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from Moe’s
face, leaving his skin white.
     
    I carried on. “Then whatever the
stalkers leave behind, the infected will finish.”
     
    “So how come they don’t come near
Vasey?”
     
    “That’s what I can’t figure out.
Maybe it’s the walls, I don’t know.”
     
    Somewhere behind us in town, a door
slammed. The sky was darkening, the last channels of sunlight drying up. Moe
stared at Sam’s body for a few seconds, his eyes deep in thought. Then he
turned his head to me.
     
    “You know a lot about surviving,” he
said, “but you don’t know a damn thing about living.”
     
    He walked over to Sam and covered him
up again. “You say you’re planning for the future of these people, but you’re
not prepared to make the hard choices that a leader’s gotta make. This poor sod
here proves that,” he said, and pointed at the bedsheet.
     
    I didn’t say anything. There was no
use persuading Moe right now, he was too stubborn for that. If I was going to
change anyone’s mind, it would have to be the rest of the people at the town
meeting.
     
    Moe wiped his nose, then stuffed his
hands in his pockets and started to walk away. He took a few steps, then looked
back.
     
    “Leaders gotta sacrifice a part of
themselves, Kyle. And I don’t think you got it in you.”

 
    5
     
    The Barbara Shaun Theatre had once been
home to amateur productions of King Lear, Jesus Christ Superstar and Richard
III, but in 2031 it hosted town meetings of Vasey, the biggest known survivor
colony in the North West of England. We discussed things like where to bury
bodies once the Romero Street cemetery got full, and what we were going to do
with sewage to avoid us all catching cholera.
     
    I stood on the stage feeling like
Macbeth, watching all my power slip away. In front of me, set a few feet lower
than the stage, rows of chairs ran all the way back to the entrance.  They
were made from claret-coloured material and most had rips and puncture wounds
with the stuffing hanging out like guts. Before the outbreak the theatre had
been long overdue refurbishment, and the local amdram society had put aside
profits from their productions to meet the funding they needed. The theatre
would never see a facelift now.
     
    Townspeople drifted in and the seats
filled. A quiet chatter grew to a murmur, and soon the whole theatre droned
like a beehive. I scanned the crowd for familiar faces that I could count on
for support. A few smiled back at me, but most averted their eyes.
     
    Dan sat by himself near the back and
didn’t speak to anyone. Every so often he lifted a quarter bottle of whiskey to
his lips and took a sip. Where had he gotten that? Did he have a
secret stash?
     
    Faizel was two rows behind him. He
had his little boy on his lap, and his wife, Sana, sat next to him. They held
hands and smiled at each other. The contrast between Faizel and Dan was
remarkable. They both worked for Moe as scouts and often spent weeks together
in the Wilds, but they could not have been any more different.
     
    I looked around the room for Justin,
but his curly hair and lanky body were missing. Surely he wouldn’t let me down
tonight. He must have known how important this meeting was and how much I
needed his support. I didn’t know what was going on with him lately, but he’d
be here.
     
    Soon the theatre was so full that I
couldn’t see the red backs of any of the chairs. A side door opened across the
stage and Moe walked in. He gave me a nod, swung a wave to the crowd and then
took a seat. There were two chairs set on stage - one for me, one for Moe. It
felt like an electoral debate.
     
    I sat across from Moe. Gradually more
faces in the crowd looked up, saw their two most influential people sat down
and ready to address them. The buzz died down.
     
    I took a deep breath. My pulse
hammered, and my stomach felt light as though gravity had been shut off and the
contents were going to fly up my throat. I’d never gotten used to talking to