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eyeing us uneasily. She stops a good distance away from Carl. She’s trembling.
    ‘You could have leapt through the air again and stopped me,’ she says.
    Carl nods.
    ‘Why didn’t you?’
    ‘We don’t want to trap you,’Carl says. ‘If I tried to get in your way, you might run into me and scratch yourself. That would be bad.’
    ‘Then you are a zombie?’
    ‘A certain kind, yes.’
    ‘Not the kind that eats brains?’
    Carl laughs softly. ‘Oh, we definitely eat brains, we have to. But we don’t take them from the living. And we don’t kill. We’re your friendly neighbourhood kind of zombie.’
    The woman doesn’tsmile but she stops shaking so much. ‘And County Hall?’ she asks. ‘What did you mean?’
    ‘It’s where we’re based,’ Carl explains. ‘If you don’t want to come with us, that’s cool, we won’t force you. But if you’re ever in need of allies or shelter, or looking for a way out of the city, come to County Hall and we’ll help. You’ll be safe there. It’s the safest place in London.’
    ‘Nowhere’struly safe,’ the woman says.
    ‘Not truly,’ Carl concedes. ‘But if you seek refuge there, and anyone wants to do you harm, they’ll have to cut through us first.’
    ‘What are you?’ the woman asks again, frowning now.
    ‘Like I said, that’s a long story. But if you want to know who we are, I’m Carl Clay and these guys will be more than happy to introduce themselves if you let them.’
    The woman wavers, takes a step back, thinks about it some more, then makes up her mind. ‘I’m Emma,’ she says. ‘This is my son, Declan.’
    ‘A pleasure to meet you, Emma,’ Carl says, smiling broadly. ‘Now, do you know any place around here where we could get a decent cup of coffee?’
    And when he says that, despite herself, Emma returns the smile, and as sappy as it might sound, it’s one of themost heart-warming things I’ve ever seen. Even for an undead, heart-deprived monster like me.

Carl wasn’t joking about the coffee. He tells us that one of his uncles ran a small espresso bar in Kensington. Carl used to work there occasionally at the weekends, learning the trade. His parents thought it would be good for him, help keep his feet on theground—he comes from a wealthy background and I guess they didn’t want him losing touch with us common folk.
    We find a deserted café, Carl takes Emma’s order and heads in, delighted with himself. The rest of us wait on the street. Emma stands apart from us, still unsure she made the right choice when she came back. Declan is ogling us. He seems particularly fascinated by the hole in mychest.
    ‘I’d let you poke about in there,’ I smile at him, ‘but it’s dangerous.’
    Declan blushes and hides his face. Emma laughs and rubs his head. ‘No need to be afraid,’ she coos. ‘These people aren’t going to hurt us. He was always shy,’ she tells me. ‘I used to encourage him to be more outgoing, but in this climate shyness isn’t a bad thing. I haven’t had any trouble keeping him quiet.’
    I nod understandingly. ‘Noise attracts the zombies.’
    ‘Smells attract them too,’ Ashtat mutters, looking around, worried. ‘If any nearby reviveds get a whiff of that coffee . . .’
    ‘Don’t brick it,’ Rage laughs. ‘We can handle a few dumb reviveds if we have to.’
    ‘But I’d rather not risk it,’ Ashtat says and goes to see how Carl is getting on.
    ‘Do other zombies attack you?’ Emmaasks me.
    ‘Not usually,’ I reply. ‘But if we got in the way of a feed, they would.’
    ‘Then we’re putting you in danger.’
    I shrug. ‘We don’t mind a little danger. It’s what we’re here for.’
    Carl emerges with a mug of steaming hot coffee, beaming as if he’d delivered a newborn baby. Emma thanks him and reaches for it.
    ‘Uh-uh,’ he stops her and carefully lays the mug down on theground for her to pick up. ‘Best not to take any chances.’
    ‘This is so weird,’ she says, pulling a face