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makes.” He appeared to have nothing else to add.
    Ms. Brand wasn’t happy. “But even if we do continue to care for these… people , where are we going to get more medicine?”
    “Perhaps I can help with that,” said a voice.
    * * *
    They all turned their heads and saw a man in his early forties, worn but good-looking, whose tired eyes peered at them through thick, black-rimmed glasses.
    “But it isn’t going to be easy,” he added.
    Paul recognised him immediately. He’d seen him at Mass with a young boy who appeared to be his son. They had stood out amongst the few, old faces he was so used to seeing at every function.
    “Ah – sorry, I’d heard there was a meeting here, and I thought I’d pop round to take a look,” said the man in response to their surprised expressions.
    “Of course, of course,” said Frank as they all stood up. “It’s just that we don’t usually have people turn up at the Monday meetings.”
    “Please, come in,” said Paul.
    The man grabbed a chair and joined the circle of adults. There was something intriguing about him, thought Catherine. Despite this being his first time among them, his movements were relaxed, self-confident. Once seated, he smiled at them. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Edward Moore. Me and my son, Mathew, arrived in Bately a couple of days ago.”
    The others cordially expressed their welcomes.
    “It’s great to have you here, Mr. Moore. Would you fancy a cup of tea?” said Ms. Brand, with a smile the likes of which Catherine had never seen her display before.
    “Oh, yes please. That would be fantastic.”
    As Ms. Brand rose, heading for the teapot in the corner of the classroom, Bill leaned forward, shifting his burly weight on the creaking chair. “You were saying you might be able to help with the meds, right?” There was a hint of distrust in his voice, but Moore seemed to ignore it, or accept it as understandable.
    “Yes, I believe I might – ah, thank you, Ms.–?”
    “Oh, please, call me Marge,” said Ms. Brand, handing him the tea.
    “Okay then, thank you, Marge,” Moore drank a sip. He closed his eyes, and curled his lips in a smile. “Well, it’s been a while since I last enjoyed such a good cup of tea. Thank you.”
    “You were saying?” said Bill.
    “Ah, yes. Well, you see, Mathew and I have travelled here from Sevenoaks. The situation around London is awful, you know. We came on foot.”
    Catherine and Paul exchanged a glance. Such a trip was a folly for a single, unarmed man and his son. Almost a guaranteed death sentence. Somehow, this composed, mild man had got through it unscathed, or so it seemed.
    “Anyway,” he continued, “we’d heard things were better, in some areas of the south-east. I tried to gather information, when things began deteriorating. All I wanted was for the three of us to get out of London–”
    “The three of you?” asked Catherine. “It wasn’t just you and your son?”
    Moore turned quiet, and looked at her. Catherine couldn’t help feeling both drawn and intimidated by his deep, penetrating gaze.
    He shook his head, with a gesture that said, politely but conclusively: Not now . No one insisted.
    “Someone mentioned Bately as a safe place. I can’t remember who it was. We met quite a few people, along the way. Most of them unpleasant. Some of them… monstrous.”
    He took another sip from his cup. The others listened.

Chapter 8
Moore
    “One night, we found a warehouse,” began Moore.
    “We’d been walking for days. Mathew was tired, although he didn’t want to admit it. He’s a good boy. It’s strange – although the meteorites were utterly outside of my, or anyone’s, control, I can’t help feeling guilty. As if his having to go through all this were my fault. It’s silly, but there it is.”
    After a pause, he continued, “I thought we’d be able to stay in Tonbridge. They’ve secured the place well. But when we got there, it was in lock-down. The garrison troops