left standing."

Virgil pressed Penny's share of the cereal bar into her hands. "How come?"

"The military thought it would be easier to contain the virus if they reduced the movement of people." Penelope made sarcastic finger quotes. "In other words, they saw a horde approaching and panicked, so they blew the bridges to smithereens only to realise that there was no escape."

"Yeah, it's a real mess," Kayo called over her shoulder. She stood at the front of the van, peering through the scope of her own rifle as she lined up a shot to take out the rotter that was ambling towards them. "The London Eye is history. It looks like it melted."

Penelope shivered. "It was even worse before the atmosphere cleared. All of the smoke…"

Scott glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over at Kayo who had dropped into a crouch, assessing the threat. Her gaze flickered to his, a brief nod conveying her opinion that it was time to get moving again. He yanked his mask back up and clapped a hand to Virgil's shoulder.

They made good progress. Travelling deeper into London brought more rotter encounters but between the four of them they had it handled.

Kayo and Penelope grew decidedly on edge as they reached the bridge, entirely unrecognisable so that Scott couldn't have named it even if he'd been the sort of nerd who had all sorts of trivia such as the names of London bridges tucked away in his brain. Several rotters snarled at them, bony fingers scratching at the windows of armoured police trucks as they picked their way through the scattered vehicles.

The sight was sobering. Scott had thought the streets were bad enough but the bridge offered him an overview of the city's heart and the sheer scale of the destruction was startling. Mostly because he knew this place – not nearly as well as Penelope or even Kayo and John – but he'd spent time here over the years for both business and leisure and as such he found himself frozen. It took a lot to rattle him – always had done but now more than ever – but the ruination of London did the trick.

As in most places, it was clear that the authorities had panicked. Infamous landmarks bore the scars of a military defensive. The twisted rubble of the next bridge along stuck out of the water to form a concrete iceberg, sheer-edged rebar glinting like jagged teeth. People had tried to escape via boats which had capsized and now floated belly-up, streaks of blood still smearing their hulls. Distant snarls implied that there were infected trapped within partially flooded cabins.

Scott gripped the railing to ground himself. The metal was slick with ice that soaked through his gloves. Penelope did a fantastic job of concealing her emotions but he understood the sickness in her eyes. The sharp crunch of glass under Kayo's boots jolted him back to reality.

Movement stirred in the cop car that had rearended an ambulance. Rotten drool smeared the cracked windscreen. Scott kept his gun trained on it as he slipped past.

Virgil met him on the other side. He looked pale with nausea, a sentiment which Scott shared given the stench coming off the river. So much debris had blocked the channel that extensive areas of water had stagnated. And that was before he paid attention to the bodies; bloated, faceless things which reminded him of belly-up dead fish.

There were more infected on this side of the river. Graffiti warned of specific hotspots – some kind-hearted survivor trying to save others from a horrific fate – which Kayo confirmed, scaling a lamppost to get a better view of the road ahead. Penelope scouted a side street and led them on a detour which added another block to their route but was better than being eaten alive.

Sounds bounced off walls; reverberated through alleys; travelled on the wind and slunk through shattered storefronts so that it was impossible to pinpoint the source. Distant groans bled into thunderclaps as a building collapse triggered a chain reaction. An old coke can rattled in a gutter. Rats scuttled in-and-out of view, made brazen by the lack of human activity.

A high-pitched squeal – so faint that they nearly missed it – sounded too much like the screech of motorcycle brakes for comfort. Penelope froze. Kayo whipped around, jacket flapping at her hips to reveal more knives. The street remained empty.

They continued. The sun was high in the sky, nearly at its midpoint, reflecting off glass shards in the road and the battered husks of burnt-out cars. Congealed pools of blood revealed where the infected had feasted on victims.

Light streaming from the end of the alley prevented them from assessing the road ahead.

Instinct brought Scott to a sudden halt. He grabbed the collar of Virgil's jacket and yanked him back, clasping a hand over Virgil's mouth before his brother could question him. Kayo ducked down behind a nearby car. Penelope flattened herself against the wall opposite. Scott lowered his hand, but Virgil didn't move away, crowded against him as they listened for danger.

The uneven crunch of glass betrayed a rotter's location. A hand appeared above the rim of the broken car window as Kayo held up two fingers, then indicated that they were approaching from separate directions.

Scott squeezed Virgil's wrist, then slipped out, keeping close to the wall as he crept towards the light. He could still hear the rotter more than he could see it but his heightened senses had an uncanny way of guiding his hands to aim at the creature. He spared a second of gratitude to Penelope for reminding him to pick up a silencer before they'd left, inhaled deeply, and fired.

Where the hell was the second one?

Shit.

He couldn't hear it either; a gust of wind had knocked the debris into life and he couldn't distinguish the rotter's movements from the mess of other noise. He flattened himself against the wall again. Gravel dug through his jacket to leave bruises along his spine. The air was thick with rot.

He swallowed nauseous saliva, longing for a mint to be rid of the taste of decomposition. Cold sweat prickled under his collar, instincts roaring as loudly as the blood in his ears, primal certainty that danger was lurking just around the corner.

He couldn't stay hidden forever. He had to move. From the other side of the alley, Penelope met his gaze and silently shook her head. He couldn't see Kayo or Virgil but they would probably agree with her.

Adrenaline itched under his skin. He flexed his hands around the rifle. A wet shuffle sounded from his left. He ground his heels into the filth, crooked a finger through the trigger in anticipation, and threw himself around the corner.

The rotter reared back but it was too close for the bullet to make a clean shot. It tore through the creature's clavicle, exploding tiny bits of bone and blood across the tarmac. Scott skidded to his knees, rolled with the momentum, and ducked behind a car for cover. He'd slowed the cursed thing for a few moments but it would take a headshot to bring it down for good.

A pebble cracked the windscreen of the car he was sheltering behind. He glanced up. Kayo's shadow fell across him where she was crouched on the roof of the vehicle, having moved so silently that he hadn't noticed her approach. She gestured towards the rotter – drawn towards them by the sound – and Scott caught on in an instant. Kayo would keep it distracted so that he could take a clear shot.

"Nice work," Scott remarked once they were done. He offered her a hand as she slid down from the roof but she swatted it away with an exasperated look.

"Not too bad yourself. Try not to waste bullets next time though."

"Oh, fuck off."

Kayo's laugh was the brightest thing for miles.


It took another three hours by Scott's best estimations for them to reach the general vicinity of the Science Museum.

He'd been to South Kensington only once when he'd taken Alan to some space exhibit at the Natural History Museum, tailed by Virgil. His memories of that time were faded by both the years and the sheer boredom which had followed when he'd had to listen to Virgil ramble about architecture, a subject that didn't appeal to him in the slightest, especially given there'd been a café around the corner which claimed to sell apple pie waffles.

So, he was essentially treading blindly, trusting Penelope to lead the way and hoping that they wouldn't run into too many infected.

Ironically, it took more time getting through a handful of roads than it had done to cross half the city. Their detours had detours. The rotter blood smeared across his face was itchy, his knee was playing up again, and he was hyperaware that the sun had passed midday already – travelling in the dark was not a good idea. So, really, he wasn't enjoying the experience in any shape or form.

They ducked into an old shop to take cover from the rain that had swept in around forty minutes earlier. The metal shutters had been peeled back at the base. Kayo crouched in the tiny gap to keep watch for threats. Penelope cleared a space on the counter, sweeping dust and ashes and an old packet of cigarettes onto the floor. She spread out the map and wedged her flashlight between her chin and her shoulder as she examined possible routes to avoid a horde that Scott had spotted.

An old drinks cabinet had been knocked on its side. Virgil wrapped his mask around his fist to avoid slicing his hand open on the remaining glass shards as he retrieved several bottles of water. Most places had already been picked clean; hopefully it meant that luck was turning in their favour.

Scott caught the bottle that his brother threw to him as he stepped around the counter into the stockroom. The shelves were bare but light shone through a tiny window. He wiped grime from the glass and peered through the temporary porthole.

The city stood damp and desolate. Old cranes reared their heads above buildings, protruding from the fog like metal monsters from the future. There was something disconcerting about the sight. He took a swig of water, forcing himself to exhale as tension ached deep within his shoulders.

"Hey," Virgil greeted quietly. He glanced through the window and shivered. "Does this place feel…"

"Haunted?" Scott supplied.

Virgil cast an uneasy look at the surrounding buildings. "Watched."

"No more than anywhere else we've been."

"We're running low on time."

"Yeah, I know."

"That's a lot of infected to be stuck with in the dark."

"We survived the tunnels."

Virgil hesitated, reminding him in a whisper, "Not everyone did."

Kayo let out a sharp, piercing whistle.

"We've got undead incoming. Time to move. Pen, tell me you have a path plotted?"

"I've got… something."

"That's better than nothing."

Penelope's route took them in a wide circle which eventually led to a chain-link fence that blocked the way to a maintenance entrance around the side of the museum. The gates were guarded by a pair of motheaten rotters, too distracted by the crows pecking at their peeling scalps to pay attention to the cluster of healthy humans.

Penelope went first, followed by Virgil and then Kayo while Scott kept his rifle trained on the rotters just in case. Kayo watched his back through the fence as he hooked the gun over his shoulder, jammed a foot through one of the loops, and clambered over to join them. Virgil steadied him as he landed heavily on the other side, biting back a hiss at the stab of fire through his knee.

"What's wrong?" Penelope's voice was thick with concern. "Scott?"

"I'm fine." He elbowed Virgil surreptitiously as his brother went to protest. "Let's keep going."

The maintenance entrance opened into a large space which Scott presumed was part of the basement. He wedged the door open with a dismembered chair leg and ventured into the dark depths, taking care to keep his steps as silent as possible.

Their flashlights mixed together, scanning the room for rotters, but it appeared empty. It was a very still, airless space. Stacked furniture loomed out of the gloom. A looted vending machine and abandoned blanket implied that someone had survived down here but whoever it was hadn't been back for a long time as no footprints had disturbed the dust.

The silence was suffocating; the tiniest of sounds broke the quiet as violently as an explosion. An old chip packet rustled in the light breeze through the open door. Penelope pinned it under her heel, listening intently to see if it had disturbed any unwanted visitors.

Scott swept his flashlight over the nearest wall. Cheerful faces beamed back at him and he jolted away with a stifled curse, nearly smacking into Virgil. Why was it that children's artwork always seemed so goddamn creepy in the dark?

He ignored Kayo's amused smirk, shouldering past her to head for the stairs. The door had been barricaded shut by two table legs, pushed through the handlebars with a padlocked chain looped around them for good measure.

"That isn't ominous at all," Penelope remarked dryly.

Virgil fumbled in his pocket for the lockpick and crouched down to get to work.

The stairwell was empty. Choked with evidence of rotters, yes, but empty. A human jawbone was hooked over the top step. Clumps of bloodied hair hung from a doorhandle. Smeared handprints became a trail of dried rust where some poor soul had been dragged to their doom.

Surprisingly, the main atrium also seemed quiet. It had been the scene of a massacre. Indistinct movements within the far shadows proved that rotters were present but perhaps they had gorged themselves so thoroughly in the immediate aftermath of Z-Day that they were still sated over a year later. The floor was slippery with the rotten remains of human organs. Chunks of flesh festered. The stench was unbearable. A disembodied hand writhed with maggots despite the icy temperature.

Virgil pressed a fist to his mouth, trying not to breathe too deeply. They'd seen some gnarly sights in their time as IR and then again throughout the apocalypse but this put them all to shame.

Everything was soaked in blood. Snarls echoed around the vast space as the infected began to pick up on the scent of healthy humans. Scott made the mistake of glancing down and choked on his own inhale as he spotted an intact eyeball beside his boot.

"Christ," Virgil whispered, a strangled little sound that was muffled by his knuckles.

Scott coiled a finger around the trigger of his rifle, waiting, anticipating, but the infected in the shadows was in the final stage and could only drag itself by its fingertips with a pitiful growl. The frayed remains of its lower half leaked over the floorboards. Its spinal cord scored a deep scratch behind it. There was no point in wasting precious ammo, no matter how much it sickened him to leave what had once been human in such a state.

Kayo flipped a knife between her hands to jolt herself into action.

"We each have a copy of Isaiah's list, right? Let's make a start."

"That'll take too long." Scott folded his own copy into a tiny square and tucked it into his interior pocket. "Virgil and I'll take the top floor. You two work your way up. We'll meet in the middle."

"That's an unnecessary risk," Penelope protested, lowering her voice to a hiss as several groans bounced around the atrium.

Kayo glanced up at the sky through the glass ceiling. "He has a point. We're already running low on daylight. Spending the night in the city is practically a death sentence."

"Keep your radio on," Virgil said after a minute, an unofficial agreement to the new plan.

He caught Penelope's worried gaze and offered her a small smile. She lowered her knife to her side with a sigh and brushed a hand down his arm, turning to Scott with a silent plea for them to stay safe. Well, safe might not have been on the cards, but alive sure as hell was if he had a say in it.

Kayo hung back for a second as Penelope headed for the next room.

"Watch your backs," she said at last. "Virg, don't let this idiot do anything overly reckless."

"I'm standing right here," Scott deadpanned.

"Yes. I'm aware."

He shouldered his rifle, unwilling to meet her searching look as he confessed, "I've got too much to stay alive for, so quit worrying."

"That's not-"

"I'm not him, Kayo. I'm coming home."

Kayo glanced away, jaw set, eyes stony with an unreadable emotion.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Virgil assured her, giving Scott a slight shove as in don't argue right now.

Kayo didn't reply, just scooped up her rucksack and headed after Penelope.


What followed was essentially a giant game of hide-and-seek from rotters combined with a scavenger hunt for Isaiah's list of required parts.

Memorable moments included the lone zombie that jumped out at them from the apothecary exhibit only to become snared by the silk scarf that it had been wearing at the time of infection; Scott's ace shot through the centre of the first ever holoprojector to take down two rotters with one bullet; Virgil's almost superhuman reflexes to knock an infected over the stairwell railing when it leapt at Scott in a move eerily reminiscent of his encounter in New York.

And then their luck turned.

Because of course it did.

The howl of the wind through smashed windows drowned out the sound of approaching rotters. They gathered en-mass – snarling and scratching, dripping with liquified skin – and blocked every exit. The room was crawling with them. The splash of blood and rotten fluid onto the floor was so constant that it could have been mistaken for rain. Their hunger seemed contagious, riling the cluster until they were scrambling over one another, bony fingers tearing at flesh to reach the front.

Scott didn't know how he got separated from Virgil. Everything happened at once. He wasted at least ten valuable seconds on pure panic until nails scoured across his ankle and he bolted on instinct.

The rotters rushed after him, hot on his heels. He could feel their cold saliva seeping through his clothes. Dull pain throbbed from the scratch marks. He was utterly disorientated, unable to locate an exit. Another infected lunged for him and he veered left into a new room.

The flash of light off metal wings nearly stopped him in his tracks. Gleaming hulls did not fit in a setting in which he had a horde of zombies after him. The thunder of rotten feet knocked him into reality. He flung himself at the display of past-to-present jet engines and scrambled to the top, praying that the turbines wouldn't spin and land him in the open arms of the infected.

The entire engine rocked as bodies smashed into it. He fumbled for a handhold, heels slick with blood so that his boots slipped. Heat coated his palm; he'd cut his hand open on the sharp edge of a rotor blade.

The engine shuddered, listing precariously as the buckles holding it in position began to give way under the weight of so many rotters. Scott hauled himself upright then made a mad leap for the life-sized replica of an early helicopter.

His hand slipped on the landing strut. Pain seared up his wrist from his wounded palm. He bit the inside of his cheek and pushed past the burn, straining to pull himself up until he got a foot onto the edge and finally rolled into the helicopter.

A high-pitched screech rang from the brackets which held it to the ceiling. He held himself perfectly still, flat on his back, nursing his hand to his chest to keep from dripping blood over the infected below, desperately willing the brackets to hold for just a little longer.

Don't fall, don't fall, for all that's good and holy, don't fall.

Snarls erupted into howls. He flinched. There came a suspicious groaning from one of the wires keeping the helicopter aloft. He didn't dare move. A dull ache in his lungs reminded him to breathe; he sucked in a ragged inhale through gritted teeth. Adrenaline tripped his heartrate into a fluttery, panicked thing that he could feel in his fingertips.

Warmth soaked through his shirt. He'd dropped his flashlight but there was just enough daylight to examine the laceration. A mildly hysterical voice in his head whispered that at least it would match the scar on his other hand.

He propped himself on an elbow, freezing as the helicopter rocked. Once it had steadied again, he tore a strip off the hem of his shirt and wrapped it around his hand as tightly as he could bear. Pain still pulsed in his ankle where rotten nails had broken skin but that was a superficial injury.

Shaken and shivery, he lay back down and tried to catch his breath as he formulated his next move.

The wires gave another wail.

Fuck.

He needed to move. They wouldn't hold out for much longer. It was a question of which would give in first – the infected below or the ceiling brackets.

More snarls curled around the helicopter, bouncing off the ceiling and rattling through the floor. He risked a glance over the edge; the horde had dissipated but not entirely. Cloudy eyes fixed on him with a predatorial hunger. He scrambled back and the helicopter rocked precariously.

Heart hammering, he flattened himself against the floor. Cold metal bled through his clothes. The edge of the rifle dug into his lower spine. There were too many infected and too few bullets to make running for it a worthy risk. All he could do was wait.

Waiting gave way to fear. Swirling panic reminded him that he had no idea where Virgil had gone. They'd been split apart in the chaos of the infected ambush. He hoped that his brother had made the smart decision to hide somewhere.

The only reassurance was that the rotters were still here, not yet drawn away by the smell of a fresh kill. Even the thought made him sick, dizzy with dread. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe evenly while he kept as still as possible.

Hiding was not in his nature; not in general but especially not when people he loved were in danger. But there were reckless plans and then there were downright suicidal ones and he was surprised to discover that the ember of self-preservation in his heart had flared into a proper fire at some point over the past few months.

So, he remained in the helicopter and counted the seconds until his heartrate levelled out and his breathing steadied and then, when there were only a handful of rotters left, he took them out with a series of carefully calculated shots in rapid succession.

His boots collided with the floor with a dull thud. He didn't waste time waiting to see if the noise had drawn the horde back. He hightailed it out of the flight exhibit, skidding into the stairwell where he collided with an infected with a knife protruding from its neck. He shoved it away with a yelp. Its head crashed into the wall with a godawful crack and slumped into a lifeless heap.

A howl rang from the doorway behind him. He bolted up another flight of stairs, glimpsed more infected emerging from the next level down, and careered through the entrance to his left.

Strange technological marvels from the past century reflected the daylight in an oddly hypnotic manner. He didn't stop to admire it. He smashed the blunt end of his rifle into a rotter's skull, kicking it aside when it made a final wild grab for his legs, and burst onto the balcony that surrounded the atrium at the building's heart.

"Shit," he muttered, realising too late that he'd trapped himself.

The horde stood between him and the stairwells. The railing at his back was the only thing saving him from a fall to his death. He twisted to examine the atrium with a growing sense of desperation. Sweat coated his palms, stinging the newly acquired gash. He glanced up; there were maintenance walkways strung between rebars that ran across the ceiling like a ribcage.

It could end very badly.

He risked a glance over the railing. The floor seemed a terribly long way down. Then again, the rotters at his back were a snarling, writhing mess of agony lying in wait. He didn't want to die but if he had to pick then breaking his neck was preferable to being eaten alive.

Goddamn, how was this the second time that he'd been forced to make that choice?

Don't overthink it.

He backed up a pace then took the gap at a running jump.

Clawed fingers reached for him; howls of fury erupted across the hollow space as they fell through empty air. Several rotters tumbled over the railing and splattered on the floor far below. Wet squelches accompanied thuds. Wails bled into screeches. They clustered at the railing, arms raised as if they could haul him down by sheer force of will.

Clinging to the very edge of the walkway, Scott scrabbled for a firmer handhold. Pain seared across his hand and into his wrist as he hauled himself higher, wedging a knee onto the metal plating. The grate dug into his skin through his trousers but it was a dull background observation. He pushed himself to his feet, gasping for breath as it finally dawned on him just how insane the plan had been.

He edged along the walkway, uncertain as to where to go next, when the platform suddenly shook as if some greater force had grabbed hold of it.

Danger whispered an ancient instinct at the back of his mind.

Unease scuttled down his spine. He risked a brief look over his shoulder and made eye contact with the infected that had somehow made the leap onto the walkway.

Oh, come on. Are you kidding me?

For an instant, neither of them moved.

Scott took a hesitant step away. The infected flung itself at him. He turned on his heels and tore along the walkway like a bat outta hell. Another wild leap took him to the next one, grip slipping on the rails as he struggled to heave himself over the edge. The world spiralled away beneath him. Gravity hissed and hummed, hand-in-hand with death as it stalked closer. He jammed his elbow into the gap between the railing and the walkway and managed to slither through the space.

Flat on his stomach, gasping for air like a fish out of water, he was offered a view of the atrium floor through the metal grate. He hooked his fingers through the gaps, swallowing nauseous saliva as he tried to blink away the sight.

It was a massacre; infected corpses splattered over the floor in crude mockeries of pinned butterflies. He couldn't recall when he'd last seen so much crimson; possibly all those months ago, in Virgil's arms, watching his own blood drip onto cold tarmac. He lurched to his feet with a choked curse, momentarily held captive by a full-body shudder.

Virgil.

Where the hell was his brother?

His knee screamed at him when he made the final jump from the walkway to the main floor. He let momentum carry him into a roll and then back to his feet but his next few steps were staggered and agonising.

He braced himself against the wall, fumbling for the blister packet of aspirin that Marisa had given him from her supply before he'd left for the mission, just in case because pain clouds your judgement and don't suffer for no reason, idiot. Scott had scoffed at the time but now he felt a flare of gratitude for her.

God, they were so screwed. There was no way that they were going to get out of the city before nightfall. Hell, not even out of the museum.

He swallowed the tablets dry and pushed himself away from the wall, aware of a rotter's eyes boring into his back but saved from its clutches by the atrium between them. It was definitely time to go.

He was running on pure adrenaline when he finally found Virgil, fuelled by stubbornness and the part of his soul that he'd dedicated to his brother on that sunny August day so many years ago now.

His hands ached from clutching the rifle, he couldn't tell how much blood was his own or from rotters, and his heart was still tripping over itself from the jump-scare he'd received upon accidentally stumbling into a cinema only to have an infected plunge through the IMAX screen to tackle him into the aisle. That had been a near miss. His shoulder still throbbed from the impact.

Actually, it would be more accurate to say that Virgil found him. Or to be precise, saved his ass from a near-silent rotter that he hadn't noticed creeping up on him. He first became aware of its existence when Virgil's voice suddenly called for him to duck and his brother's newly acquired crowbar slammed into the creature's skull.

The cranium caved inwards with a squelch that splattered brain matter across the wall. The rotter teetered on unsteady feet before gravity pulled it down.

Reunions were set aside in favour of staying alive. Another pair of infected rushed through the entrance to the next exhibit, faster than those which Scott had come across so far. Virgil grabbed his arm and hauled him behind a colossal replica of Apollo 11.

The thunder of footsteps slowed; the creatures scented the air, letting out strange, gargling growls as they staggered closer. Scott stole a brief glance and ducked back again as the rotter spotted him.

T.O.O. C.L.O.S.E. He tapped against Virgil's wrist, nodding towards the warped reflection of the creatures in the side of the Lunar Eagle Module model in front of them. M.O.V.E.

Virgil craned his neck to glimpse the nozzles of the fire suppression system set into the ceiling above them. The activation panel was beside the farthermost exit to the exhibit. A wide, open space stood between them and it.

A wet shuffle preceded another low howl. It had a different pitch to the usual wails. Scott studied the creatures' reflections and was struck by an uncanny certainty that they were calling to the rest of the horde. It was the equivalent of a goddamn dinner bell.

A low rumble proved him right as more infected thundered into the stairwell to their left. Clicks and warbles echoed from the darkness of the cafeteria. Something thick and sticky splashed onto his boots. He glanced up. Virgil yanked him back in time to save him from the gnarled fingers that nearly slashed his face as the infected threw itself from the rocket nosecone.

Scott scrambled back, grabbed a fistful of Virgil's shirt, and broke into a sprint for the far end of the room. A rotter lunged from the exit. He veered right and dropped to the ground, clawing his way underneath the low-slung display of a 2030s lunar shuttle. Virgil pressed close to his side, breathing staggered and uneven as he tried to keep from making a sound.

Rotten blood had seeped beneath the display. Scott tried to ignore it, cold and sticky on his chin as he flattened himself against the floor. He could see the rotters' oozing feet as they circled the display like sharks, confused as to where their prey had gone. Splinters of ankle bone poked through tattered flesh, close enough that Scott could see all the gory details in full definition.

He held his breath. He still had a hand on Virgil's shirt and he could feel his brother's heartbeat, racing like a hunted rabbit's. Neither of them moved.

The underside of the shuttle was scraping Scott's shoulder with every breath but he gritted his teeth and ignored it. An infected stumbled, splashing more rotten blood over them both. Virgil flinched. Scott tightened his grip, trying to focus on anything other than the icy droplets trickling down his face.

How long would it take for the rotters to give up? It seemed as if they had been hiding under the shuttle for an hour already. Time twisted into incomprehensible loops. He dropped his forehead to his wrist and sucked in a shallow breath, trying not to choke on the sharp stench of rotten blood.

Virgil's thumb tapped gently against his bicep. N.E.E.D. N.E.W. P.L.A.N.

A.N.Y. I.D.E.A.S

There was no reply. Scott wanted to look across at him, but he couldn't turn his head without smacking it against the underside of the shuttle and he didn't want to risk alerting the infected. He leant closer against Virgil's side, letting his brother anchor him through the hand on his bicep.

A squelch came from somewhere above; an infected had squeezed itself through the window of the shuttle, following their scent. It wouldn't be long until they were found. Virgil was right; they desperately needed another plan.

S.O.R.R.Y. Scott tapped silently through Virgil's shirt, unable to help himself because the desire to apologise for dragging them both into the situation was unbearable.

Virgil squeezed his arm, then replied T.H.I.N.K.

In other words, don't apologise, just come up with a new plan.

Scott closed his eyes, focussing on the darkness and the steady pressure of Virgil's shoulder against his own, reorientating his senses. It struck him that Virgil was scared but not panicked, confident in Scott's ability to get them to safety, and that level of trust momentarily blindsided him.

Think.

Running wasn't an option. The rotters would be upon them in seconds. There were too many to fight, so that was off the cards too. Fight and flight were both useless and they were currently stuck in freeze mode. The odds were not in their favour.

Come on, work the damn problem.

The creatures were drawn by fresh blood and noise.

Blood and noise.

He silently reached across for Virgil's crowbar. Virgil let go without hesitation. Scott pulled it closer inch-by-inch, keeping a close eye on the nearest rotters in case they heard the gentle slosh of blood.

He pinned it in place beneath his elbow and tried to remove his bandage, difficult when he couldn't move more than a breath. Virgil caught his hand, eyes wide with worry but not questioning him. Scott held himself perfectly still, repressing a wince as Virgil carefully undid the makeshift bandage.

The cut had stopped bleeding but the bandage was soaked, just as he'd hoped it would be. He wrapped it around the end of the crowbar, smearing excess blood over the metal, then sent it skidding across the floor.

It crashed into the Martian display with a loud clang. The rotters lunged after it, scrambling over one another in their haste.

Scott crawled out from the shuttle, dragged Virgil upright and bolted for the exit. Virgil slammed a hand onto the fire suppression panel on his way past. Furious howls chased them into the next exhibit and into the bloodbath of the atrium.

Scott slammed into the main entrance but it didn't budge.

"Fuck," he spat, smashing his heel into the door.

"Scott." Virgil's voice was low with warning. "Get it open."

"Gee, Virg, what a great idea, why didn't I think of that?"

Scott couldn't tell if the lock was jammed or if the entire door had been barricaded shut from the other side. He gave it another kick but it held fast. Virgil snatched the rifle from him and took a wild shot at the rotter that broke free of the main horde. The bullet cracked the concrete column and deflected into the sea of bodies. Scott shoved his brother aside and plunged a knife into the creature's temple, kicking it backwards so that it tumbled into the horde and tripped up several.

"Virgil, move!"

Kayo's voice split the air like a gunshot.

She careered out of the stairwell to their right, Penelope hot on her heels. Penny's blades despatched the rotters which reached for them, skidding slightly as she swung herself over the railing. Kayo used up her final bullet on the lock, slamming her entire bodyweight into it without slowing.

The door crashed open with a high-pitched screech. Penelope crashed into Virgil and hauled him into the daylight. Scott flung himself after them, helping Kayo to push the door shut while Virgil shoved the now-empty rifle through the handles.

They staggered away from the bulging doors with unsteady gasps, gulping down air and shaking badly enough to rival an earthquake.

"Holy shit," Scott exhaled, giddy with adrenaline.

"That was too close." Virgil raked his hands through his blood-streaked hair. "Way too close."

Penelope steadied herself against the wall. "Did you get it?"

Virgil patted his pockets. "Most of it. You?"

"Kayo's got the parts in her rucksack."

Kayo didn't acknowledge her name. She'd hopped up onto the hood of a crashed car, surveying the surrounding street. The rigid slant of her shoulders implied that she didn't like what she saw. She dropped into a crouch and slid down from the car, backing up so that they could hear her whisper.

"There's another horde."

Scott resisted the urge to slam his head against the wall. Seriously, why was the universe sending him so much bad luck today?

Virgil fell silent then asked roughly, "Do they know we're here?"

"Not yet." Kayo withdrew a knife from her sleeve. "If we stay very quiet, we might be able to get away without being seen."

As if on cue, the rotters behind the museum doors finally broke free. They flooded into the road in a wave of furious screams. One smashed into the side of the car, triggering the alarm which rang around the street in a piercing wail.

"Oh, come on," Scott shouted above the din. "Are you kidding me?"

Kayo shoved him into a sprint. "Go, go, go!"

Rotters rushed from every direction. They reared up from littered vehicles; crawled out of windows; squeezed through blocked doors; one even hauled itself out of an open manhole, slipping on the discarded cover. More poured into the street from the crossroad up ahead. There was no escape.

Penelope wove her way between the tangled mess of vehicles that had ridden onto the sidewalk, vaulting across the bonnet without slowing. Nightfall made it difficult to see far ahead – thick cloud obscured any hopes of moonlight – and Scott had to trust her blindly, hoping that there weren't more rotters up ahead. She veered right and vanished from view.

A rusted sign purported to lead to an underpass. Metal gates stood partly ajar. Scott grabbed hold of one as Kayo snatched the other and they yanked them shut just as the rotters reached them.

The gates trembled with the impact of so many bodies but held firm. Hands plunged through the gates, faces pushed up against the bars, eyes bulging and jaws agape.

Kayo took a step back, breathing heavily. "That won't hold them for long."

"We've got to stay off the streets," Penelope called, partway down the steps. "This will take us to the station. We can get down to the Underground from there."

"We have no idea what's in those tunnels, Pen," Virgil pointed out.

"Do you have a better plan?"

The gates shook, buckling at the hinges. Scott took the steps two, three at a time, trying to wipe the rotten blood from his face before it could dry there. His heart was still hammering, pounding at his temples. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears. He took the spare flashlight from Kayo's rucksack and raked it across the passageway. A rat scuttled out of sight but nothing else moved.

Kayo switched on her own flashlight. "Stay alert. There may be other rotters down here."

Another crash thundered from the gates behind them.

"Okay," Scott declared before they could hesitate any longer. "Let's get the hell outta here."


The underpass was longer than Scott had anticipated. It curved one way and then the other so that he lost his sense of direction, not helped by the darkness.

Old posters peeled from the walls like dead skin. Dust hung thickly in the air. Tiny tracks revealed the well-trodden paths of rats and perhaps even the odd bird which had gotten trapped in the tunnel. They gave a wide berth to a pool of parasitic green where a rotter had fallen prey to the final stage of infection.

The underpass offered entrances to other museums. All exits were blocked by locked gates. Infected clustered around them, straining to push through the bars, arms flailing. Thick reels of drool hung from their bared teeth. Their snarls echoed around the tunnel. Scott turned to walk backwards, keeping his flashlight trained on the creatures until they rounded another bend and left them behind.

"Goddammit," Kayo hissed as they reached the station entrance only to discover that those gates had been closed too.

Scott gave them an experimental tug but the lock held firm.

At his side, Penelope shifted from one foot to the other uneasily, sweeping her flashlight across the tunnel behind them. There was a strong likelihood that the infected from the street had broken through the gates by now; if they couldn't find a way into the station, they were sitting ducks. Scott withdrew his final knife and gently pushed past her to keep watch.

Virgil crouched down to examine the lock.

Kayo peered over his shoulder. "Can you get past it?"

"As if you don't know how to pick locks."

She rolled her shoulders, glancing away as she muttered, "There's a very slight possibility that you're better at it than I am. My usual strategy is just to kick things down."

"Or to explode them," Scott recalled, shooting her a grin. "Pyromaniac."

"Maniac? Possibly. Pyro? No. I just have a healthy appreciation for demolition charges."

"Whatever you say, Kayo, whatever you say."

A chilling cry called from the depths of the underpass behind them, twisted into something darker by the echo. Scott tightened his grip on the knife, putting out an arm to keep Penelope from stepping forward to join him. He was well aware that she could handle herself but that didn't stop his protective instincts from flying into overdrive.

Virgil yanked the gates apart, wincing at the metallic screech. They ventured into the station, huddled close together as they scanned the space for threats.

Scott directed his flashlight into the depths of a shuttered café. Cobwebs swayed in the gentle flow of air through the gated entrance from the street above. An old takeout leaflet scuttled across the floor. A smear of blood coated the ticket barriers. There was a large spider crawling along the wall and Virgil shuddered.

"Which is worse?" Scott teased, trying to break the tension. "Spiders or zombies?"

"Spiders," Virgil deadpanned. "Definitely spiders."

Kayo hopped the barriers, landing lightly on the other side. Her flashlight reflected off the plastic covers of old advertisement boards. She ventured to the edge of the escalator while Scott made a fairly undignified job of scrambling over the barriers. Adrenaline had soothed his injuries – or, you know, made him temporarily unaware of them – but the pain was returning.

Virgil steadied him as his bad knee threatened to give out upon landing on the other side of the barrier. He grasped his brother's shoulder, tossing pride out of the window as he focussed on staying upright. In hindsight, getting that checked out back at the Sanctuary would have been a smart idea. He probed the area but the white-hot pain seemed to originate from inside the joint.

"How long has that been bothering you?" Virgil asked under his breath so that Penny and Kayo didn't overhear.

"It comes and goes. It's been slightly worse today, that's all."

"What do you mean it comes and goes? Scott, what the hell? You should have told me sooner."

"See, I could have told you, but I thought you should focus on staying alive instead."

"We were at the Sanctuary for nearly four months."

"It wasn't that bad then."

"That bad?" Virgil trailed after him as he headed for the stopped escalator.

"Hey, how about we save this conversation until we get back to Penny's place?"

"We will be talking about it."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Scott."

The chord of genuine worry in Virgil's voice had Scott relenting.

"Okay," he agreed softly. "But this isn't the time."

The escalator was steep but it was by no means the deepest in the network. Scott's flashlight reflected off the steps as he took the lead, trusting Kayo to watch his back.

The platform was an open-air construction but night had well and truly fallen. Every sound seemed magnified. Traces of past violence scoured the floor. He scanned the tracks in both direction before lowering himself to the edge of the platform and swinging down onto the rail. A human skull grinned up at him and he jumped back with a startled curse.

Kayo's flashlight nearly blinded him. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He exhaled in a rush. "Just wasn't expecting that."

The tunnel was filled with an impenetrable darkness; the suffocating kind which seemed to be alive; a thinking, feeling menace that extinguished even a hint of light. His flashlight appeared pitiful in comparison. Unease filled his veins with adrenaline. He stood in the entrance and listened closely. A wet dripping echoed around the space but there didn't appear to be any zombies.

Virgil's huffed chuckle broke the tension.

Scott glanced over at him. "What?"

"Into the Unknown."

"Oh, for God's sake."

"I couldn't stop thinking it. I've got Gordon's voice in my head." Virgil put on a terrible accent. "On today's episode, we'll venture into the London Underground in search of the not-so-elusive zombie."

Kayo shook her head, fondly exasperated. "Now that you've offended an entire country with whatever that was supposed to be, let's go."

"…Let's go into the unknown."

"Virgil," Penelope said gently, trying desperately to hold back a laugh, "You have definitely been spending too much time around Gordon."

"Probably," Virgil conceded. He paused by Scott's side as Penelope and Kayo continued into the tunnel, knocking their shoulders together as he asked casually, "Better?"

"What?"

"You seemed… on edge."

"Wow, I wonder why."

"Very on edge. It's going to be dark and disorientating in there and you can't afford to be startled by your own shadow. So. Do you feel any better?"

Scott stared at him. "Is this why you made that terrible joke about Into the Unknown?"

"Possibly." Virgil looked rather pleased with himself. "And it seems like it worked, so that's another point to me."

Scott didn't bother fighting a smile. He clapped a hand to Virgil's shoulder in silent gratitude. Then, with a final glance back, they stepped into the dark together.