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disfigured the collective unconscious of the remainder.  Or were the undead still somehow connected to the collective unconscious network, making it a place only fit for nightmares.
                  Whatever the truth, sometimes Jim preferred to keep awake to avoid the nightly terrors.
                  He was reminded of a horror film he had seen while at college. “…three, four, better lock the door; five, six, grab your crucifix; seven, eight, better stay up late; nine, ten, never sleep again.”
                  With the rhyme swimming round his weary head Jim pulled on his track-suit bottoms and slowly opened the door.
                  The corridor was completely dark.
                  A sound, distant, and quiet, like scampering feet.  Suddenly Jim was fully awake.  There was no way they could get in here, it couldn’t possibly be a zombie.  Just keep telling yourself that Jim , he muttered to himself while he slapped closed his mobile phone, extinguishing its tiny light.
                  It was as dark as if he had had his eyes closed: it was a total, disorientating darkness that seemed to suck him deep inside.
                  The situation suddenly felt more dangerous in the pitch black, his body tensed and he had no idea what could be in the corridor.  The light from his phone was so dim that he would only see potential danger once it was almost on top of him, yet it was still just bright enough to attract attention.
                  They had been through drills of what to do if any infection found its way inside the Bunker: he should raise the alarm immediately.  But he was not sure if he really had heard anything.  If a creature had passed this way surely it would have been attracted to the snoring from Will’s bedroom?
                  They had propped makeshift clubs fashioned from the posts of dismantled metal bunk beds by every door in every corridor.  Telling himself he was being foolish, Jim felt along the wall till he found the nearest club.  He winced at the noise it made when he picked it up: he felt the weight in his hands and stood still again, listening.
                  He sensed trouble before he heard it.  Something was moving towards him fast.
                  He drew his club back ready to strike.
                  The undead were seldom quiet: they snarled and lumbered, and sometimes screamed so Jim reasoned that he would have sufficient warning before any creatures drew near.  He hefted the club, tensing to strike.
                  He thought he could hear something close… held his breath… listened hard.
                  At that moment he was knocked off his feet by something smashing into him at full speed.  Air escaped from his lungs.  He tried to scream at whatever it was fell on top of him.
                  “Siobhan?”
                  “Shit!”
                  “Is that you Siobhan?”
                  “Fuck!”
                  “Siobhan?  Are you naked?”
     
    *   *   *
     
    Neil’s pain blocked everything going on outside his own head.
                  Misha could hear Rob and Helena arguing about them.
                  “No, it wouldn’t be killing them, Rob!”  Helena’s voice drifted across from the other side of the roof.  “We distract the zombies, they run out to the car park and get away.”
                  “How long would they last out there?”
                  “If he is infected they’ll not last long in here either; the only difference is that we won’t last long either.”
                  “We can’t let all this make us lose our humanity.”
                  “It’s the End.  We are not ‘living’ here, we’re just ‘raging against the dying of