In The End Box Set by Stevens, GJ (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📗

a pretty good job getting what we did as the Tesco burnt to the ground.

Twenty tins of fish; couldn't stand the stuff. My old self didn't anyway, but they would be much better than digging grubs from the bark of rotting trees. I'd give anything for a bigger supply, enough to eat until we got home.

Home. The first I'd thought of the place since we'd set off on the journey less than a day ago. Was it only twenty-four hours since our world went up the creek? My parents faces crashed into my head. Their imagined thoughts given words. What must they be thinking when they saw the news? At least I didn't have a wife worrying where I was. Didn't have kids panicking when they heard what had happened in the South West. None of us did.

My mind lingered on the thought. Between us we had two who couldn't; I put my hand up in my head. It had been the death-nail to my one and only relationship. Four who wouldn't and the rest where it just wasn't the right time or hadn't met the right someone. Maybe that's why we'd stuck together for so long and hadn't drifted apart when kids and exploding families separated our lives.

A twig snapped; a spray of sparks spat from the fire. Each gaze fell in the direction of a loud noise, shoulders relaxing as the light-show drowned in the daylight. I was thankful for the distraction.

Water was our main issue. We had chocolate, first aid kits, pain killers galore; antibiotics we'd tried to push down Chloe's throat, left over from the chemist. A whole spectrum of other medications in prescription bags which had sat on the shelf, never to be collected. Maybe some of them would come in useful; although we'd need to find some sort of medical book first. Toothpaste, tooth brushes, but only four bottles of water, two litres in each.

Three, I corrected as Naomi rested an empty bottle at her side. I discounted the bottles of Jack I knew she'd kept out of sight of the pile.

“We need to start rationing,” I said. No one complained or suggested an alternative.

We had an SA80 rifle from the crash site, the only surviving equipment. It was battered and scraped, could be bent, I couldn't tell. We'd have to wait for Lane's advice when he was better, but long before the need came at least.

Naomi's gaze twitched upwards, then Zoe's followed. A crack sparked from the fire for a second time.

Zoe's gaze fell, but Naomi stood, releasing her grip from Zoe's shoulders.

Lane had his eyes open towards the sky, then looked to me, already raising himself on his elbows.

The sound was unmistakable, rotors pounding in the air.

I stood, helped Lane to his feet, looked twice at the pistol then pushed it into my jacket pocket.

With his arm around my shoulders, I supported him to his full height. Steadying his balance, we took the first steps out of the circle. I turned, hearing Cassie at our backs.

“Stay there,” I said, nodding to the pistol in her hands. “Keep watch.”

Her footsteps stopped as we built speed, the sound of the chopper loud and constant. They were hovering. I pictured them over the wreckage, the gunner peering down, searching the surroundings for their men. They'd see one, a hole in his head. They'd have flown over the carnage across the road.

We were getting close. We just needed them to stay a moment more before they would see us and we could roll the dice, hoping they saw their comrade before they saw me.

The second noise was one we'd heard before as well. The pitch of the engine changed. We'd already slowed. Then came the scream of the machine gun from the door and the snap-snap of bullets hitting the tree-line.

“Infra-red,” I heard Lane murmur, but they weren't shooting at us. Their aim was on the four dead bodies walking into the trees in our direction. Their torsos and legs were a pulpy mess of small explosions with limbs missing, eyes white and mouths hanging open, each circled with dried blood.

Lane relaxed his arm from around me. I was about to fire the pistol when Lane pulled me down. Snaps of lead hit the ground too close, tracing our outlines, or so it felt.

The helicopter withdrew as I'd buried my head and the footsteps dragging behind us silenced.

I lifted, relief battling with the disappointment, but instinct ducked me down as a gunshot burst from the direction of the camp.

32

I didn't stay down long, leaving Lane to get to his feet by himself while I ran. My shoulders rocked forward as another shot echoed through the trees, the bang followed by a chorus of vicious screams.

A third shot exploded as I raced closer to the source and I heard the trample of feet running, Lane behind me, his face contorted with pain as he followed.

A fourth split the air and I sped up while fumbling for the gun. Its cold, not quite metal, reassured me little.

My first sighting was of Zoe, tears streaming down her face. She was running, pushed at her back by Andrew. Both were heading my way, their faces alight, eyes wide.

On seeing me, Andrew held his hand out to take mine, waving me from my course, trying to turn me as he saw my approach.

Shaking off his hands, his worry, I pointed to my right.

“Go that way,” I said, breathless.

Andrew understood. He'd heard the machine gun only moments earlier and, missing with one last attempted grab at my jacket, he veered Zoe off the path and into the untracked route, darting around the trees.

“No,” I shouted. “I'll catch up. Get her safe. Take Lane.” I didn't look back, didn't check if they'd taken my advice. I had to keep running, had