Guts for Garters

by Goldandbluejackal

Summary:

After being shot Johnny wakes from a coma to catastrophe.

The world has fallen in on itself and undead roam the streets. The only clue to his salvation lies in a scribbled note across his sketchbook.

Birmingham.

And so Johnny sets out, across this strange new world, with nothing but hope. Hope, and a desperate longing to find the Ghost that haunts his faded memories.

Chapter 1: blue

Johnny woke up after being shot in the head, three months after the world had ended.
He sat up, pain flaring through his skull, and saw not the sooty dark tunnels of the Underground, but a bright blue curtain. He slowly blinked. The curtain remained.

Eyes aching his gaze slowly travelled down. He was completely naked, equally blue blanket rucked beneath his legs, which looked thinner than he remembered. He cautiously wriggled a foot. For a moment nothing happened. He was seized with sudden panic. He concentrated harder, brows drawing together, and then his toe twitched. His entire foot finally moved, knee jerking. He exhaled in relief.

A noise behind the curtain, a wet, flopping sound, made him look over. He tried to stand, but as he shuffled his hips he felt a sharp pinch in his groin. He looked down; there was a catheter tube sticking out of his penis. He gritted his teeth, reached down, and pulled it out with a hiss. One of his hands had an IV taped to it and he pulled that out too. Bracing himself on his hands he tried again, and swung his legs out of bed. With a grunt of effort he stood up.

Another burst of bright pain through his head. Orange dots flickered across his eyes. His legs trembled. The floor felt cold beneath his bare feet. He reached out and seized hold of the curtain, and wrenched it open. The room was in disarray; heart monitors left abandoned, bags of saline leaking a puddle all over the floor, and in far corner of the room, a dead man was slouched against the wall.

Johnny carefully put one foot in front of the other, and moved nearer, peering at the man. The man, a nurse by the look of his uniform, was missing the entire lower half of his body, wet guts spilling across the floor like ribbons. As Johnny took another step his eyes shuttered open. He lunged at him, snapping, pulling himself towards him at incredible speed. Johnny stumbled back, and almost fell, catching himself on the bed. He scrambled up and onto the mattress.

The dead man stopped, jerking from side to side, momentarily confounded. Johnny cast his gaze around the room, frantically looking for some sort of weapon. Finally his eyes alighted on the metal IV stand. He grabbed for it, wobbling as he stood up on the mattress and angled the stand like a spear. As the dead man finally looked up at the sound he plunged it downwards, aiming for his eye.

The dead man was motionless. Had he killed him…again? Johnny cautiously crouched, and then leaned in. The metal stand had skewered him through the eye. He waved a hand in front of the one still whole. The eye was still. The dead man didn’t move. Right. Well. That was that then. Johnny put a hand to his chest, feeling his heart thrumming. He had to take several deep breaths, curling a lip. The room smelt sour; like rotten meat and ammonia.

 

The soldier in him told him to get up, take stock, find a weapon. He hurried to obey. He skirted around the corpse, and moved over to the locker next to the bed. There were things inside. Things that belonged to him, he had a vague recollection of them. He pulled out a pair of jeans, dark denim worn to white thread, a splatter of scarlet across the indigo. Blood he realised, brain still struggling to catch up with his body. Whose blood? His blood? He scratched at it but the stain remained. He carefully knelt and pulled out underwear, light grey with the same creeping stain as the jeans. Then a black t-shirt, ripped under one arm, stiff in his hands, and finally a pair of plain black combat boots.

There was one more item in the locker. A notebook? No. A sketchbook, battered and bent across the middle from being stuffed in a pocket. He opened the front page and saw a name. John MacTavish. Of course. That was him. He stroked the pencil marks. He knew that of course. But thinking of himself felt like watching a movie, something happening outside his body, actions muffled and distant. Was he still the same John MacTavish?

He flicked to a different page and dislodged a stub of pencil. The sound of it clattering to the linoleum made him jump. He tucked it back between the pages and closed the book. As he did so a scrawl of bright red, the same red that stained the jeans, made him frown. It was one word, written in bold text across the grey front of the sketchbook. Birmingham, it read.

Johnny got up. He dressed in the stiff, bloodstained clothes, and tucked the sketchbook into his back pocket. He needed to find out where he was. Then he could find his unit, then he could find-

Ghost.

A flare of memory like a sunburst. A grey room. The lights off. He was meant to be concentrating but the man sitting next to him was keeping up a continued, muttered commentary in a deep, rough voice.

‘The insurgents retreated into a warren of tunnels below the hospital,’ said another man standing at the front. He was pointing to a map.

‘Warrens aye,’ muttered the man next to him, right in his ear, making his spine tingle. ‘They terrorists or rabbits?’ He fell silent when another man across the broad table glared at him. But then he shifted closer, a hand casually drifting to Johnny’s knee. ‘Fuck this,’ he muttered. ‘Hey Johnny.’

Johnny, of course, he was Johnny, looked at him, catching the slide of bourbon brown eyes.

‘What d’ya call a man with a spade on his head?’

‘What LT?’ he hissed back.

‘Doug,’ said the man, Ghost, with a low chuckle.

‘Riley,’ growled a voice warningly behind them.

Ghost opened his mouth. He wasn’t done.

But Johnny blinked and came back to himself, standing in the hospital room, next to a man that had died and come back to life. How could he forget Ghost? Another headache started, an insistent throb that started in one temple and soon spread to the other. He reached up to press a hand to his scalp, perhaps to get some relief, and his fingers felt instead, gauze. What had happened? Here his eyes grazed over the impaled nurse. What had happened to everyone else?

At the same moment he was all at once aware of his body, the ache of it, something set in his bones, the slowness of it. He was sure he hadn’t been like that…before? His mouth was dry. Thirsty he realised, and clutching at the hollow of his stomach he understood he was hungry too.
Look around, take stock, find a weapon.
But first, he needed supplies.

He tried the door to the room. It opened. Slowly, cautiously, he poked his head out. It was empty. His eyes ached as they adjusted to the bright light. Outside the sun was beaming down and he was momentarily fascinated by the crawl of yellow light reflecting against the grubby white floor tiles.

Thirsty his mouth reminded him. He trod down the corridor, steps faltering. He remembered striding with purpose. He remembered running.

The corridors seemed endless. He saw a sigh above, phlebotomy, and turned a corner. This corridor was not empty like the last five. It looked like a war zone.

There was blood dashed up the walls, and gurneys pulled across, perhaps to act as makeshift barriers. Lying full length on the floor were several bodies. Johnny eyed them, wondering if perhaps they were going to reanimate, but as he drew closer the stench hit him. He could hear the buzz of several flies, and see the stain of black sludge around each slowly rotting corpse. He pushed a gurney, making it slam against a wall, and stepped back, waiting for a reaction. None of them moved. Taking a deep breath, he stepped over the first and began to make his way down the corridor.

He came out into a waiting room. More bodies. More old blood rusting the walls. But across from him, something new. A Costa Coffee. He wended his way around an outstretched man and a row of chairs and made his way towards it.

A voice in his ear.

‘I’m in the coffee shop.’

‘Get us a tea.’

Why did he feel like laughing?

He walked past the queue of dead people and peered in the glass fronted cabinet. The cakes were green dusted with mould. He looked at the chiller cabinet and saw a pile of rotting slime. But below were bottles, still sealed, still good. Diet coke. Dr Pepper. He grabbed for one, tearing off the lid, and raised it to his lips.

It was lukewarm but it was sweet. Once he started drinking he couldn’t stop and drained the bottle, before letting out the loudest belch of his life. Shrugging he reached for another and drank that too. His hand brushed against a rustling packet. Crisps. Food.

He carried a colourful armful to a spare table, and sat and chewed through three packets. As he ate he thought of all the foods he’d eaten in his life. Chicken and rice and endless protein shakes. What a waste. He should have just eaten crisps. Perhaps it should have bothered him, eating next to dead men, but he’d eaten in worse places. Killed his fair share too. Never seen them come back to life though. That was fucked up. His head gave a little pulse of pain, making him squint. That wasn’t right. He tried to ignore it.

He looked around and spied a backpack around the shoulder of one of the corpses on the floor. He pulled it free, emptied it of papers and pens and pointless detritus and then stuffed it full of anything edible he could find. Crisps and biscuits and even a paper packet of coffee beans.

Take stock. Find a weapon. Get the lay of the land. Johnny swung the backpack onto his shoulders and headed for a sign marked exit.

Chapter 2: red

It had been the gritty tail end of winter when he’d taken the dark steps down into the underground. He emerged under a bright blue cloudless sky. It was spring. He stood for a long moment in a shaft of brilliant sunlight. The pavement was deserted. It should be bustling. He dragged his gaze from the expanse of blue. Was anything else that blue?

‘Fuck off looking at me with those bloody eyes, Johnny.’ It was Ghost speaking, glaring at him from across the room.

He sat back, smirking. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about LT.’

His eyes were blue. Of course. Blue sky. Blue eyes. Blue curtain. His head gave a sudden throb. Red. Red pain. Red blood. Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, eased at his shoulders. Focus MacTavish come on.

Opposite the hospital was, absurdly, Madam Tussauds. Of course, he must be at the Princess Grace. That would have been the closest hospital to the tunnels. Johnny stared at the domed end of the building. There was no long straggling line of tourists outside. He turned his head, looking down the wide road. There wasn’t a single car, a single person. The entire street was deserted.

He had secretly hoped that what had happened in the hospital was some isolated event. That some disaster had befallen its occupants, some sickness, some plague. He could see now that he was wrong.

He picked a direction and turned, adjusting the backpack. He reached a small kiosk, the sort of kiosk that might have, in happier times, sold newspapers and bottles of water. The booth was locked with a padlock. Piles of newspapers had been left humped around its base.

Johnny stared at the decaying piles of wet papers and dug into one of the mounds, pulling free one that was mostly intact. The headlines jumped out at him.

Astronauts return from successful Mars mission

Lose 30 pounds in 30 days with the California diet

Divorce scandal for famous royal

Johnny flicked through the pages, eyes grazing over articles on how to get your husband to stop snoring, a cheating celebrity, a flood. All mundane enough events. There was nothing about a plague, or a war. Nothing at all. He threw the paper aside in disgust, and then noticed the date. February 15th.

He looked back up at the tree rustling over him. It must have been months since the tunnel. What had happened? How was he still alive?

He pulled curiously at the padlock but it was stuck fast. If he had a gun he could shoot it off. If he had a gun he could do a lot of things.

He continued walking. He needed to find someone. He needed to check in. His heart jumped when he spied a phonebooth, but of course, he didn’t have any change in his pockets. Just his sketchbook. His sketchbook. He pulled it out again, looking at the messy red letters. Birmingham. Had he written that? What was so significant about Birmingham?

He smelt the horse before he saw it.

The air hung thick with decay. He almost retched, feeling his mouth fill with saliva. Turning a corner into a narrow, cobbled street he saw a dark hump in the road. He thought at first it was discarded rubbish but then as he drew closer the lump took shape. He saw the rotten flesh of what was clearly an animal, flashes of white bone beneath purpled flesh. Then the hump twitched. The animal moved and the untouched head of a black horse, the contrast of its dished face all the more beautiful against the rotting wreck of its body, lifted.

Johnny froze.

The horse struggled onto its legs, all four gnawed to the bone, tendons and sinew trailing with every step like bloody string, and slowly hobbled towards him.

Johnny slowly began to back away.

The horse snorted. It began to move faster. It opened its mouth, teeth long needles, eyes white and wild, and hissed.

‘What the fuck,’ breathed Johnny, and thought how loud his voice sounded, in the silence of the city.

The horse began to gallop towards him, snorting like a dragon. Johnny turned and bolted. He could hear its hooves scraping across the pavement. He turned, diving into a narrow alley, and rebounding off a series of metal dustbins, making one clatter to the floor. The horse followed, leaping over the fallen bins, heading straight for him.

Johnny shot out of the ally and smacked into an abandoned black cab. The door was open. He jumped inside and slammed the door. The horse clattered to a stop, heavily exhaling. It circled the cab, screeching and hissing, shoving at the cab with its nose and making it rock. Johnny clutched at the seat. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.

He turned and peered out the cab as he heard another screech from outside. From behind a tall white building he saw people emerge, some limping, some hobbling, but most of them running. He ducked down and wedged himself on the floor, peering through the square of blurred window. The people, screaming, swarmed the horse, grabbing it with clawed hands and tearing.

It fought back, snapping, kicking. Johnny jumped as one of the people smacked into the cab. His breath came in short pants. What fucking madness was this? He dared to sit up, crawling over to the window and looking outside. The mass of people, at least a dozen, had pulled the thrashing horse to the ground, and were tearing it apart. Johnny watched as they shovelled mouthfuls of decaying flesh into their mouths. The horse shrieked. It was soon reduced to a pile of bloody bones, although its head was still weakly moving. Finally one of the people (were they still people?) jammed a clawed finger into its rolling eyes and it went still.

The attacker, a man with messy grey hair, and the torn remains of a black suit, straightened up. His body ticked and jerked, no part of him still. Johnny quickly ducked below the window as he spun around. Had he seen him? The pack of people, whatever they were, whatever they had changed into, clicked and chittered, milling around for what felt like forever, and then, as quickly as they had come, the mass moved on, moving together. Johnny listened to shrieks and howls disappear into the distance. He let out a long breath.

He tried to open the cab door and found his hands were trembling too much to undo the handle. He sat for a minute, trying to centre his breathing. His chest felt tight. Finally he managed to open it and all but fell out the cab, bruising his knees on the concrete. The blue sky no longer felt friendly. It felt inappropriate, the clear blue ozone mocking everything that was occurring beneath it.

 

Johnny staggered from the road and into a park. Looking around he saw more bodies, lying out on the grass as though sunbathing but quite clearly dead. He tensed, watching to see if one would rise. He skirted around them and then realised some were wearing camouflage. They were army. He looked around. If he was recalling correctly the Wellington Barracks were on the other side of this park. Barracks meant fellow soldiers, meant safety, meant answers. He felt a spark of hope rise up in his chest.

He stared at the soldiers. He could see one had a rifle slung around his neck. He dared to pad closer. As his foot stepped on the grass the soldier stirred. Johnny quickly backed away. He looked around and saw a large tree. As the soldier sat up he quickly began to climb it.

He was already concealed in its branches as the bodies got up, jittering and jerking, snapping empty jaws, and headed from the park back into the city. Johnny’s knuckles showed white where they clutched the branch he was sitting on. He wedged himself in a solid fork, his back to the truck, and sat, watching the swaying leaves. Up here there was no blood. Just cool, green leaves.

 

‘Johnny what the fuck?’

Johnny startled awake, having to grab for the branch. Instead of a man in a mask looming over him there was only the silent tree. Had it fallen asleep? For how long? His head was hurting again, a dull ache behind one eye.

He slithered down from the tree and was relieved to see the park was empty. He could have been the only person in the city. He glanced up at the sky and was alarmed to see it flooding orange. Bloody eejit falling asleep in a tree. What was wrong with him? He had to get on, get on and find-

Birmingham.

Johnny shook his head, which hurt. No, not Birmingham. The Wellington barracks. He knew where they were, he’d visited with Price that time. Price.

The name made him stop dead on the parks concrete path. Captain Price. His captain. Frowning, Johnny tried to picture him and couldn’t. There was just a vague feeling, a sense of calmness and authority, a pat on his shoulder, the lingering stench of cigar smoke. There was a gap inside him he realised. A Price shaped hole in his memories, a silhouette where once there had stood someone whole. Rubbing uneasily at his neck Johnny walked on.

He paused at the iron wrought gate to the park. Across the road, snarled with cars, stood a white bricked building. The barracks. He cautiously stepped out, as though the cars might roar to life at any moment. It looked like there had been a crash but there weren’t any bodies. Johnny’s skin prickled in unease. He realised he was humming quietly under his breath.
What tune was that?

Someone had driven a jeep through the front barrier to the barracks. Johnny’s weight sunk lower. He became very aware of the tread of his feet, and the chafe of the backpack straps.

The jeep was empty. Johnny let out a breath. The tune came back to him as he ducked under the broken barrier and prowled unhindered into the large, empty drill yard. He glanced up at the windows above him. Was anyone there? Should he call out? He thought of the twitching people and his humming abruptly stopped.

There was the entrance to the barracks; an innocuous thin, black door. Johnny put a hand to it. It was open. Trepidation fluttered low down in his guts. Sucking in air he pushed open the door.

 

The hallway was clean and white with decorative moulding of crowns and grapes. Johnny supposed had been built at a time where things could be decorative as well as practical. There was an oil painting of a stern looking general on one cream wall. The reception area, behind glass, was unmanned. Curiously Johnny leaned over the desk, and picked up the phone. He held it to his ear. Silence. The man in the oil painting frowned at him. Shrugging, he continued down the corridor.

A sign next to a staircase told him where he was. Foyer. Arrows pointed left and right. Chapel and officers’ quarters. Johnny chose left and walked down a long, straight corridor. The green carpet gave way to cheap linoleum. He tried a door and found it locked, tried another and it opened into an empty bedroom, the room pin neat. He retreated and tried a different hallway. The corridor echoed with his footsteps. It was eerily quiet.

He paused at another sign, his eyes aching as they skimmed over the letters. Armoury. He strode more quickly and opened the next door. Taking up most of the room was a wire cage. Johnny’s gaze immediately flicked eagerly over the gun racks and saw they were empty.

Take stock. Find a weapon.

‘Find a fucking weapon how, Ghost, hm? Fuck!’ Johnny’s voice bounced off the walls in frustration. He clutched at his hair and then hissed at the answering pain in his head. What was he supposed to do now?

A clang shook the very core of the room and he almost leapt out of his skin in shock. A man, no not a man, a thing, a monster, slammed up against the steel wiring, snarling. Johnny backed away, staring at it. His eyes flicked to the gate. Not locked as he had assumed but fastened shut with a crow bar shoved through the door. Clenching his jaw Johnny strode over to it and wrenched the metal free. The door sprang open. The monster rushed him, growling. Johnny growled right back and swung at it.

‘Fuck you,’ he spat as metal connected with the things skull with a wet thump. ‘Fuck you!’
The thing grabbed at him with long arms and he kicked it off, one elbow angled up to keep its snapping jaws away. He swung again, and again, his anger caving a bloody hole in the monsters skull. The thing fell, still growling, slipping in its own blood. Screaming Johnny brought his boot down on its head.

‘Fuck you,’ he panted as he stomped its skull to bloody jam. ‘Fuck you Ghost for leaving me here. Fucking you Lieutenant fucking Riley. You said you’d never leave me behind-! You said- Fuck-‘

Johnny started to cough, choking on his own hot anger. He wiped hastily at his face, and stumbled out from the cage. He was halfway down the corridor before he let himself cry.

Chapter 3: green

‘…more canals than Venice.’

Johnny turned his head. He’d been completely zoned out, staring out at the snowy landscape.
‘Did you say something LT?’

A hand reached out across the car seat and brushed against his.
‘I said Birmingham has more canals than Venice.’

Johnny grinned. ‘And just as many gondolas, right?’

Johnny woke up, his mouth dry, his head ringing. Surfacing from insentience was painful, the light too bright, his body a heavy cage trapping him in. Shoulda stayed dead. Shoulda stayed gone. He sat up, looking around the tiny, bare room he’d dragged himself into. An empty bedroom, with just enough room for a cheap pine bed and wardrobe. Johnny remembered rooms like this back when he’d been a private. The bed he was lying in had Thomas the Tank Engines sheets. Some barracks joke no doubt. He’d had Celtic ones. He remembered railing some lad on them late one night, back from the pub. Some lad or had it been-?

‘You a football fan?’
Ghost was next to him, bare chested, tracing a hand over the pattern. How had they got there? Was the rest of him bare too?

‘Aye,’ replied Johnny. ‘Any game with balls really.’

Ghost turned to face him. He’d kept his mask on but Johnny could still tell he was smiling. ‘Mm is that right sergeant.’

Johnny’s head gave a painful throb and he came back to himself, curled under a very different duvet. This wasn’t his room. This wasn’t his life. He felt once again at his head, feeling gauze, and with a wince, sat up. His legs were aching. Everything was. With great effort he got up, almost tripping over his backpack, and stumbled from the room, to where he’d seen a sign for WC.

There was no water in the taps; the pipes groaning as he twisted the faucet. Standing over the cracked porcelain sink Johnny finally let his eyes wander upwards. His face looked drawn, almost grey. His beard had grown in, a wild dark tangle. There was a thick, sweat stained bandage wrapped around his scalp. Gingerly, Johnny began to unwind it. His hands were shaking. He wasn’t sure what he would see beneath, some sort of Frankenstein creation maybe. Finally the bandages and gauze fell away. Underneath he looked much the same as he remembered, although his hair had grown out of its customary mohawk and flopped over his forehead. He turned his head, moving hair out the way, and saw a raw pink starburst.

‘Johnny!’
The bomb. The tunnel. The darkness.

Johnny shuddered. He turned his head the other way and saw a matching exit wound. How had he survived? How had he survived and all those people out there had turned into monsters? Was he a monster too and he didn’t realise? His hands started to ache and he finally noticed he was gripping the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles had turned white. What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go?

He pulled his sketchbook out from his back pocket and flipped through it again. He’d drawn a jeep, a gun, power lines covered in birds. Why had he done that? What was the significance? Towards the middle of the pages something crinkled. He pulled it out. It was an empty condom wrapper. Johnny stared at it. What a weird fucking thing to keep. But clearly past him had thought it was important. He tucked it back in the page and stared at the accompanying drawing. Eyes. The same pair of eyes drawn over and over, sometimes frowning, other times crinkled in mirth. Eyes under a helmet. Eyes behind a mask. Brown eyes. He knew who those eyes belonged to. Ghost.

He shut the sketchbook with a snap, staring at the red writing. Birmingham. If Ghost was alive (if, he told himself fiercely, don’t get your fucking hopes up MacTavish) that’s where he’d be.

He made his way to one of the shared kitchens and sat, eating dry Rice Krispies, as he thought. Birmingham was, what, 150 odd miles away? That meant it would take him (here he pulled out his sketchbook to do a quick calculation) five days give or take to walk. His maths were rusty. His thoughts felt slow, weighted down, like his head was full of clay. 

Pencil swooping over the page he found he was thinking of yesterday. Of all those people, of the hospital, of the rotting horse than had come back to life. The numbers were soon covered in a swooping sketch. He sat there for some time, washing down the cereal with Dr Pepper, and filled three pages worth of what he’d seen, the scratching of the pencil and the soft grey marks soothing him. It already felt like a dream. Like something distant.

He shook himself as he got to the bottom of the cereal packet. He needed to get on. He’d have to walk north, out towards the suburbs, and look for the M40. He imagined the long, charcoal smudge of road, likely rammed with trapped cars, perhaps trapped people too. Would they be living or dead? Johnny shuddered. He looked down at the sketches. Then he remembered his dream. The van. The snow. A dream or a memory. What had Ghost said? More canals than Venice? Of course. The canal. It would take him north. All he had to do was follow it. 

He got up, the chair shrieking. If he was going to do this he was going to do it properly. He hunted through the rest of the barracks until he came across a sign declaring supply and procurement. The door was locked, but with a few good kicks and a bit of jimmying with the crow bar he got it open. The room was full of shelves stacked with cameo. It looked untouched. He roamed around the room and finally found a cupboard with stacked green backpacks much larger than the one he was using. He took one, shaking it out. He took a jumper too, the same army green as the backpack. He found another cupboard with the first aid kits and compasses, and finally the tents and sleeping bags.

His backpack was growing weighty by the time he retraced his steps back to the armoury, looking distastefully at the corpse on the floor. The guns were all gone but there was a stack of body armour, osprey standard issue. Johnny buckled it on over his t-shirt. He ran a hand over the helmets. Did he need one? His skin prickled, remembering the ring of gunfire in his ear. He took one, tying it to his backpack.

He raided the kitchens before he left, finding more cereal and unopened packets of biscuits. Water was the biggest worry. Finally he found a stack of bottled water half-forgotten on top of one of the silent fridges. He took as much as he could carry, mindful of the things outside. Of needing to run. His muscles were still sore from yesterday. Finally, squaring his shoulders, he supposed there was no time like the present. He adjusted the backpack straps and headed for the exit.

The sky wasn’t as bright as yesterday. An oppressive white cloud blanketed the sky, hiding the sun from view. Johnny stopped briefly to pull on his jumper. It took him a while to orient himself. He wasn’t all that familiar with London, but he had a vague recollection of the canal starting in Paddington. He picked a road and headed down it, and ended up walking past Buckingham Palace. He stopped for a moment, peering through the gates. Had everyone turned into those things?

The enormity of what might had happened suddenly hit him. Everyone. The King. The government. Where was everyone? The army had clearly fucked off. His head gave a painful thud. It was too much to comprehend. Focus on the task at hand, he told himself. He was a soldier first and foremost. He had to get back to his lieutenant. To his unit. He was part of a team. The major would tell him what to do. The captain. 

The streets were empty. Johnny felt like the only man left in the world. Maybe he was. He walked for an hour, was sure he was going the wrong way, and then found a map outside a shuttered tube station. He looked at it. No one was hiding down there then. Had the people known what was going to happen? Had they had time to prepare? Here he paused. Maybe they were all in lockdown, safely at home. Maybe he shouldn’t be preparing to walk across the fucking country. Maybe he should head out, to the suburbs, and start knocking on doors? He could be wandering around some sort of quarantine zone and not realise. Well. One way or another he’d get out of the city. The canal seemed as good a place to start as any.

He stopped to look over a bridge and saw a long green ribbon of water beneath. He’d finally reached the start of the canal. Despite everything he felt elated. There it was, lined with boats, just like he’d imagined.

The initial path was wide, overlooked by pubs. The windows to the buildings were dark, the doors locked. Johnny considered breaking in but then decided against it. He didn’t need to be trapped in a close space with more of those things. There were several colourful house boats moored along the river. Johnny peered through a few windows but didn’t see anything. He continued along the path which slowly grew narrow. He was soon walking along a tow path, canal on one side, trees on the other. The trees and hedges were so overgrown several times he had to bat through them, like he was battling through a thick jungle. Shortly it was just him, the snaking sludge green water and the riotous plant life.

He tried not to think as he walked, focusing on his breathing, on the steady tread of his boots, but he did so anyway. Memories came unbidden, and seemingly at random. He found he was humming the same tune from yesterday. All the greenery couldn’t be more different from where he’d been this time last year. Had that really happened? It felt like he was remembering a film, not his own life. He recalled deserts, a hot sun and-

‘Listen to the wind blow,’ came Ghost’s deep voice, rumbling in his ear.

Johnny groaned. He shifted his rifle so he could press the radio.
‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ he hissed.

‘Watch the sun ri-ise,’ continued Ghost, holding the note perfectly.

Johnny could picture the smirk on his face.
‘Ghost fucking stop,’ he grumbled.

‘Run in the shadows. Damn your love. Damn your lies,’ sang Ghost.

Johnny sighed, giving up, and stood and watched the sun rise over the edge of the desert, the low singing in his ear the only sound for miles.

‘And if you don’t love me now,’ sang Johnny as he trudged down the path. ‘You will never love me again.’ His voice grew steadily louder, the backpack smacking his back in time to his steps. The wind above rustled through the branches. He passed by another houseboat, and then jumped as something thudded against the window.

He stopped singing, and crouching, staring. There was a monster inside the boat. Johnny reached for his crowbar. The thing eyed him, head twisting to one side. Johnny moved closer. Behind the glass the monster chittered. Its teeth were sharp, the corners of his mouth split open. Johnny started to sing again.

‘I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain.’

But he’d broken it all the same. Ghost has left him. Left him to wake up alone. Left him to deal with all this crazy shite. Still singing under his breath Johnny eased off his backpack and stepped onto the boat. The monster thudded against the door. He could walk on and leave it. It was trapped, thudding against the window like a fly. But he didn’t want to. Johnny took a deep breath, and turned the handle.

The undead, the monster, rushed at him. Johnny swung the crowbar and it collided with its teeth, making them scatter over the deck like loose change. The undead stumbled, almost falling over the side. Johnny waited, breathing heavily, adjusting his grip on the cool metal of his improvised weapon. He swung it again as it turned and the undead fell into the side of the cabin. Jaw set, Johnny stepped in and jammed the crowbar into one of its eyes. He pushed, until the eyeball popped with a spill of black viscous liquid, and gored the hook of the crowbar in as deep as it would go. It dropped, shaking, and he slammed his foot down.

When it finally stopped moving, he turned his head and retched Rice Krispie mush over the side of the boat. He glanced at the interior. He knew he should look for more provisions but the inside felt tainted. He kicked the body over the side and watched it slowly float away.

He hoped a duck wouldn’t eat it. The last thing he needed was killer ducks coming after him. He started to laugh to himself. Killer ducks. Ghost would love that. He started to sing again, and continued on his way.

He found a park just off the path as the sun dropped low in the sky and set up his tent. He was exhausted and his feet were killing him. He didn’t even think he’d done that many miles. Fuck, he used to march for hours.

He lay down in the tent, exhaustion oozing out of every pore, staring up at the green canvas, and then looked uneasily at the zipped door. He unzipped it, suddenly worried that more of those things would creep up on him in the dark. Sighing, he forced his aching body to move and gathered twigs to make a mean little fire. He sat and stared at it, compulsively tearing up handfuls of grass. He’d always hated camping, even after all those years with the SAS. He liked a proper bed. Not that he ever got one.

Ghost had loved sleeping out. He recalled the last trip, the trip to the desert. He’d spent most of it sleeping on the open bed of the truck, rather than in his tent.

‘Can’t sleep Johnny?’

He shook his head. ‘Grounds hard as fuck.’

‘Soft fucking lad you are,’ replied Ghost laughing at him. He patted the metal of the truck, still warm from the unrelenting desert sun. ‘Take a seat.’

‘I’m fine.’

Ghost sat up. ‘I know you’re fine but fucking sit with me a minute, yeah?’

Johnny looked back at the glimmer of firelight behind them.

‘Price is right there.’

‘I’m not gonna fuck you Johnny.’

It was Johnny’s turn to laugh. ‘Oh yeah LT. What’s the fucking point then?’

Ghost sat up, stupidly fast for such a large man. He grabbed the front of his t-shirt and yanked him onto the truck.

‘Sit the fuck down and stop whinging.’

Johnny realised the fire had blurred. He wiped hastily at his eyes although there was no one there to see him. With a glance up at the stars (had they always been that close?) he retreated into his tent. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the canvas.

He was woken by shrieking and scrambled to grab the crow bar, stumbling out the tent in boxers and jumper. He braced himself, expecting to see more of those things running right at him. His eyes picked out a lithe shape in the gloom, and then another. A fox. Just a fucking fox.

Johnny let out a long breath. He retreated back into the tent, but he couldn’t bring himself to sleep, instead staring out watchfully into the darkness. As soon as the coming dawn pinked in the east, he broke camp, and continued on his way.

 

Johnny continued along the tow path with aching limbs. His pack felt heavier than ever, the straps grinding against his shoulders.

Just a few days he told himself. Then he’d find Ghost. Maybe the rest of the taskforce too. They’d know what to do. They’d have guns and doctors and-
What was that sound?

Johnny turned at the noise, a low rumble, and saw a houseboat gliding along the water towards him. Had the undead returned? Had it to learnt to drive a boat? No there was a man, an ordinary looking man a little past middle age, standing at the controls. He looked as startled to see Johnny as Johnny was to see him. He turned to speak to someone inside. After a moment a red-haired woman popped her head out. The two of them goggled at him. The man pressed something and the boat slowed.

‘Good morning,’ he called.

The sun, as though on cue, chose that moment to break through the clouds, illuminating the dark green boat in a spill of glittering sunlight. The name of the boat, painted sweepingly in gold, gleamed. The Holy Trinity, it read.

Johnny felt relief flood through him. He wasn't alone. Finally, here was hope.

Chapter 4: gold

‘Hello luvvie,’ called the woman, who despite the wildness of her surroundings was dressed like a schoolteacher in a smart shirt dress. She even had lipstick on, the same orange-red shade as her hair. ‘Are you going to the meet up?’

‘The meetup?’ repeated Johnny inanely. He could feel the weight of his backpack dragging at him. It felt like it was going to pull him right down into the earth.

‘Yes we’re making our way to the Swan Inn. It’s a little traditional of ours.’ The woman smiled. The houseboat slowed, the engine puttering. ‘What’s your name, luvvie? I’m Mary.’

‘Uh. MacTavish,’ said Johnny, who felt like he was looking at himself from a great distance. His hair looked awful. ‘Sergeant MacTavish.’

Was it his imagination or did Mary’s face momentarily darken? It must just be the clouds, blotting out the sun above. She seemed to gather herself, hand clasped to her chest, and smiled, beaming. The sun reappeared, the water dazzling. Johnny put up a hand to shield his eyes.

‘And you’re all alone out here?’ Mary clucked her tongue and Johnny was reminded of his own mother. ‘You poor thing. You must be exhausted. Why don’t you come aboard and have a sit down?’ She held out her hand, looking encouraging.

Johnny took a step towards the houseboat. Now he was closer he could see her smart dress was missing a button. Her lipstick was sinking into a network of wrinkles around her mouth. But her smile was inviting. Her teeth were blue white; false perhaps or veneers. Johnny reached out and took her hand, half stepping and half jumping onto the boat, his boots thudding against the deck.

‘Ah good lad,’ said Mary. ‘Goodness me. You’re stone cold. Come inside and I’ll make you some tea.’

 

Johnny followed her inside, glancing over at the man, who had thus far been silent, as he did so. The man gave him a slight nod. Johnny nodded back, and then had to quickly duck as he made his way inside. Inside it was narrow (hence the name Johnny thought) and lined with dark wood. The curved walls of the boat were crowded with pictures. Most of them seemed to be of a religious nature; Christ on the cross, or gold embossed saints, all of them suffering in beautiful agony. Johnny stared at a framed portrait of St Bartholemew, stripped to the bone and wrapped in his own skin. He nearly fell over the slender sofa taking up one side.

‘Take a seat luvvie,’ said Mary. ‘Take the weight off your feet.’

Johnny eased off his backpack. He was suddenly very aware of how filthy he was in his worn, stained clothes. He stretched out his legs, almost bumping the wood burning stove opposite.

Mary stood and watched him. ‘You won’t need that here,’ she said and Johnny realised she was talking about his body armour. ‘You relax. Two sugars?’

Johnny realised she was talking about the tea. He awkwardly sat. How many sugars did he take? Did he even like tea? He realised with a start that he couldn’t remember.

‘Five sugars,’ Ghost was saying, his voice low against the bubble of the kettle.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

Ghost turned to look at him, smirking. ‘That’s a loaded question Sergeant.’

‘Aye that’s grand,’ he finally said, blinking away the memory. He watched Mary move from the living area to a galley kitchen, and open a cupboard. There was a pot of geraniums next to a round window. It was touchingly ordinary. He wondered if he should say something, but he could only think of the hospital, and the things he’d fought. He looked down at his hands and saw they were engrained with blood and dirt. The cuffs of his jumper were dirty too. He stood up.

‘Uh, do you have a bathroom?’

Mary smiled. She pointed to a door behind her. ‘Just through there.’

Johnny awkwardly shuffled past her and into a tiny bathroom, with a shower cubicle, a sink and a toilet all stuffed into an area the size of a postage stamp. Johnny ran the water, and washed his hands with orange scented soap.

‘I can’t believe you use this cheap shit.’

Ghost frowned. ‘Soap is soap.’

‘It’s fucking nasty, it leaves a film everywhere.’

Ghost snorted. He leaned past him to wipe condensation off the mirror and Johnny saw his reflection. Strong jaw, broken nose, a wicked looking scar that curved from a corner of his mouth all the way up his left cheek. He felt Ghost’s hands grab hold of his hips, looking at himself over his shoulder. His eyes met Johnny’s in the mirror.

‘Bit like you, sergeant.’

‘Are you alright in there?’

Johnny jumped, dragging his blank gaze away from the mirror. His eyes above his beard looked like dark hollows. He hastily turned off the tap.

‘Sorry I-‘ He opened the door.

Mary tsked. The boat shifted under them and Johnny realised they were moving. He let himself be herded by her back to the living area. She handed him a mug, and a plate. She’d made him a sandwich. When she turned around Johnny peeled back the bread and looked at it. Cheese and pickle. Where had they got cheese from? And bread?

 

After tidying up she joined him, sitting on a chair opposite, cradling her own mug in chapped hands. ‘Are you in the army?’ she asked, nodding at his pack.

‘I was,’ said Johnny, which he supposed was true enough. He had no idea if he was still part of the taskforce. If the taskforce even existed.

‘Well you don’t need to worry about that now,’ said Mary, sounding dismissive. ‘You relax. I’m just going to talk to my husband.’

‘Uh okay,’ said Johnny, and took a sip of his tea. It tasted fine, like tea was supposed to taste.

As Mary made her way outside Johnny padded from the living room, through the kitchen, and poked his head through a door at the very end. It was the bedroom, most of the space taken up with a double bed. There was a gold crucifix above the bed. He opened another door opposite the bathroom and found a washing machine. Shrugging he made his way back to the sofa, and stared at the tormented saints as he ate his sandwich.

He heard voices drifting down from above. They were trying to whisper but Johnny could hear them plain as day over the thrum of the boat’s engine.

‘-think there’s something wrong with the lad. Shellshock or something.’

‘It’s not called that.’ Mary’s husbands voice was deep. He spoke slowly.

‘Well whatever it’s called I think he has it.’

‘Did you check him?’

Check him for what? Fleas? Johnny rankled. He wasn’t that dirty.

‘Not yet. I wanted to give him some tea. He looked parched.’

‘Mary.’ The man’s voice was an exasperated sigh. ‘Do you want me to do it?’

‘No you drive. I’ll check.’

Mary reappeared. Johnny continued chewing, looking steadily ahead. She smiled at him.
‘Let me get you some things of my husbands to wear,’ she said. ‘I can wash yours.’

Johnny thought of the stiff, old blood on his jeans. He nodded. Mary disappeared into the bedroom and came back with an armful of navy fabric.

‘Strip here and I’ll wash your things,’ she said.

Johnny waited for her to turn around. She didn’t. She smiled blandly at him, meeting his eyes.

‘It’s nothing I haven’t seen before lad,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘Go on.’

‘I-‘ Johnny didn’t want to seem rude. She’d invited him into her home. Maybe she and her husband were swingers. God he hoped not. He stood up, undoing his body armour first, and setting it aside. He peeled off his clothes until he was standing in his boxers. He felt Mary’s eyes flick over him. Her expression was carefully blank. He turned around to take off his underwear, and covered himself as he turned back around. Mary handed him the bundle of clothes without another word. He hastily dressed as she stuffed everything in the washing machine.

‘How does that work?’ he called over, suddenly curious.

‘Oh it all runs off a battery luvvie,’ she said breezily.

Johnny pulled on underwear, a navy jumper bobbled with age, and a pair of stiff jeans that hung off his hips. He looked down, at his concave stomach, and the jut of sharp hipbones. He never used to be so lean, he was sure of it. Frowning he remembered hours in the gym, and appreciative glances of other men. It felt like a hundred years ago. He sat back down and finished his tea.

Mary made him more. Johnny wondered if he should do something. Instead he sat and looked out the window at the greenery sliding by. He could feel fatigue pressing down on him, until he felt blanketed by it. His head nodded.

He was woken by a gentle hand on his shoulder and jerked to attention. He blinked several times. The stove had been lit, flames dancing hot and orange.

‘Shit, sorry.’ Johnny rubbed at his eyes. ‘I must have fallen asleep. I better, ah-‘ he glanced out the window and saw they had stopped. ‘I’ll just get out here if that’s okay. If my clothes are dry?’

Mary smiled. ‘Don’t be silly, lamb. I made you a spot of dinner and there’s fruit cake in the oven. You can sit right there.’

Johnny awkwardly rubbed his head and winced as he felt how greasy and tangled his hair was. He quickly removed his hand.
‘Oh no I couldn’t put you to any trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ said Mary, stiffly smiling. ‘Why don’t you have a nice hot shower while I get the table out.’

‘I-‘ Johnny didn’t know what to say. He suddenly reached for his backpack. ‘I’ve got some pink wafers if you like.’

Mary tsked.
‘Don’t be so silly. Go on into the shower with you. There’s shampoo and soap. You should get about five minutes of hot water with the heater.’

Johnny finally got up. The room swayed about him. He saw her husband sitting on the bed as he ducked into the bathroom, engrossed in a book. The man ignored him and turned another page.

Johnny’s hair didn’t look much better by the time he was finished by at least it was clean. The water running down the plug had been black. He wandered back into the living area, back in his borrowed clothes, and found a folding table and chairs had been set up. Her husband was already seated, still leafing through his book.

He sat down. He didn’t see what else he could possibly do. Mary set down a plate in front of him. Some sort of brown slop that he thought might be stew. Johnny was about to take a bite when she took hold of his hand. Her husband cleared his throat, leafing to a page in his book. Johnny, frowning, realised it was a bible.

‘Thank you darling for cooking,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I know you sacrificed your time to do this. The bible teaches us a lot about sacrifice. Tell me Sergeant MacTavish, are you a religious man?’

‘Uh-‘ Johnny cleared his throat, toying with his fork. ‘Not especially.’

A flicker of something passed over the man’s face.

‘I see,’ he said at length. He looked down at his book. ‘Was it not He who said even if I am being poured out like a drink offering on the sacrifice and service coming from your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you?’

Johnny frowned. He wasn’t sure who he was. Was it a rhetorical question? 

‘I suppose,’ he finally mumbled.

‘Then let us rejoice and say grace,’ the man continued. ‘Bless us o lord which we are about to receive. We give thee thanks for this bounty o mighty lord.’

Johnny struggled to keep a straight face.

‘Amen,’ murmured Mary.

‘Amen,’ muttered Johnny, clearing his throat. His stomach gurgled. No one stopped him as he dug his fork into a potato. No one spoke at all. The stew, despite appearances, was delicious, full of some sort of rich, fatty meat that melted in his mouth. Scraping at his plate Johnny once again wondered if he should say something. His eyes flicked from face to face. Why was no one speaking?

‘Those things out there-’ he began.

Mary looked up sharply.

‘That’s not a polite topic for the dinner table.’ Her voice had lost its musical quality, had become hardened.

‘But-’ tried Johnny.

‘Let’s enjoy our dinner in peace,’ she said, a frown appearing between her eyebrows. ‘Would you like some more?’

Johnny nodded.

After the stew Mary’s husband disappeared into the bedroom and Mary made him more tea and a slice of dry fruit cake. Johnny helped her fold up the tables and chairs and pull out the sofa into a bed.

‘How long has it been like this?’ he said quietly as he watched her stuff a pillow into a case.

Her face set. She wouldn’t look at him.

‘Does it matter?’ she said and then plastered on another brilliant smile. ‘They’ll be plenty of people for you to talk to at the inn.’

‘Oh you don’t need to take me all that way,’ said Johnny. Despite his nap earlier he was dead on his feet, eyes already shuttering although it was barely dark out.

‘It’s no trouble,’ said Mary. ‘You rest now my little lamb. Have a good sleep.’

Johnny nodded. He lay down in the clean sheets, and watched the smouldering fire until his eyes blurred.

 

Johnny woke up. Or at least that’s what he tried to do. It felt as though he were underwater, his vision swimming, his hearing muffled. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He tried to move and could only flop like a fish on dry land. He opened his mouth but made no sound. His teeth dug into soft cloth, already soaked with saliva. He groaned. He could hear voices, and strained to listen.

‘This it?’ someone was saying.

‘Yes.’

‘You check him for bites?’

He didn’t hear what was said next. He thrashed, eyes struggling to focus, seeing blurred shapes. One of the shapes drew closer.

‘On my count lift.’

‘He’s awake.’

Something heavy thudded over his head.

‘Tough fucker isn’t he.’

Another blow and he was sliding back into the water, and retreating beneath lapping waves.

 

He came to on his knees with his hands tied tightly behind him. He opened his eyes, blinking several times to clear them. His staggered to his feet and felt wood scratch up the length of his back. Eyes rolling in his skull he tried to see where he was. Turning his head he could see part of a tumbledown stone wall and just beyond…people. Half a dozen all gawping at him like visitors at a zoo.

Johnny pulled his gaze away, and looked to his left. Several lengths away was a log dug into the ground. A woman, bound and gagged, was tied to it, head lolling. He turned the other way, making a fresh burst of pain skitter across his temples. There was a man on that side too, restrained the same way, unconscious, his forehead clotted with blood. Johnny tried his bonds, feeling rope burning against his arms. A wind rushing through the ruins made him shiver. He’d been stripped and gagged, material digging into his cheeks.

He tried to pry the gag out of his mouth with his tongue but it was stuck fast. One of the crowd stepped forward; Mary’s husband. The watching people shushed each other. Johnny struggled against his restraints, and felt the log wobble. The man strode over to him, face impassive. He had a bucket dangling over one arm. It stank. He dipped a hand in and smeared it over Johnny’s face, making him flinch. It smelt metallic. Blood.

He turned back to the crowd. ‘Now Father Gideon would like to say a few words.’

Father? Whose father? The crowd parted as a man in a dog collar stepped forward. Johnny realised they were talking about a priest. The wind whipped the words from the man’s mouth but he caught some of what he was saying.

‘He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours but also for the sins of the whole world.’

Whatever the priest said next Johnny didn’t catch because the woman next to him woke up and started screaming, a ragged shrieking that tore right through him. He tugged at the ropes, trying to find a knot or some way to loosen them. Johnny thought for a second his head was ringing and then realised someone was clanging a bell. He looked back at the gathered crowd. A young woman was ringing a brass bell, over and over, the sound echoing across the field. It was so loud it even drowned out the woman’s desperate shrieks.

She carried on ringing, like a parody of a town crier, for what felt like forever, Johnny’s head fit to burst. Finally she stopped, Johnny groaning in relief, his body sagging against the log. Then he heard it. Shrieking on the wind.

Monsters.

Chapter 5: black

Johnny had expected to die when he felt a bullet thud into his skull and crash through his brain. They’d been no white light. No best of reel. Just a sudden, inevitable disappointment.
That was it. That was it?

The last thing he’d heard had been Ghost’s scream, like a wounded animal.

He felt the same disappointment as he squirmed against the wooden pillar he was tied to. He should have known better. There was no coming back from this.

The rope sawed against his wrists. He could hear the shrieks and howls of the undead as they came closer. Craning his neck he saw the bob of a head appearing over the ruined wall. Grunting he pulled harder at the restraints, his muscles straining. He heard footsteps thudding across the wet grass. He turned, bracing himself. A man in camo, the lower half of his face concealed behind a black buff, streaked from the tree line. A knife flashed in his hands, Johnny flinched, but he cut through the loose rope. Johnny fell to his knees.

‘Run,’ panted the man.

Johnny half turned, ripping the gag from his mouth.

‘The others-‘

‘No time,’ said the man. ‘Move!’

Something about his voice, his tone, galvanised Johny into action. He bolted, bare feet whispering across the grass, jigging like a hare behind his unlikely rescuer. He briefly glanced back and wished he hadn’t, seeing an undead dig its teeth into the woman’s tongue and tear.

‘Move it! Move!’ barked the man, running faster.

Johnny threw himself forward and had to quickly duck under a tree branch. They ran into a straggling wood, leaves rustling underfoot, the man crashing through the undergrowth. Johnny yelled as he ran right through a patch of nettles but he didn’t slow. The man seemed to know where he was heading and finally stopped beneath a large oak tree. Johnny glanced up and saw a backpack jammed between the spreading branches. Johnny staggered, sucking in air. The man laced his hands together and nodded.

‘Up you get.’

Forcing himself forward Johnny stepped up and jumped, struggling into the tree. The man followed.

‘Okay. Stay quiet,’ he said, leaning against the trunk. ‘We should be alright.’

He had a pleasant, lilting accent. Welsh, Johnny realised, Cardiff maybe. Wincing he pulled up one of his feet and looked at it, mottled red from the nettles. The bark of the tree was grinding against his bare arse but it seemed ungrateful to complain.

‘You SAS?’ said the man suddenly.

Johnny looked up, startled. How the fuck did he know?

‘I was,’ he finally replied, still breathless.

The man pulled down the buff, and removed his helmet, revealing messy black hair and a broad, freckled face. He was young, even younger than Johnny. He grinned.

‘Sergeant Sanderson,’ he said and held out his hand. ‘But you can call me Roach. Dragoon Guards. I saw your tattoo. Got one of my own.’ He pushed up his sleeve, displaying a sigil of a castle. ‘Good to see a friendly face.’

Johnny leaned forward and shook his hand.

‘Sergeant MacTavish. Soap,’ he clarified.

‘Oh yeah,’ said Roach. ‘You real into cleaning?’

‘Something like that,’ replied Johnny. He looked through the branches at the ground. ‘Those things out there, the undead. What are they?’

Roach raised his eyebrows. ‘Where the fuck you been mate? In a coma?’

Johnny looked back at him. He didn’t say anything. Roach snorted.

‘You can’t be fucking serious. Holy fuck man. Really? Is that why you’re trapsing about in your birthday suit?’

‘Ah. No,’ replied Johnny. ‘I don’t know-‘ he sighed. ‘Those people-’ He struggled for the right words. Talking had always come easy to him. Now he felt he like an old computer booting up as he searched for the right words. He had to stop for a second, feeling Roach’s eyes on him, oddly sympathetic. ‘I think I was drugged. They robbed me.’

‘Damn,’ said Roach with a low whistle. ‘You’re having a really shitty day huh.’

‘I’ve had better,’ said Johnny. ‘Are there more of you? Your unit?’

The smile dropped from Roach’s face. He silently shook his head. Then he grabbed for his backpack, dragging it over. ‘Let’s find you some clothes mate. See just about enough of your prick as I can take.’

 

Roach produced a long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of combat trousers. Johnny struggled into them while trying not to fall off the branch. Up until recently he hadn’t climbed a tree since he was a child. Now it seemed it was becoming his new hobby.

Watching Roach sort through his belongings he thought of his pack, sitting in Mary’s houseboat, and then, with an anguished sigh, his sketchbook. All his drawings of Ghost were in there. He had no phone, no photos. If everyone had turned into those things it might be the only tangible remains of him. He had to get it back.

‘You alright?’ said Roach, peering at him. ‘Catch your breath a minute. I’ve got water if you like but I’m out of grub.’

Johnny looked down at the ground.

‘I have to catch up to them, the people that did this. They have everything.’

‘You mean the crazies that tied you up? Heard that stupid bell they were ringing a good mile away.’ Roach didn’t seem too shocked. Perhaps he’d learnt to take such things in his stride. Perhaps everyone was crazy now.

‘They, she, they were on a boat. They said they were going to the Swan Inn. I don’t know if they were lying or-‘

Roach nodded like what he was saying made perfect sense.

‘A boat huh. They must have supplies then.’

‘Yeah, mine,’ said Johnny, frowning. He thought of the pink wafers. He’d been looking forward to those. He glanced at Roach. ‘You armed?’

‘Yeah but I’m not handing out weapons willy nilly to every naked man I come across.’

Johnny was about to say something and then he realised Roach was grinning. He stretched up and pulled down a rifle from an upper branch.

‘You may not have shoes but you sure are packing now, aye.’

Still smiling he winked at Johnny. Johnny smiled back.

 

They waited a while longer, Johnny swinging his legs impatiently. He checked and rechecked the rifle, a standard issue KS-1. It felt heavy in his hands but comforting, solid.

‘Only shoot when you have to,’ said Roach, watching him. ‘I don’t have spare ammo.’ He had his own weapon, holding it across his chest. Johnny wondered if the second had belonged to a friend.

‘Understood,’ he said.

He watched Roach drop out the tree and followed.

‘Swan Inn sounds like it would be next to the water,’ said Roach as they walked back through the woods.

Johnny stepped carefully, mindful of nettles and brambles. Roach hadn’t had any spare shoes.

‘Aye I’d imagine so,’ said Johnny only half listening. He was thinking of Ghost’s eyes, or rather the eyes in his sketchbook. Brown eyes. Beautiful brown eyes that glowed mahogany in the sunlight.

‘You walking up the Grand Union?’ continued Roach, keeping up a fast pace.

Johnny, with sore feet and aching limbs, struggled to keep up. He got the impression that had their meeting taken place months ago, before the tunnel, before the madness, he would have impressed the man. Now he got a sense of pity from Roach’s eyes when he glanced at him. Johnny was too weary to feel indignant.

‘The what?’ he finally said, trying not to sound breathless and failing.

‘The canal, it’s called the Grand Union,’ replied Roach. He started to whistle.

Johnny looked around anxiously. The undead couldn’t be that far away.

‘Shouldn’t you keep it down?’ he hissed.

Roach turned in surprise.

‘Sorry. Bad habit.’ He continued marching. A moment later he was singing under his breath.

Johnny inwardly groaned. He hefted his rifle. Fuck it was heavy, much heavier than he remembered. How had he managed that and a full pack?

‘The Grand Union special then?’ he said, hurrying to catch up to the sergeant.

‘Best way to Birmingham,’ replied Roach. ‘M4 is completely snarled up with cars, and raiders.’

‘Raiders?’ Johnny felt like a parrot, repeating everything he was saying but he couldn’t help it.

‘Yeah, raiders. Didn’t take ‘em long to come out the woodwork. Almost like they were waiting for something like this. Gangs joined gangs, grabbed weapons. They went for the police first, then we were called in. Didn’t last long. Guy got bit, infected half my unit. Fucking chaos it was. Talk about London has fallen. It all went tits up in three weeks.’ He shook his head, and then started singing again, a little louder this time.

This time Johnny didn’t say anything. It seemed the dead and the crazy were all that were left.

 

They hiked over several overgrown fields and rejoined the canal. Johnny was relieved to see it. It meant he was a step closer to retrieving his belongings. To finding his sketchbook.

‘I thought the SAS were, you know, elite and all that,’ said Roach. ‘You know I saw a few of you guys in Estonia. Fucking hardcore man, you moved like ghosts.’

‘I was in Estonia,’ replied Johnny and then with a sickening crunch realised he couldn’t remember a thing about the trip. It had been an important one, that he knew. He had gone with Ghost-

‘Really,’ said Roach. ‘Maybe we crossed paths without knowing.’

Johnny glanced at him. He hadn’t replaced the buff, although his helmet was pulled down a lot lower than necessary. Definitely not regulation. He was certainly easy on the eye. In fact he was just the sort of lad he might have chatted up late one night, at the edge of the base. Would have listened to him mumble ‘I don’t normally do this.’ Would have got on his knees for him and shown him how good it could be. Would have exchanged a few spit soaked kisses and a crumpled love letter and then moved on to the next one.

Getting up from the dust Johnny wiped his sticky mouth on the back of his hand. His lips were tingling. It was growing dark, the sky smudged amber. He smiled as he watched his latest conquest walk a little unsteadily towards the mess hall. He froze as he felt someone loom over his shoulder.

‘Slag,’ muttered Ghost in his ear.

‘I’m begging, begging yo-ou!’ warbled Roach, dragging him from the comfort of old memories, and Johnny almost growled.

He didn’t want to be here, wincing as he marched barefoot over the gravelled tow path. He wanted to be back there, back when he was whole, when things made sense, back when a teasing slap to his arse from his lieutenant made him light up like a beacon.

They saw the white building ahead at the same instant. Roach stopped singing.

 

The pub was right on the water, a straggling beer garden crowding the tow path. The white painted building was stained green with algae. The faded sign rattled in the wind. It looked abandoned.

‘Well they’re not here,’ said Roach, unlatching the gate and striding uncaring into the garden, while Johnny swept his rifle, looking left to right. He glanced up at the blank windows of the pub and gave a little shudder.

‘Could’ve been here and moved on,’ he said. There were empty bottles left on one of the picnic benches. He sniffed one of them and got a heady whiff of beer. ‘I think these are recent.’

‘We can catch up to them on the canal then,’ said Roach. ‘Let’s take a look inside anyway. Find you some shoes.’

Johnny nodded.

They walked around to the front door of the pub where a couple of dead looking hanging baskets were swaying in the stiff breeze. Roach pushed against the door.

‘Locked,’ he said. ‘Stand by.’

He shoved his shoulder into the door and it gave, creaking open. Underfoot was slippery with takeaway leaflets.

‘Looks abandoned,’ said Johnny, peering over his shoulder.

The cream wallpaper was stained yellow in the corners and peeling. Roach pointed his rifle and walked through. They moved through the brief hallway and into the pub proper. The bar was thick with dust. The shelves behind were stripped bare.

‘I think you’re right,’ said Roach. ‘Looks like it was locked up before all the shit happened.’

Johnny walked behind the bar and looked anyway. He found a dried out container of shrivelled lemons, but then, delving in a cupboard, came across half a dozen bottles of white wine. He pulled one out.

‘Nice,’ said Roach, wiping off the dust and reading the label. ‘Get stuck into that later.’

Johnny swept his rifle, concerned about creeping undead or possibly disgruntled landlords. He walked over to one of the seating areas, looking at a painting on the wall. He startled, swinging around as something clattered to the floor behind him. But it was only Roach opening another cupboard and making a mop fall out.

Johnny’s head swam. He desperately wanted to sit down on one of the tartan patterned chairs but he forced himself on, feeling the worn carpet change to something more padded as he pushed open a door leading to some stairs.

Roach appeared over his shoulder. He had his rifle in one hand and the wine in the other. Johnny itched to correct him but he wasn’t his CO. He imagined what Ghost would say. Certainly nothing good.

‘Looks like the living area,’ said Roach in a hoarse, stage whisper.

‘I’ll take point,’ said Johnny and started to climb the stairs, hearing them creak beneath his weight.

 

Leading off from a dusty landing were three rooms. Roach nodded at him and edged inside the one at the far end. Johnny tried the other. The handle was stiff. He put his shoulder to it and burst through.

He all but fell into a small bedroom, cluttered with cheap pine furniture. A pair of curtains were drawn shut, bathing the room in milky shadow. In the next moment something flew off the bed, hissing in a rough, rattling voice, loose clothes flapping like bats wings. Johnny barely slipped the sharp teeth snapping next to his ear. His elbow came up and caught the undead in the chest, making it stumble.

Stepping back he fumbled for the safety on his rifle. His hands shook. The undead snarled, regaining its balance, and rushed at him. He fired into its gut, the sound reverberating around the small space and making his ears ring. The undead didn’t slow, and leapt at him, overgrown nails raking at him, teeth bared.

Johnny tripped on a loose piece of carpet and fell, all the while inwardly cursing himself. The undead followed, lunging, straddling him and leaning in like an unwelcome lover. He held it back with his rifle, desperately trying to kick it away, close enough to see its black rolling eyes and slavering mouth. Its spittle was red, oozing from between chapped raw lips, teeth smeared pink.

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut as its head burst open with an explosion of blood, spraying up the walls. The undead slumped over him, oozing blood. Roach grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him out from under it. Johnny shakily clambered to his feet.

‘Did it bite you? Are you bit?’ Roach’s voice sounding like it was coming from very far away.

‘Soap? Are you bit?’ Roach wiped at his face with the cuff of his sleeve. ‘Mate? You alright?’ He gently and methodically pulled his clothes aside, fingers travelling over his skin, pausing at the thudding junction of his neck. ‘You’re alright mate. It’s okay.’

Johnny nodded. Roach bent down and retrieved his gun. He wiped the grip clean for him and handed it to him before he tugged at his arm.

‘Come and see what I’ve found for you.’

Johnny let himself be guided into the second bedroom.

‘Look at this eh. Looks like that biter was a bit of a collector.’

Johnny blinked. He ran a trembling hand over his face, inwardly admonishing himself. He should have been better. Faster. He finally managed to focus on what Roach was gesturing at. One of the walls was stacked with shoe boxes.

‘What shoe size are ya?’ said Roach, pulling out a box. ‘Look at these. Proper nice daps these are.’

Johnny sat down heavily at the end of the bed.

‘Uh. Size 10.’ He watched Roach produce a neon green pair of adidas trainers.

‘Oh aren’t you a lucky bastard,’ continued Roach. ‘Our collector was a size 10 too.’ He held out the trainers.

Johnny frowned. ‘Bit bright.’

‘Alright.’ Roach turned around with the guise of a shop keeper. ‘Oh look these are all black.’
He handed him a pair of black Nike air max and watched as he tried them on.

‘Those are well tidy.’ He knelt in front of him. ‘They fit on the heel?’

‘My mum used to do that,’ said Johnny watching him.

Roach grinned. ‘Yeah mine too. She wouldn’t have bought me such expensive trainers though. Had to go to Shoe Zone for mine.’

Johnny snorted. Roach’s hand rested briefly on his knee.

‘Alright now?’

Johnny ducked his head. ‘M’fine,’ he muttered.

Roach smacked his thigh and stood up. ‘Right let’s see what else this trainer collecting loon had in his house and then be on our way.’

 

Johnny refused to step over the undead and go back into the room and so it was Roach that rifled through the wardrobe and found him a clean black hoodie. It swamped him and he was reminded once again of Ghost.

‘Cold are you sergeant?’

Still half asleep Johnny mumbled something and pressed closer. The cabin they were cloistered in was so cold he could see his breath. Ghost turned around and suddenly they were face to face, with only a mask between them. Johnny realised he’d been cuddling up to his lieutenant in his sleep and hot embarrassment flooded his face. Ghost stared at him, dark eyes slowly blinking. Johnny looked back. He wondered what he’d do if he pressed his mouth against him.

‘You’re shaking,’ said Ghost.

‘Colder than a witch’s tit in here,’ muttered Johnny. He should move back, create space but he was cold, his teeth chattering, his nose numb. He could feel Ghost’s body heat. He wanted to burrow into him and bask in it.

His Lieutenant moved, unzipping the hoodie he was wearing. He draped it over him before Johnny could protest, hot hand lingering as he tucked him into in. It smelt like him. They stared at each other for a long minute. Johnny was about to roll over when he spoke again.

‘Fancy yourself a bit of a shadow don’t you sergeant,’ said Ghost in a low voice. ‘Tell me, just how quiet do you think you can be?’

At first Johnny thought he was talking about the mission, their plans for the coming dawn, but then a gloved hand skimmed down his stomach and rested on his groin. He froze, not daring to move, looking groggily at his Lieutenant. Was this a dream? On the other side of the room someone started to snore.

Johnny dared to press back against him. He didn’t utter a word.

‘Good boy,’ murmured Ghost and slowly unzipped his fly.

‘Suits you,’ said Roach, straightening the hoodie. He peered into his slack face. ‘Oi. You still with me?’

‘Yeah I’m-‘ Johnny’s gaze was drawn to the dead man on the floor, blood soaking slowly into the worn blue carpet. ‘I’m here.’

‘Proper away with the faeries you were,’ continued Roach.

As he spoke he made his way down the stairs. Johnny followed. They found a small kitchen tucked away towards the back of the building and Johnny sat at the kitchen table and watched Roach go through the cupboards. They were all empty. Someone, possibly the people from the boats, had already been here.

‘Guess it’s a liquid lunch for us,’ said Roach. He sat down opposite, setting down the wine bottle. ‘You alright? You’ve gone all grey.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Johnny, although his head was thudding. He kept thinking of those sharp teeth grating right next to his ear.

‘What were you in a coma for anyway?’ said Roach, now unscrewing the wine bottle.

Wordlessly Johnny turned his head and peeled his hair back. Roach gave a long whistle.

‘Fucking hell. That’s bloody marvellous that is.’ He leaned over the table, taking hold of Johnny’s jaw to turn his head this way and that. Then he sat back. ‘New trainers and surviving that. You are a lucky bastard ain’t you.’

‘Not sure I’d go that far,’ said Johnny. He watched Roach raise the wine bottle to his lips.

‘Ugh that’s proper minging that,’ he said with a curl of his lip. He handed the bottle to him. ‘Go on you have some.’

Johnny raised the bottle to his lips with trembling hands. The alcohol flooded his tongue, tart and bitter. His stomach swirled with hot liquid.

‘It’s no scotch,’ he replied, and then took another swig. The heat in his stomach made him feel better, steadier.

Roach stood up, hefting back on his backpack.

‘Right ‘fraid we can’t stop here. Or at all. Gotta catch up with those boats.’

Johnny nodded. He tried to give the bottle back but Roach shook his head.

‘Nah you keep it mate. Think you need it more than I do.’

 

They trudged back along the tow path. Johnny grew slower, his head starting to thud, his bones aching. There was a cold chill coming off the water. It gradually grew darker, the sky above them blotting grey. The moon appeared, peeking from behind sparse clouds, reflecting off the water. Johnny tilted his head and stared up at the sky, seeing stars he hadn’t seen since the desert, thousands of them, glinting like jewels in the sky.

Roach ran and grabbed for him as dizziness overcame him and he stumbled. He caught him just before he fell into the water.

‘Easy. You alright?’ He stepped back.

‘Yeah. Solid,’ replied Johnny but his voice was tight.

Roach pursed his mouth.

‘You know what, let’s make camp, just for a few hours. I need to check a few things.’

‘We won’t catch up-‘ began Johnny.

‘Nah we won’t catch up if you pass out,’ said Roach. ‘C’mon.’

 

He led the way off the tow path through a thicket of hedges and into a bare field. Roach set his pack down, and crouched, unbuckling the front compartment. He looked up at Johnny.

‘C’mon. Take the weight off your feet. Just for a few hours, mind.’

Johnny nodded. He gingerly sank onto the dusty ground. It was hard and littered with stones and felt like the most comfortable thing in the world. He lay back and let out a long sigh. His head was spinning. He turned slightly and watched Roach lay out his sleeping bag and then, delving inside another compartment, he produced a pocket torch.

‘All the gear no idea,’ said Roach, catching his eye and grinning.

The next object that appeared was a battered old A-Z. The sort of thing Johnny’s mum always had in her glovebox and never used. Not since satnavs came in anyway.

‘Need me to hold the torch?’ he offered.

‘Nah you’re alright mate,’ replied Roach, flicking through the pages. He held it balanced open on his lap with one hand while his other groped blindly through his pack. He pulled out a small black radio, barely the size of his palm. He set the torch down on his knee as he cranked it and then began to fiddle with the dial.

Johnny sat up.

‘You heard anything?’ he asked, curious now. Maybe there were whole troops of survivors out there keeping in touch by radio.

Roach looked up in surprise.

‘What d’ya mean? I thought you knew.’

‘Knew what?’ said Johnny, finally moving and crawling over to him.

‘The orders,’ said Roach, sounding nonplussed. ‘I thought that’s why you were going to Birmingham. What, there’s some secret SAS reason?’

Between them the radio crackled to life with a pop and a hiss. A deep, rough voice flooded the night air.

‘Calling all regiments. All regiments are to reconvene at Snowhill Barracks and await new orders. I repeat all regiments are to reconvene at Snowhill Barracks and await new orders. Coordinates are as follows; 52.4829 degrees north, 1.8984 degrees west.’ The voice, the sort of voice hardened by shouting over gunfire and barking orders, paused to briefly cough. ‘This message will repeat in 10 seconds.’

It was Ghost.

Chapter 6: grey

‘How old is that message?’ said Johnny, voice cracking.

Roach looked at him. In the silent space the voice, Ghost’s voice, repeated. Johnny picked up the radio, cradling in his hands. When he was a kid he had thought tiny people lived in the television. He wondered if a tiny Ghost was about to crawl out the radio.

‘Ghost,’ he said. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘It’s a closed channel mate he can’t hear you,’ said Roach, gently plucking the radio from his grasp. He turned it off and flipped the A-Z shut. ‘I think you need some rest. You can kip here.’ He patted the unrolled sleeping bag.

‘How old is it?’ asked Johnny again, desperation creeping into his tone.

‘Couple of months,’ replied Roach with a shrug which did not help Johnny’s anxiety one bit. ‘C’mon.’

Johnny let himself be guided over to the sleeping bag. He reluctantly laid down.

‘I’ll wake you in a couple of hours, alright?’ said Roach, standing up and shouldering his rifle.

Johnny’s eyes were already closing. He felt as though he was sinking into the dirt but then he lurched awake with a jerk. There were too many thoughts; Ghost, the undead, the pub, his sketchbook. His head thrummed.

‘It’s alright,’ said Roach, voice softening. ‘You can sleep. I’ll keep watch. My word as sergeant.’ He met his eyes.

Johnny was dragged under in the next breath.

 

Roach woke him before dawn, the sky still blue-black. Even the moon had grown fatigued and slipped away. He sipped water from a bottle in Roach’s pack and then with a groan, was up and onto his feet again, new trainers rubbing against old blisters. The air was damp and clinging. Roach sniffed.

‘Smells like rain,’ he said.

 

They tramped down the tow path. Johnny tried not to obsess over the radio message. He failed. His head was full of it. He repeated the word like a mantra on his tongue, in time to his slogging footsteps.

Ghost Ghost Ghost.

He thought of all his Ghosts. The one that barked orders at him over the radio, the one that sat with him for long, cold hours on rooftops, the one that whispered obscenities in his ear in serious meetings.

‘You know him then?’ said Roach at length. He’d slowed his pace and was only walking a length or so ahead. He turned and watched him catch up.

‘What?’ said Johnny, barely listening, thinking of the first time he’d peeled off his lieutenant’s clothes and seen him spread bare beneath him.

‘You called him Ghost.’

‘Oh.’ Johnny halted for a moment to catch his breath. The back of his throat tasted like blood. He shook his head. ‘He just-‘ here he shrugged. ‘It sounds like my lieutenant.’

Johnny couldn’t tell him the truth. He didn’t dare. Roach, watching his expression, frowned. He seemed about to say something but then he stopped. He clasped Johnny’s shoulder instead. ‘I’m sure he’s still alive, mate.’

Johnny could tell he didn’t mean it. Was only comforting him, like a child. Just how bad had it been? He wanted to ask, but then Roach turned and moved on, and it took all his energy just to breathe. He wasn’t sure he would like the answer, either.

Roach kept them at a brisk pace. The pewter sky above slowly grew lighter, the air warmer. Johnny started to sweat. He soon soaked right through his borrowed hoodie, wet patches appearing under his arms and across his chest. They stopped again only briefly, so Roach could piss up against a tree. Johnny didn’t need to. He realised he must be dehydrated but the water was all gone. He found himself eyeing the canal with longing, although it was murky, scum floating on the stagnant surface.

He ran into the back of Roach’s pack when he stopped again.

‘Easy,’ said Roach, reaching out to steady him. ‘Could you grab the map for me?’

Johnny reached in a side pocket and handed it to him. Roach turned to a folded down page and pointed.

‘Here’s the canal.’ He moved his finger, tracing the line. ‘See it gets hilly here? There’s a series of 5 locks, one after the other. If they haven’t already gone past it’ll slow them right now.’ He looked at Johnny. ‘How many are there?’

‘Half a dozen I think. I only met two. They, they were welcoming. They gave me fruit cake.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I never did like fucking fruit cake.’

Roach chuckled. ‘I was always partial to a nice fat bottom.’

Johnny stared at him which made Roach laugh more.

‘Your face. The cake you daftie. I suppose these lunatics aren’t armed?’

‘Not that I could see. Just that damn bell.’

‘Alright. Let’s give those bell ringing fuckers hell to pay.’

Johnny nodded.

 

As they walked he wondered if they would even catch up to them. Perhaps they had pootled on by, had joined some other fork of the canal, and were welcoming more willing victims with cheese sandwiches and tinned stew. He hefted his rifle and was glad of it.

Ahead of him Roach held up his fist and Johnny froze. He pointed to the bushes and Johnny sank into the hedge. He crouched, and moved up to where Roach was squatting.

‘Is that them?’ said Roach.

Johnny peered past him. Beyond the path the water had widened. There was a large wooden gate, the lock, blocking the way. A woman was standing on the walkway and slowly cranking a gear. Water rushed out the bottom of the gate. It wasn’t the right boat. Johnny felt a sinking sense of disappointment. Then another figure ambled up the path. He called something to the woman. Johnny squinted.

‘That’s the bastard,’ he breathed. ‘I dunno his name.’

‘Don’t need to know his name to shoot him.’

Johnny hesitated. Roach seemed to notice.

‘You want them to turn more people into biter bait?’ he said. ‘What the fuck is their deal anyway? Dangerous game to play.’

‘Fuck if I know,’ said Johnny tightly. He watched the man helping the woman with the mechanism. Beyond the gate the water had risen so much that Johnny could see its shining surface. Another houseboat had appeared, floating on the water like a rubber duck. ‘That’s it! That’s the boat.’

‘Alright.’ Roach stood up and squared his shoulders. ‘Let’s go.’

 

His boots crunched along the gravel path. Johnny, cricking his neck, walked ahead of him. He pointed his rifle. The two figures on the tow path turned, looking blankly, and then stilled at the sight of the guns.

‘Special forces show your hands,’ he barked.

Ghost booted the door in. There was a soldier dead ahead. Ghost fired and he dropped. Another and he shot again with no hesitation. They moved through a series of dark rooms, in complete synch with each other, back to back like two knights. Then he saw a flash of orange out the corner of his eye.

‘Ghost the window!’

‘-heard you were taking shit that didn’t belong to you,’ Roach was saying.

Johnny blinked, realising where he was. There was no screaming missile, only an overgrown path and two civilians staring back at them with their hands in the air.

‘On your knees,’ snapped Roach, pointing with his rifle. He gestured with a jerk of his head. ‘Go find your stuff, I’ll watch ‘em.’

Johnny turned, looking at the bobbing canal boat. Holding his rifle he jumped, thudding onto the deck. He shouldered into the cabin and yelled as something was smashed over his head, earth and petals raining down. Mary was standing on the other side, holding the remains of the germanium pot. He held up his rifle and she retreated.

‘Get back,’ he growled, pointing with the barrel. ‘Back. Move.’

He watched her retreat back into the doorway to the bedroom. His pack was resting neatly on the floor next to his body armour. Eyeing her he bent down and opened it. It was empty apart from his sleeping bag.

‘Where’s my stuff?’ he said.

Mary didn’t say anything but her eyes flicked to the refrigerator. Johnny strode over to it and yanked it open. He tossed his empty pack at her feet.

‘Fill it,’ he ordered.

He looked around the room as he threw bottles and packets into the backpack. He opened a cupboard and saw dozens of tins looking back at him.

‘Is this what you do? Trick people and rob them?’

Mary, her arms full of crisp packets, tittered. ‘Good gosh no. Don’t be ridiculous.’

Johnny turned, watching her. ‘Why then?’

He wasn’t expecting an answer but her reply was immediate.

‘You have to be cleansed,’ said Mary in a singsong voice.

‘What?’

‘You’ve seen what it’s like out there. You did this to the world. Men like you.’

Johnny was baffled. ‘Men like me?’

‘Yes,’ hissed Mary, pale eyes glittering. ‘Sinners. All of you. Fornication. Greed.’ Here she eyed his gun. ‘Murder. You brought this on all of us. All your sins. It’s the flood.’

Johnny took a step back.

‘You’re out your tree,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘You have to die for the world to be purified,’ she continued. She threw the last bottle of Dr Pepper into the pack. ‘There. Happy now?’

‘I’d be happier if you hadn’t eaten my pink wafers,’ said Johnny. ‘Where’s my book?’

‘What book?

Johnny glared at her. His voice dropped.

‘My fucking book. My sketchbook you loony.’

Mary didn’t reply, but her eyes slid sideways and Johnny saw it, resting on a shelf next to a recipe book.

‘Been having a nice read have you?’

He grabbed it and turned on his heel, hefting his backpack up and on to his shoulder.

‘Judgement comes for us all lamb!’ she called after him. ‘You’ll see!’

 

As soon as the boats were out of sight Johnny opened his sketchbook, flicking through the pages. His drawings were untouched. Even the condom wrapper was still tucked into the pages. He heaved a sigh of relief and stroked over a page. It was a sketch he’d made of Ghost’s broad, bare back, the gentle strokes ending just as the cleft of his arse came into view.

‘Proper Picasso ain’t you,’ said Roach looking over his shoulder.

Johnny slammed the book shut, his cheeks heated.

‘Still think we should have shot them,’ said Roach, sounding almost wistful as he looked down the long sweeping line of water. ‘Ah well. Let’s get on.’

 

They walked for several more hours, the narrow path opening out into a park. Roach checked the map again.

‘You look dead on your feet mate,’ he said, glancing at Johnny. ‘Let’s make camp early.’

They found a spot in a meadow, next to a cluster of oak trees. Johnny set his pack down with a grateful sigh. He immediately sat, and pulled off his trainers to inspect his battered feet. His heels were bleeding.

‘Need a plaster?’ remarked Roach, unrolling his sleeping bag.

‘You have one?’

‘Yeah got a first aid kit,’ replied Roach. After digging in the bottom of his pack he handed it to him. ‘Come on then. Hand over the goods.’

Johnny pulled his pack towards him and grabbed a handful of crisps and the last of the Dr Pepper. He tossed two packets and a bottle at Roach.

Roach stared at the crumpled packet as he ate. He seemed to be considering something.

‘If you were a crisp flavour what would you be?’ he finally asked between mouthfuls.

Johnny smiled. It was the sort of thing bored soldiers asked each other all the time. The sort of seemingly innocuous question that would spark two fights and a week long debate. He licked salt off his fingers as he considered.

‘Steak,’ he finally answered. ‘Because I’m meaty.’ He peppered his response with a salacious wink.

Roach laughed. ‘Meaty? Seen twiglets with more muscle on them. Give over mate.’

‘Wasn’t talking about my biceps,’ said Johnny smirking, falling back into barracks banter with ease. The sort of thing he and Ghost used to spend hours doing, often over comms, until Price had finally lost it. ‘What about you?’

‘Sweet chilli obviously,’ said Roach without a seconds hesitation. ‘Because I’m sweet but I’ve got a bit of a kick.’ He grinned.

‘Oh aye,’ said Johnny. ‘Is that what you tell people on Grindr?’

‘You cheeky git!’ Roach kicked his foot.

Johnny kicked him back, and then they were tussling together like two school boys, crisp packets crumpling beneath their rolling bodies.

‘Alright alright I yield,’ yelped Roach, as Johnny held him in a chokehold. ‘No need to go all green beret on me.’

Johnny let go of him, smirking. For the first time since waking up he felt a little like his old self. He opened another packet of crisps. Wiping his hands on his trousers he reached for his sketchbook. Roach watched him.

‘Can you draw me?’

Johnny looked up, considering.

‘I’m a bit rusty,’ he finally said.

‘Can’t be any worse than I am. I can barely draw a stick figure.’

Johnny smiled.

‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Take your helmet off.’

Roach did so, running a hand through his overgrown, sweaty hair. He leaned back on his hands, looking over at the trees.

‘This okay? Or should I take my clothes off like that fella in your book?’

Johnny smiled.

‘That’s fine for now.’ He set down his drink and flicked to a new page. ‘You can move if you like, you don’t have to stay still.’ His eyes skimmed over the man, taking in his rumpled uniform, the dark stubble on his jaw. He shifted a little closer. His eyes, he noticed, weren’t dark as he had assumed, but deep green, the same green as the canal. The drawing started to take shape beneath his sketching hand.

‘Proper braw you are,’ he said, enjoying the way the man’s cheekbones caught the light and the interesting dynamic of the dark circles under his eyes. He spoke without thinking, enjoying the swoop of his pencil and how easy it was to sketch the lines of Roach’s face. He briefly looked up to see he was frowning.

‘The fuck does that mean?’

‘Means you’re fit,’ replied Johnny.

Oh. Roach was momentarily speechless. He tried to cover his creeping blush with a chuckle and a wave of his hand.

‘Bet you say that to all your models.’

‘Nah just the hot ones,’ said Johnny with a smile, unable to resist his creeping blush, delighted to see it deepen. ‘Nice to see you properly without your helmet covering your face.’

Roach didn’t reply. He looked steadily ahead at the swaying trees.

 

He noticed when they broke camp the following day that Roach tied his helmet on his backpack instead of setting it on his head. He didn’t comment.

It started to rain. It was soft at first, a gentle drizzle adorning everything with a fine wet spray. But as the day worn on the weather grew more determined, almost wrathful. It began to pour. Roach stopped and pulled out the map.

‘I think we can cut through these woods and rejoin the canal on the other side,’ he said, having to raise his voice to be heard above the drumming rain. ‘It’ll give us some shelter while it eases off.’

‘Aye, alright,’ replied Johnny.

They turned away from the tow path and pushed through a tangled thicket, fighting through brambles to emerge into a dark wood. They walked beneath the dripping trees. Johnny’s clothes wetly clung to him. His body armour felt too tight, too constraining.
Just as he was wondering if he could take it off, several lengths away, a man in camouflage stumbled out from behind a dense bush. Johnny halted.

‘Is that one of ours?’ he said. For a millisecond hope rose like something sparkling in his chest.

The man turned his head, a growl rising in his chest like an angry dog, and bolted towards them, teeth gnashing. Johnny’s hope popped like a soap bubble.

Roach spat something in Welsh and aimed his rifle. He fired and blood splattered from the undead’s shoulder. It didn’t slow. Roach fired again and missed. He was breathing heavily. He started to back away, face screwed up as he looked down his sights. Johnny thought how very young he looked. Instinctively he pushed in front of him, raised his rifle and fired.
The force of the shot knocked the undead backwards and it sprawled in the leaf litter. He marched towards it, and fired again, just to be sure. Roach appeared over his shoulder.

‘You really like cleaning huh,’ he said. His voice was shaking.

‘As I said,’ replied Johnny. ‘Something like that.’

They moved on.

 

The wood petered out into marshland. Johnny’s trainers began to squish with every sodden step. Rainwater ran down his forehead and dripped off the end of his nose.

‘We need to find shelter.’

‘Yeah no shit,’ said Roach. ‘Ah. Look there.’ He pointed.

Johnny squinted through the haze of rain. Uphill and across an overgrown field was a white house.

‘That’ll do,’ he said.

 

They tromped towards it, Johnny wiping rain water out of his eyes every other second.

‘Sorry,’ said Roach suddenly.

‘For what?’ said Johnny.

‘I should’ve made that shot. The bastard was almost on us.’

‘Don’t worry about it. It happens,’ replied Johnny with a shrug. They reached the hawthorn hedge bordering the field and opened the metal gate with a squeak. Johnny could see the white house down a long gravelled path. It looked abandoned; the white paint peeling, dandelions growing around the front step.

Roach walked ahead, looking from side to side. He turned, smiling.

‘Good job you were-‘ he began.

Two things happened almost instantaneously. The door to the white house wrenched open, and the front of Roach’s head exploded with a splatter of grey and scarlet. The shot echoed, ringing in Johnny’s ears.

He screamed.

Chapter 7: yellow

Johnny’s first instinct was to duck, and he did, but there was no cover. His trainers scuffed in gravel and mud. He raised his rifle, finger closing around the trigger. There was a man silhouetted in the doorway to the house; he holding a shotgun, although it was loose in his hands, muzzle pointed to the ground. Johnny let his rifle drop.

He crawled over to Roach’s body. Half his face was gone, flesh peeled open like the crimson petals of a flower. The one eye remaining, green, such a beautiful green, stared glassily up at the leaden sky. Bile rose in his mouth. He turned to spit, and straightened up.

The man in the doorway flinched as he marched over to him. He set the gun against the wall and held up his hands.

‘What the fuck did you do that for?!’ Johnny thundered. ‘He was a boy! He was just a boy!’

The man was older than he expected, with watery, pale eyes and a grizzled chin. He shrunk against the doorway.

‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was shaking. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought he was one of those things. I-I didn’t know-‘

‘You stupid son of a bitch,’ growled Johnny, anger rising in his blood, hot and sour. He slammed the wall next to the man’s head and watched him cringe. ‘You-‘ There was nothing more he could say. There was nothing more he could do. Shooting him wouldn’t bring Roach back. He turned away, staring at the body lying outstretched in the middle of the yard.

The old man gathered himself, standing more upright, which didn’t make much of a difference to his height.

‘Let me help you,’ he ventured.

Walking back over to the body Johnny crouched, gingerly feeling around Roach’s neck for his dog tags. Did he even have a family left to bring them to? The old man squatted down opposite with a grunt. He slotted his hands in Roach’s armpits.

‘Bring him into the barn laddie. I’ll help you bury him when the rain eases off. On two.’

Johnny had no choice but to listen. Together they carried Roach around the side of the house to where a corrugated steel shed was standing. Half a dozen cows stuck their heads over a metal fence, watching curiously.

‘This is your farm?’ asked Johnny, anger reduced to a sickening twist in his guts. That could have been him.

‘Yes,’ replied the man. ‘I’m Roger.’

‘Sergeant MacTavish,’ replied Johnny.

Roger nodded. After removing his pack they set Roach’s body in the far corner, away from the curious cows, and he covered it with a tarpaulin.

‘I am sorry,’ he said again and reached out, perhaps to pat his shoulder. ‘I never would have-‘

‘Save it,’ hissed Johnny and moved away.

‘I can make you some tea if you like?’ ventured Roger.

Johnny shook his head. He sat on a hay bale and stared fixedly ahead, eyes on the sweeping rain.

 

Johnny sat and listened to the water drumming on the corrugated tin roof and the steady champing of the penned cattle. He knew he should either leave or swallow pride and anger and retreat into the farmhouse but he couldn’t bring himself to move. And so he sat, frozen in place, his wet clothes clinging to wetter skin and making him shiver. He ran a hand over the rifle in his lap and thought of all the times over the years when he’d sat like this. In the growing dusk his eyes picked out a tiny brown bird alighting briefly in the yard to drink from a puddle. The sun slowly sank and the moon slowly rose. The cattle snorted and shifted. The world continued turning.

Eventually a bobbing light in the darkness appeared, weaving across the yard. Roger reappeared, holding a torch. He stood there looking at him before clearing his throat.

‘I’ve made a spot of dinner for you. It’s on the table,’ he said quietly.

Several more minutes went by, but eventually Johnny rose, brushing hay off his soaked trousers, and followed the light, the farmer walking ahead.

 

The inside of the house was dark. Johnny had a vague impression of yellow wallpaper and timber beams as the farmer led him towards a flickering orange light. He entered a kitchen with a large scored table, lit by a guttering candle. Roger took a seat opposite, chair shrieking on the flagstones. He nodded to the plate across from him.

‘That’s yours.’

Johnny laid his rifle next to the place setting and sat. A large steak and home cut chips filled the plate. The smell was incredible.

‘Where did you get the meat from?’ he asked, stomach grumbling. He picked up a fork.

‘Was one of mine. Getting old,’ replied Roger, knife scraping against his plate. ‘I’ve got a deep freeze in the basement, it runs off a genny.’

Johnny frowned. He eyed the old man across the table.

‘You religious?’

The old man looked up, startled. He set down his fork.

‘Wouldn’t say so, lad. Never had any time for that sort of thing.’ He watched Johnny poking at his food. ‘It’s not poisoned.’

One eye still on him Johnny started to eat. Once he started he couldn’t stop. If this was how he died so be it. It was amazing, even better than crisps. He ate so quickly he almost choked. Wordlessly Roger passed him a glass of milk. That was amazing too.

‘Room for you upstairs if you want it,’ said Roger, watching him. ‘I won’t disturb you. It’s just me and the girls here.’

‘Girls?’ Johnny questioned, wiping grease from his beard with the back of his hand. Did the man have a whole harem secreted away?

‘The cattle, lad. What’s left of them anyway. Easy targets for the monsters. That’s why I was so-‘ Roger’s pale eyes stared fixedly at the oilskin table cloth. ‘Well. I thought you were more of ‘em. Seen a few roaming out there in the fields, same uniform, and what with the rain and all-‘ he sniffed and jammed a piece of potato into his mouth, falling silent.

Johnny wanted to hate him but found he couldn’t. He nodded.

‘Room sounds grand,’ he said.

 

An empty bucket in one hand and a candle in the other Roger showed him up a slender staircase to a small room. He set the candle down and left. Old band posters shone in the candlelight. Above the bed Eminem glowered back at him. The rest of the room was featureless and neat. Perhaps it had been his son’s or grandson’s room. The door had a bolt lock on it. Johnny pulled it across and set a chair under the handle. He pulled off his trainers, removed his body armour and, rifle cradled against his chest, lay down on the narrow bed. He stared up at the textured ceiling, watching the play of orange light on the artex, fingers mindlessly tapping the smooth metal of the rifle.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because he dreamt.

‘Missed you.’ Ghost’s voice in his ear, lifting him up with ease and slamming him against the wall. Clothes removed with a hot hand. A scarred pair of lips pressing against his.

Pleasure uncoiled like warm honey in his gut. He was split open, and pulled apart and fucked in all the different ways a man could be until hot spend was dripping down his thighs and his throat was hoarse.

Afterwards he stared up at the textured ceiling, and thought how ugly it was, and how beautiful the man slumped over him was in contrast.

Johnny woke up, face down, biting the pillow and rutting the crumpled duvet beneath him. For the first time since awakening his cock was unbearably, achingly hard. He was right on the cusp of coming. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He groaned into the pillow in the next second, quivering as a hot, bright climax shuddered through him.

Fuck.

He gingerly sat up and felt the sticky wetness coating his combat trousers. He needed to clean up before it set and stained. He grabbed for his backpack but he’d finished all the water yesterday. Him and Roach. He felt a little pang then, but he pushed it aside. He pulled out a bottle of sprite, sighed, and looked down.

 

He spent the rest of the morning digging a waterlogged hole in one of the fields. Roach’s body, still wrapped in tarpaulin, was unceremoniously dropped in, Roger watching solemnly. Johnny took the magazine out his rifle and threw it in after him. He wished he could think of something to say, something fitting and poignant but words failed him. Instead he shook his head and started to shovel dirt. He’d mourn later, when it was quiet.

Roger came into the shed as he was sorting through Roach’s pack.

‘Sure you don’t want to stay another night, lad? It’s no trouble.’

Johnny glanced up at him. He wondered how long he’d been alone. He considered it for a moment but then his hand closed around the small, black radio.

‘No I have to get on,’ he said. ‘My lieutenant is waiting for me.’

Roger nodded. ‘Mind how you go.’

There was nothing else to say.

 

He felt lonelier than ever as he set out across the fields, back towards the canal. He wondered if Ghost had been blown to flesh and rot and pushed the thought away. No Ghost would survive. He always did. He had to.

His steps were slow. His mind hazy and static. It continued to rain on and off, enough so that everything he was wearing felt damp and weighed down. He finally rejoined the tow path, slick with mud and glistening with puddles. He paid no attention to the scenery, head down, trainers trudging, his pack rattling.

He barely noticed the sun set and made a meagre camp beneath an overpass. He hardly slept, seeing Roach’s face blown apart each time he closed his eyes. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. He’d seen a lot worse.

He set out again before dawn. The canal took a path across empty fields. He stopped and stared for a while at a whole meadow of buttercups. They were so yellow.

‘Hell of a bruise sergeant.’ Ghost was leaning over him. He hadn’t heard him come in. ‘Who gave you that?’

Johnny shrugged. ‘Some guy.’

Fingers grabbed his jaw, squishing his cheek. ‘Yellow looks good on you.’ Ghost’s eyes crinkled with amusement.

Johnny stared back at him. There was something different about him that morning. A lightness that hadn’t been there before.

‘You know-‘ began Ghost but then someone else, faceless and nameless slammed into the meeting room.

‘Lads.’

The moment vanished, like a wisp of smoke.

Johnny came back to himself standing in the field. He was clutching a handful of crushed buttercups. He quickly dropped them, rubbing his palm on the seat of his trousers. Where was he? For several hollow seconds he couldn’t remember. The void of his own mind frightened him. Then with a nauseating lurch it all came back to him. Birmingham. Ghost. The monsters. He had to get back to the canal.

He heard a rustling across the grass and turned, dropping his weight and aiming his rifle.

A black and white collie was standing several lengths away. They stared at each other, the collie with a vacant look in its icy blue eyes.

‘Get away wi’ you!’ shouted Johnny, who had never trusted dogs, and waved his arms.

The collie growled, showing teeth.

‘Go on get!’ tried Johnny again.

He saw movement out the corner of his eye and turned his head. Two more dogs had appeared, some sort of ratty terrier and a large lurcher. A streak of black-and-white flashed out the corner of his eye and he kicked out just in time to stop the collie short, the boot to its ribs bowling it over.

‘Fuck off!’ he yelled.

The other two dogs slunk closer. He whirled around as he heard a snarl and they stopped short. He started to back away, trying to keep all three dogs in his sights. Maybe they could smell his fear. He took a chance and turned, jogging towards the fence. He vaulted over it, landing with a thud, and found the collie already waiting for him.

It lunged, dodging his second kick, and sunk its teeth into his calf. Johnny shrieked. He smacked it hard with the butt of the rifle. The collie backed away, mouth bloody, and then attacked again. Johnny fired his rifle, deliberately aiming short. The collie jumped, snapping, muzzle inches from his nose. Reeling back he fired again and the dog crumpled with a yelp. He watched it twisting in the mud, and finally brought the stock down heavily on its skull, until it stopped writhing.

His leg began to burn. He walked away, slipping in the mud, teeth gritted with pain. He heard a bark but the dogs didn’t follow.

 

He forced himself on, gasping with every step, until he half fell, grabbing for a low wall. He sunk to the muddy ground and gingerly pulled up his trousers. Dug into his flesh were a crescent of deep crimson punctures slowly oozing blood. Johnny clutched at his leg in horror. Had the dog been infected? Was he going to become one of those things? His breath started to come in short pants. His leg gave another insistent throb.

Hefting off his pack he felt for the first aid kit and instead his hand brushed against the radio. Before he even registered what he was doing he had turned it on and tuned it to the correct frequency.

‘This message will repeat in 10 seconds.’

He clutched the radio with both hands and slowly the panic in his chest eased. Ghost would know what to do. He just had to get to him. He set down the radio, and listened to it play as he methodically wiped the bite clean and carefully bandaged it. It was all going to be okay he told himself. It had to be.

 

Johnny checked and rechecked the map. If he wasn’t mistaken he would be in Birmingham by late afternoon. He put the map away and grimacing he continued on, limping on his injured leg. The only sound was the uneven splash of his steps on the flooded tow path. The bank steadily rose higher around him, the steep sides of earth knotted with brambles and hogweed. He could see what he thought was another overpass ahead. As he drew closer, the flooded path become lake-like, completely disappearing beneath a glassy sheen of water. The mouth of a tunnel yawned ahead. The end of it looked very far away, a tiny chink of light he could barely see.

Johnny looked up at the steep bank, almost vertical. He could turn back, and try to find another way around. His leg gave another hot pulse of pain and he gasped out loud. It was the first sound he’d made for hours.

‘Fuck it,’ he muttered, and headed into the tunnel.

The water sloshed over the top of Johnny’s trainers, soaking his feet in seconds. As he walked further into the murk it grew deeper, sloshing up to his calves. Balancing his rifle against his chest he felt for the wall, fingertips skimming over the brickwork. The back of his neck prickled. He started to walk faster, his leg searing, his steps splashing and creating ripples in the murky water. The circle of light ahead grew closer. He felt something brush against his leg and looked down in alarm. It was only a patch of water weed. He took another step and heard water slop behind him. Johnny turned.

A biter pulled itself out of the water, flopping onto the sunken path. It took a staggering step towards him, reaching out with an arm. Its skin was spongy; yellow grey flesh sloughing off into the cloudy water as it moved. Johnny fumbled for his rifle and dropped it. He swore and bent down, eyes still on the listing undead, scrabbling in the black water for his weapon. The biter moaned. It opened its bloated, mottled mouth, purple tongue hanging past his lips. Johnny’s fingers brushed against something hard and he grabbed for it.

He paced back, shaking water out the barrel of the rifle. The undead stumbled closer. It burbled; saliva and brackish water drooling down its chin and chest. Johnny fired. He watched its brains spray up the sides of the tunnel. It fell sideways with an almighty splash.

Johnny turned and ran, floundering as the water grew deeper. There was the end of the tunnel. He stopped as a silhouette blotted out the light. Another biter dropped down from above, this one whole and growling. It plunged through the water towards him. Johnny fired. The rifle clicked. He was out of bullets. Fumbling for the second magazine he moved backwards. The biter was hindered by the water. It clicked and hissed as it tried to get to him. Johnny slotted the second magazine in place and fired.

It fell and floated, blood pooling into the lapping water. Johnny looked at it in distaste. He pushed it to one side as he moved past and watched it float out and into the canal. He sucked in a deep breath as he emerged into glowing sunlight. As soon as the bank become flatter he scrambled up and onto a ridge, away from the gleaming dark ribbon of water. It was several hours before he could stop trembling.

 

The city started slowly, the occasional house dotted next to the road, and then more and more, clustered together like crowds of people. Johnny pulled out the compass, checking and rechecking the coordinates. He walked away from the canal and down a maze of suburban streets, identical pebble dashed houses silently watching his progress. It was deathly quiet. He took a moment, sitting on a garden wall, and checked the radio again. The street grew hilly. He had to stop to catch his breath halfway. The houses remained the same. He was growing closer. Just another couple of miles and he’d reach the coordinates. Ghost would be there. He knew it.

Movement on his left made him startle, but it was only a small ginger cat, sauntering out from behind one of the parked cars. The cat meowed at him and Johnny bent down to pet it. He straightened up and saw a biter amble out from behind an overgrown garden hedge.

The cat fled, flashing across the road. Johnny tried to flee too, his leg burning. He saw movement to his right. The undead had seen him and was sprinting towards him. He fired, the shot reverberating down the deserted street. He heard it then; snarling. More biters appeared, crawling out from beneath cars, from behind fences. More than he could count. Johnny ran.

His trainers squished beneath his feet, his pack smacked against his back. His breath burnt in his lungs. The biters were gaining. He ran harder, heart pounding in his chest. There were the barracks, he could see the sign. He slammed into a padlocked gate. The low building was dark, deserted. A biter caught up with him, close enough for its nails to tangle in his hair. He spun and fired, blood splattering over his face. He fired again, felling six more. Then his rifle clicked. He was out of ammo. He flattened himself against the gates, no strength left to jump. The lead most biter was almost upon him, jaws open wide. He braced himself, rifle raised.

The biter’s head exploded in a burst of drifting scarlet mist. Johnny looked around wildly and spied the steeple of a church above the neat row of houses. Another shot rang out, felling another. He knew of only two people that could make a shot like that. Him and…Ghost.

He ran, staggering, towards the steeple, turning into a road with a large, warm bricked church at the end. His footsteps battered against the pavement. His teeth rattled in his head. It felt as though he was running through molasses, every step a gargantuan effort. There was the church, just ahead. The doors burst open just as he reached them, a towering figure all in black reaching out to catch him as he stumbled.

‘Fucking hell MacTavish you look like shit.’

Johnny fell against his armoured chest, gasping. There he was. Simon Riley. He was home.

Chapter 8: white

‘Ghost,’ he wheezed, but Ghost was already dragging him inside and disappearing through the double doors. ‘Wait!’ Johnny’s voice was a ragged rasp.

The doors slammed in his face. He tried the handle, squinting through the small square of window. Peering down he saw Ghost had shoved his sniper rifle through the bars of the door handle. He pushed and it rattled. He watched Ghost, a dark shadow, plunge through the second set of doors and disappear into the creeping dusk. The thick wood did nothing to muffle the screaming and howling from the undead outside.

Johnny’s legs gave out and he fell to the floor, shaking. His heart was beating so fast it felt as though it might burst out his chest. He’d finally found Ghost and he was going to lose him again. He shuddered as he heard a shriek.

A moment later he was almost smashed in the face as the door opened. He looked up. Ghost was dripping with blood and gore, a red handprint smeared across his bone white skull-faced mask, a hunting knife clutched in one hand.

Johnny couldn’t quite believe what he was looking at. He didn’t know what to say. It seemed neither did Ghost. They stared at each other.

‘It’s good to see-‘ began Johnny, and then Ghost crouched, pulling Johnny’s head up with gloved fingers. The knife, wiped dry on threadbare denim, disappeared.

‘Thought you died,’ he said gruffly. ‘Thought-‘ he shook his head. ‘Are you alright? Are you injured?’

Johnny nodded. He knew his eyes as well as he knew his own, the lines at the corners, the stupidly light eyelashes that caught the dim light. Could he kiss him? Would he let him?

‘Got bit,’ he rasped, and watched Ghost flinch. ‘Not by them, those things. Dogs. I-‘ he had to stop, gasping for air.

Ghost grabbed him by the shoulders and physically hauled him into a wooden seat. Johnny finally looked up, taking notice of his surroundings. He was seated on a pew, in the nave of a small church. The space was red carpeted. There was a large, circular stained glass window behind the altar, aglow with the setting sun. It depicted a beautiful man, head tilted, eyes glassy, his body shot full of arrows. Ghost turned his head to see what he was gazing at.

‘Welcome to St Sebastian’s church,’ he said dryly.

‘Patron saint of soldiers,’ said Johnny weakly.

‘Is he now,’ said Ghost. He knelt on the floor, between his legs, and even though he was exhausted, filthy, and smarting, Johnny felt a little flicker of interest, half remembered memories floating to the forefront of his mind. ‘Where are you bit?’

‘Right leg.’ He watched Ghost ease up his damp trousers, exposing the stained dressing.

Ghost looked up at him, hand pressing into his calf. ‘How long ago did this happen?’

‘This morning.’

Ghost seemed to relax, letting out a breath. He got to his feet.

‘You’ll be alright,’ he said. ‘Might turn into a werewolf though.’

Johnny baulked. ‘Seriously?!’ he blurted out.

Ghost chuckled, low and slow. He’d missed that sound. He wanted to keep it and curl under it. 

‘No you nut job. Come on.’

Johnny almost fell as he stood up, his vision flooding black. Ghost caught him, an arm wrapping around his back.

‘Easy soldier,’ he said.

Soldier? No. He wasn’t his soldier he was-

What were he and Ghost? Wasn’t it real? Had he imagined the whole thing? His head began to thud. Nausea swelled in his throat. Ghost kept hold of him as he jack-knifed over and retched, ruining the red carpet. A large hand pressed into the small of his back, steadying him.

‘Come with me.’ Ghost’s voice was a low murmur. ‘You need to rest.’

He slung one of Johnny’s arms around his shoulders and half walked, half carried him towards the back of the church. They pushed through another door. Johnny caught sight of a kitchen and then he was being lowered gently onto a sleeping bag. His head gave another unbearable thump, the pain pulsing in time to his heartbeat.

‘You rest,’ said Ghost, watching him. ‘I’ll keep watch.’

‘The things outside-‘ began Johnny, having to close his eyes as the pain tightened.

‘All taken care of.’

‘They’re real then,’ he croaked.

Ghost chuckled.

‘Fraid so Johnny.’

Johnny sighed. He wasn’t Soap or Sergeant MacTavish anymore. He could just be Johnny. He passed out, the image of Ghost’s skull faced mask imprinted on his dreams.

 

He sat up, gasping, and saw a square of pastel sky in a window above. Rubbing his eyes he took in where he was. Ghost had set up his sleeping bag in a large office. There was a rack full of priest robes, falling off their hangers, and a listing cupboard. An old tea stained table served as a desk. Johnny tentatively got up. His feet were bare. Ghost had placed his trainers neatly at the end of the sleeping roll. There was also an empty bucket, covered with a large saucepan lid.

Johnny limped barefoot from the room, and through the door. The nave of the church was empty. He stood for a while and stared at the stained glass. Where was Ghost?

The doors banged open and he turned. There he was, loaded down with a kitbag and a large bottle of water, the sort you’d use in a water cooler.

‘Where have you been?’ Johnny asked, stepping down off the altar and almost falling. He caught himself, clinging to the lectern.

‘Had to see a man about a bee,’ said Ghost, dark eyes flicking over him. ‘He gave me one extra, said that’s a freebie.’ Behind his mask he grinned.

Johnny tried to laugh and let out a small sob instead. Ghost set down the water.

‘S’alright,’ he said. He stretched out a hand as though to pat him but at the last minute let it drop. ‘You’re alright Sergeant.’

Johnny scrubbed at his eyes, his chest hitching. ‘I don’t think I am.’

Ghost cleared his throat. This time he did touch him, an awkward shake of his shoulder.

‘You died. They brought you back, but the doctors said you only had a 75 25 chance,’ he said, shifting his weight from leg to leg.

‘A 75% chance to live?’ said Johnny in a small voice, looking up at him.

‘Other way ‘round,’ said Ghost. He picked up the water. ‘Got some things for you. I’m gonna heat some water.’

‘Why?’

Ghost snickered.

‘No offence Johnny but you fucking reek. You need a fucking bath.’

 

Ghost physically pushed him back into the office and made him sit down on a rickety chair. Johnny watched him opening the kitbag. He pulled out a large box like Mary Poppins producing a lamp.

‘The fuck is that LT?’

Behind his mask Ghost smiled. Johnny knew him well enough to read all the minutia of his expressions, even behind black cloth and hard plastic. He wondered why he didn’t take it off. He knew what he looked like. Had it really all been his imagination? Everything they’d done together?

‘Paddling pool,’ replied Ghost, unrolling colourful plastic from the box. He produced an air pump and began to inflate it.

Johnny stared at his thighs filling out his faded jeans.

Ghost was beneath him, pale thighs spread wide. He moaned as Johnny swallowed a mouthful of his thick cock.

‘Johnny?’

Johnny jolted, almost falling out the chair. Ghost was leaning in, peering hard at him. He waved a hand in front of his face.

‘How many fingers am I holding up?’

Two fingers. He always liked two fingers. Sometimes a third-

‘Two,’ he replied, staring back. Ghost wasn’t wearing greasepaint and his skin looked especially pale against the darkness of his mask.

‘Go in the kitchen and heat up some water,’ said Ghost. ‘That’s an order.’

Johnny nodded and got shakily to his feet. The kitchen was narrow. A row of cupboards. A disused oven. There was a camping stove on the counter and a collection of saucepans. He awkwardly poured water from the large bottle and set the saucepan on the stove. He stared at it for a long time. It didn’t seem to be boiling. Ghost shouldered in the room.

‘Johnny what the fuck? You’ve been in here forever.’ He frowned, hands on his hips. ‘You haven’t lit the fucking stove. Get out the way.’

He pushed him to one side. Johnny wanted to clutch at his arm. He had felt those arms around him. Legs too. Why didn’t he hold him?

‘Is no one else here?’ he finally asked instead, watching Ghost staring at the heating water, arms folded across his chest.

‘No,’ said Ghost shortly. ‘They-I-‘ he shook his head, biting back the words.

‘What happened?’

Ghost ran a hand over his masked forehead.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he eventually said, as the water bubbled. ‘Nothing fucking matters.’

Didn’t he matter? He watched Ghost pick up the saucepan. He nodded at him.

‘Heat a couple more then join me in the yard,’ he said.

‘Yes sir,’ replied Johnny.

 

He found Ghost in a small yard at the back of the church. Judging by the amount of cigarette butts on the floor the priest had had a nasty habit. Ghost had filled the paddling pool with water. He grabbed the saucepans from Johnny and put them down. Johnny eyed the inflatable pool, bright green and patterned with jolly cartoon frogs. Ghost had set out several bottles of shampoo and shower gel on the bare concrete.

‘Come on,’ he said, sounding impatient. ‘Before it rains again.’

When Johnny didn’t move he took a step towards him and busily started to undo the buckles on his combat armour.

‘I can do it,’ he said, pushing him away.

‘Fucking do it then.’

Johnny stripped, stepping out of his combats, his t-shirt and finally his underwear. He rigidly looked ahead.

‘Fuck you’ve dropped some weight,’ breathed Ghost. At his side his hand twitched. He pulled off his shooting gloves and rolled up his sleeves. ‘Get in before the water goes cold.’

‘I can wash my own hair,’ said Johnny, easing himself into the lukewarm paddling pool, the plastic creaking. He barely fit.

‘You look done in,’ said Ghost, voice softening. ‘Let me help.’

Before Johnny could protest he dumped a pan of water over his head, making him splutter. Ghost picked up a bottle of shampoo and tipped half of it over his head. But he was gentle as his fingers drifted over his scalp.

‘Does it hurt?’ he asked, peering at his scar.

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Johnny. He hadn’t touched it. He couldn’t bear to.

Ghost, kneeling on the concrete, reached for a bottle of shower gel, something lurid and neon yellow.

‘That shite looks radioactive,’ remarked Johnny. He wrinkled his nose as Ghost sloshed a load onto his chest and started to rub it in, making his chest hair stand up in soapy peaks.

‘You always were a fussy bastard,’ grunted Ghost. ‘I’m afraid the shop was out of L'Occitane.’

‘You remembered then.’

‘Course I remembered Johnny.’ Ghost’s hand slipped lower, lathering up his hollow stomach, and then lower still, brushing over his cock and balls. Johnny jumped but before he could react Ghost’s hand was already soaping up his back. ‘Let me see.’

Johnny realised he was talking about his leg. He stretched it out and Ghost peeled off the wet bandage. The tooth marks looked purple, the skin in between angry and red. Ghost whistled between his teeth.

‘I don’t like the look of that. I don’t have any antiseptic.’ He shifted his weight on the rough concrete, reading one of the shampoo bottles. ‘Maybe one of these has something-‘

‘Why did you leave?’ said Johnny abruptly.

Ghost looked up. ‘I had to.’

‘You said you’d never leave a man behind. That no one fights alone. That-‘ Embarrassingly he had started to cry, hot tears streaking down his cold cheeks. He shivered.

Ghost tsked. ‘They made me. I stayed as long as I could. Price had to drag me away. The nurse that was with you, he promised he’d stay and take care of you. We didn’t know-‘ He paused, eyes fixed on some faraway point, clearly groping for the right words. ‘We didn’t know all this shit was gonna happen. I thought I’d be able to come back. I-‘

‘Why didn’t you?’ said Johnny quietly. He hastily wiped at his face.

Behind his mask Ghost looked stricken, dark eyes bloodshot and rimmed red. His mouth twisted.

‘I don’t know Johnny. I should have. I’d fucking crawl through glass for you, you know that. I just-‘ he shook his head. ‘But it’s different now.’

Johnny shifted, plastic squeaking.

‘What do you mean?’

Ghost abruptly stood up.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. He bent to pick up the saucepan of water. ‘Let’s rinse you off.’

‘Simon,’ said Johnny, making him freeze. ‘Aren’t we…friends?’

‘Friend isn’t exactly-‘ Ghost cut himself off, letting out a breath. He didn’t appear to know what to say. The silence was strained. ‘Look we can talk later. Let’s get you clean and dry.’

Johnny nodded, and leaned his head back.

 

Ghost ducked back into the church and reappeared with a pile of clothing. The black hoodie he handed him drowned him. He was one deep breath away from the black combat trousers falling down. Ghost frowned and began to unbuckle his belt.

‘Need to get some scran down you,’ he commented, watching Johnny thread the belt through his trousers loops. Clearly he was taking too long as Ghost leaned in and did it for him. He was inches away. But as Johnny reached for him, grabbing a handful of cotton t-shirt, he moved away.

‘Sit down,’ he directed. ‘I gotta check a few things then I’ll get some grub on. Fancy a brew?’

Johnny flexed his hand, still reaching for him. Silently he nodded.

But as he sat curiosity got the better of him. He got up and followed Ghost through the swinging door and trailed after him as he marched across the church. Ghost must have sensed him. As he shouldered through a second door on the right side of the altar he waited. Johnny ducked under his arm.

Beyond was a large cupboard with the doors left ajar. At the far end a narrow staircase. Johnny guessed it led up to the steeple. Ghost edged past him, pulling the doors open. Inside, taking up every inch of space, was a large Bowman radio. Johnny traced the cables and saw they led to a car battery sitting on the worn red carpet. Ghost leaned against the bottom shelf, picking up the headset and holding it to his ear. He pressed several buttons, tuning to different frequencies. Then he nodded to an old laptop resting on an upper shelf.

‘Got solitaire if you want to play.’

Johnny picked up the laptop, an ancient, heavy Lenovo, and opened it. It blinked to life, the wallpaper showed a vista of a desert, glowing golden in the rising sun.

‘Where is that?’ he asked.

‘Libya,’ replied Ghost shortly, and then he frowned. ‘You took that photo. You don’t remember?’

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. He had a vague recollection of sand, heat, sunburn. His backpack straps had felt unbearable, chafing on raw skin.

‘I do,’ he finally said. So he hadn’t dreamt it. It had all been real. He moved away from the cupboard, carrying the laptop almost reverently and sat with it on his lap in the church, staring at the desert.

Ghost reappeared a short while later.

‘Why don’t you watch a film while I make dinner?’ he suggested. He was carrying several DVDs. ‘Right we have Christmas concert 2018, the Prince of Egypt and, hm, the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.’ His eyes scanned Johnny’s face, waiting for his reaction.

‘Christmas concert 2018, my favourite,’ replied Johnny, with a half-hearted smile.

Ghost looked relieved. He handed him the DVDs and headed into the kitchen.

 

Johnny sat at the table in the office and slotted the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe into the disc drive. His eyes were drooping by the time Ghost reappeared with a plate.

‘Hey.’ Ghost nudged his foot. ‘You need to eat first. Come on.’ He set the plate down in front of him. He’d heated up macaroni cheese.

Johnny started to eat, his chin cradled in one hand. His head nodded.

‘Oi!’ Ghost shook him awake. He moved his chair around and sat next to him. ‘Come on. Just a few more bites.’

Johnny looked groggily at him. He felt like he was drifting slowly away. When he spoke he sounded slurred.

‘Ghost,’ he mumbled.

‘Come on, open wide,’ said Ghost and pressed the spoon against his lips.

‘D’ya think this is hell?’ he murmured.

‘Don’t be so fucking stupid,’ snapped Ghost. ‘Eat your fucking food.’

Johnny managed two more mouthfuls before his head dropped onto the table. On the flickering laptop screen Edward sold out his siblings for Turkish Delight.

 

He woke up while it was still dark. He realised, with a little thrill, that Ghost was nestled next to him on the zipped open sleeping bag. He’d pulled a musty blanket over him, tucking him in. Johnny turned onto his side, looking at him. His mask was crooked. Johnny raised a hand to adjust it. Ghost’s eyes fluttered open. He immediately removed Johnny’s hand, expression fierce.

‘Sor-‘ attempted Johnny and then his mouth was captured in a hot, hard kiss, Ghost’s lips behind the material crushing ferociously against his.

Johnny melted into him, kissing him back, not even caring that his mask was in the way. He skimmed a hand over his t-shirt and felt the man beneath shiver. Ghost abruptly pushed him away, making Johnny slam onto his back.

He sat up and Johnny thought he was about to leave but instead he shimmied down the length of his body. He stopped as he got to his groin and nudged his legs apart with one broad thigh. His gloved hands fumbled with Johnny’s buckle and fly.

Johnny gasped as he felt a wet tongue lick down his stomach and come to a stop just above his cock. Blood pooled in his groin, rushing down with every fluttering pump of his heart. He shifted his hips and Ghost yanked down his borrowed trousers with one hard jerk. Glancing up at him he slowly swallowed his cock, taking the length of him right down to the base until his nose pressed against curling hair. He sucked, tongue cushioning his cock and raking down it. Johnny whined, feeling pleasure slide through his swollen length.

He slipped down his throat and felt Ghost gag but he didn’t pull back. Johnny’s hips twitched. Two large hands slipped under his backside, pulling him up, encouraging him to thrust. Johnny felt nothing but hot white pleasure. He plunged into the welcoming tight heat of Ghost’s throat, hearing him gulp. His hands dug into the sleeping bag. Fuck, he was teetering on the edge already, his heart drumming a needy tattoo in his chest.

‘Ghost-‘ he choked out. ‘Fuck.’

Ghost gave an answering hum, hands spreading him wider. A finger prodded at his entrance. His tongue flicked against the underside of his throbbing cock. Pleasure danced across Johnny’s nerves like lilting flame, too much, too hot. He came with a wordless cry, heels digging into the floor, shaking as he spent himself right down his lieutenant’s throat. Ghost pulled back. Johnny caught a glisten of spit soaked lips but he was already pulling his mask down. He wasn’t even breathless. Johnny reached for him.

‘Let me return the favour,’ he offered.

Ghost leaned in and softly kissed his cheek, hands pulling up his trousers for him, smoothing down his t-shirt.

‘I told you,’ he murmured in his ear. ‘Let me help you.’ He pulled back and suddenly got up. ‘I’m gonna check the perimeter. Go back to sleep.’

Johnny wanted to argue but he didn’t have the energy. His spent cock gave a little twitch. He lay back on the sleeping bag, feeling completely boneless. In the next second he was asleep.

 

He jolted awake. The sky was still grey. Ghost wasn’t back. Panic bubbled up in Johnny’s chest. He stumbled from the office and out into the main body of the church, the door slamming against the wall.

Ghost was standing in the ridiculous frog patterned paddling pool, beneath the stained glass window. The early morning light stippled red and blue against his skin, illuminating every hard edged muscle and blonde hair. He was radiant with it.

He froze at the sound of the door, in the middle of soaping his arms. His dark blonde hair was wet, water running down his broad back. Johnny stared at him, the curve of his arse, his solid thighs, his heavy hanging cock, both a grower and a shower much to his chagrin. He’d always been pale but now he glowed like alabaster.

And then he turned and Johnny finally saw the left side of his face.

His cheek had been torn open, teeth glinting ivory in the meat of his face, the edges of the wound still raw and red. There was another wound on his throat, deep tooth marks wrapping around the thick column of his neck. Johnny froze.

‘You got bit,’ he said, voice echoing in the open space.

Ghost met his eyes.

‘Yeah.’

Chapter 9: smoke

Ghost and Johnny stared at each other. The small strip of faded red carpet between them felt like an ocean. Johnny grabbed for the wall as the room swam about him, a shrill ringing sounding in his ears.

‘Are you-are you gonna turn into one of those things?’ he finally asked, mouth dry.

Ghost stretched out a wet hand.

‘C’mere.’

Johnny hesitantly took a step towards him. Ghost splashed out of the pool and stepped down to meet him. He grabbed hold of Johnny’s hand, his grip crushing. He placed it on his soapy chest and despite the ragged wound in his face and the bite mark, Johnny, eyeing his pecs, wanted to motorboat him.

‘What do you feel?’ Ghost’s deep voice rumbled in his chest.

Johnny couldn’t help but grin.

‘Some pretty impressive tits, sir.’ His hand travelled over his chest, brushing through soap stiff chest hair, and making his dog tags clink. His fingers swept over a nipple and Ghost gave a little gasp. Johnny glanced up and saw the agonised expression on his face. His hand stilled. He leaned in and pressed an ear to his solid chest. ‘Your heart,’ he breathed, finally realising. ‘It isn’t beating.’

He heard the tic of Ghost’s throat as he swallowed.

‘No.’

Johnny pulled back, staring at his face and the half healed wounds.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

Ghost met his eyes.

‘I died,’ he said quietly.

It was on the tip of Johnny’s tongue to make a joke about ghosts, but here the man himself stood, real and walking and very solid. He reached up to tenderly cup the unspoiled side of his face.

‘So did I,’ he said gently. ‘But both of us are still standing here.’

Ghost gave a deep groan and grabbed for him, pulling him flush against him. He bent his head and kissed him, tongue sliding into his mouth. Johnny kissed him back, hands tightening against his lower back, nipping at his lower lip in that way he knew he liked. He briefly wondered if he, they, should be doing this, but he’d always been a fuck first talk later kind of guy, especially when it came to Ghost. His hands travelled up his body, drifting under his t-shirt, squeezing, touching, stroking, everything that Johnny had wanted hours ago and now finally had. It felt as though his heart was going to burst into glitter. He leaned into him, sucking greedily at his tongue. He wanted to show him how much he meant to him.

Slowly he pulled back from his mouth and kissed down his neck, his chest, bending to plant fluttering kisses down his abdomen and making Ghost shiver. His eyes widened as he got to his knees.

‘Johnny get up,’ he said softly.

Johnny’s hands stroked down his thighs. He looked up at him. ‘Let me get on my knees for you sir.’

Ghost chuckled but his gaze flicked away, hands flexing and unflexing at his sides. ‘Won’t do much good. It doesn’t work.’

Johnny frowned. His touch stilled. Ghost tugged at his shoulders and finally Johnny stood, swaying slightly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘My cock-’ Ghost stalled, lips pressed together. ‘It doesn’t get hard. Not since I got bit.’ He ducked his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. ‘But I’d still like to-you know. If you want.’

Johnny leaned in and kissed him again, a hard press of his lips. He pulled back, smirking.

‘I mean if your hearts not pumping inside you I’d be happy to.’

Ghost stared back at him stony faced. Then, slowly, a smile started.

‘You cheeky fucker,’ he breathed.

 

‘You sure ‘bout this?’ Standing awkwardly next to the bed roll Ghost sounded uncharacteristically hesitant.

Johnny grabbed hold of his hips, thumbs stroking over his hip bones.

‘We’ve done this before, haven’t we?’

Ghost raised his eyebrows.

‘Don’t you remember?’ He sounded almost offended as he grasped hold of the front of Johnny’s t-shirt. ‘Really?’

Johnny’s hand brushed against the side of his scalp, fingers finding the exit scar and grazing against it. He shuddered.

‘It’s all white noise in here LT. Sometimes I don’t know what really happened. I-‘ he worried at his lower lip. ‘In the desert. Was that the first time?’

Ghost slowly nodded. ‘First time we fucked. Had my hands on you a few weeks before that though. We said we’d keep it casual.’

Johnny’s head jerked up, meeting Ghost’s eyes.

‘And that’s what this is? Just…something casual?’

Ghost breathed in. Johnny eyed his chest, rising and falling. How? Did he still work the same?

‘It’s whatever you want it to be,’ said Ghost eventually, dark eyes boring into him.

He stepped into his space, arms encircling and then they were kissing again, sloppy, messy, spit sliding down Johnny’s chin. Ghost pulled him down onto the blanket. He looked down at him and gave a lopsided grin.

‘S’pose you better get on top, sergeant.’

Johnny wound his legs around his waist, arched his back, and flipped him.

‘Still got it MacTavish,’ said Ghost, staring up at him.

Johnny pulled off his t-shirt. ‘Never lost it sir.’

‘Don’t have to call me sir, Johnny.’

Johnny grinned. He dipped his head, nipping at firm muscle. Ghost felt cool but not cold, the ambient temperature of the room.

‘Mm but I like to.’ His voice was muffled against his skin.

He dragged a tongue across Ghost’s chest, tasting soap, and pulled a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, rolling the nub between his teeth. Ghost squirmed.

‘Fuck. Shit.’

Johnny glanced up at him. His teeth were grinding together.

‘That feel good?’ he murmured.

‘What do you fucking thin-‘ began Ghost and then gasped as Johnny seized the other nipple between his teeth and bit down.

One of Ghost’s hands came up, cupping the back of his neck. Johnny shrugged away from him, pulling off with a pop, and continued to kiss down his stomach, over old scars. It seemed he was as sensitive as ever, and if he could still feel, well. Perhaps he could do other things.

Ghost shivered as he reached his cock. Johnny ran a wet tongue down the length of him and felt him twitch. He tugged at Ghost’s pale thighs, spreading him open. They’d done this before. He remembered.

‘We need some lube or something-‘ he ventured.

Ghost raised his head. ‘Don’t worry ‘bout it.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ said Johnny, one hand skimming up his leg, watching him shift his hips.

Ghost shrugged.

‘How much can you hurt a dead man?’

‘You’re fucking talkative for a corpse.’ Johnny lowered his head once again, planting a kiss on his flaccid cock and eliciting a gasp. He kissed him again, and then moving lower, licked a sopping path from his balls to his hole.

Ghost jolted, muscles flexing, as Johnny swept a tongue over his puckered flesh. His hands dug into the meat of his thighs, holding him apart as he stroked him with his tongue. Ghost gasped as his tongue pressed inside, licking into him. He moaned, staring up at the tobacco stained ceiling.

‘Fucking hell Johnny you’re fucking killing me.’

Johnny pulled back, laughing. ‘Thought you were dead, sir?’

‘You’re gonna finish me off,’ groaned Ghost.

He hissed as Johnny spat and pushed his tongue inside, stroking him from the inside out. One hand crept up, a finger deftly sliding inside his spit soaked entrance to join his tongue. Ghost whimpered. Johnny sat back, one finger pumping inside him. He added a second, feeling for his prostate. Ghost jumped, abs tensing, as he brushed against it.

He whimpered as Johnny stroked against that sensitive spot inside him, his eyes rolling back. Johnny leaned in and drew his soft cock into his mouth, tongue probing the sensitive underside. Ghost jolted, like he’d been shocked. He rasped something incomprehensible, hands fisting the blankets, hips twisting.

Johnny carried on, teasing him with his hand, his mouth, listening to him whine. Trapped in his trousers his cock gave a needy throb. It was a struggle not to grin in triumph as he tasted salt on his tongue. There was no arc of white, just a slowly dripping trickle flooding Johnny’s mouth. He felt Ghost’s hole spasm against him, sucking greedily at his hand. As his little shivers and twitches finally eased he let Ghost’s cock drop from his mouth and pulled his fingers free.

Ghost huffed, staring up at him, mouth slack. He appeared to be at a loss for words.

Johnny fumbled with his trousers, dragging them off in an awkward tangle. His cock, achingly hard, slapped against his stomach as he released it.

Ghost half sat up, leaning on one elbow, and pulled him down to kiss him, licking his own spend off his lips, moaning into his mouth. Johnny notched his cock against his spit slick entrance and pushed inside in one smooth stroke.

They both groaned. Johnny began to roll his hips, grinding against him, buried in him to the hilt. He was warmer on the inside. Ghost’s body wrapped around his cock, his hard thighs clamped around his waist, the arch of his back, it was overwhelming in its intensity. Johnny stalled then, already on the edge.

‘You feel fucking-mmf,’ his words were half swallowed by another kiss, Ghost clinging to him, hands pressing against his back.

Johnny began to fuck him, taking his weight on his hands, strokes ragged. He could think of nothing but the man underneath him, looking up at him with big dark eyes. What was left of his brain had settled in his pulsing cock. Sweat broke out along his brow. Ghost’s hips rose off the blanket, meeting him thrust for thrust. He threw his head back and Johnny buried his face in the crook of his neck, worrying at unblemished skin with his teeth, jealous suddenly that someone else had taken a bite out of him.

He shivered as his climax ripped through him, cock throbbing as he filled Ghost’s hole the same way he’d filled his throat. He shuddered, crashing onto his chest, his thighs trembling.

Ghost looked down at him. ‘You alright?’

‘Solid sir,’ rasped Johnny. He rolled off him, hearing the hammering of his heart fill the room. ‘Are you alright? I mean, you came didn’t you?’

Ghost nodded.

‘Did it feel the same?’ asked Johnny curiously.

Ghost’s eyes slid over, gaze resting on his parted mouth. He turned onto his side, pillowing his face on one meaty bicep.

‘Felt different,’ he said quietly and stroked down Johnny’s arm. ‘Not bad. Just…different.’

Johnny shifted his weight, squirming closer, and did what he’d wanted to do since yesterday, buried his face in his chest. He felt a heavy hand stroke his hair. Something hard nudged his nose and he opened his eyes. It was Ghost’s dog tags.

Lt Simon D Riley. AB neg. ATH.

Toying with the hard disc of metal he realised there was a second. He pulled it free, squinting as he read the letters.

Sgt John J MacTavish. AB pos. RC.

‘You’re wearing my tags,’ he said, heat breaking out over his skin. Even though he’d just fucked him he flushed as Ghost opened his eyes.

‘Wanted you close to my heart,’ said Ghost. His mouth twisted as he realised what he had said.

‘Nice line LT,’ said Johnny. ‘You get that from Mills and Boon?’

Ghost’s brow creased.

‘Mills and Boon? Just how old do you think I fucking am?’ Ghost turned onto his back, lacing his hands behind his head.

Johnny rested his cheek on a slab of muscle and listened, fascinated, to the hollow of his chest.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

Ghost knew what he meant. He sighed.

‘We had an exfil point, a rooftop. Whole building got swarmed. They swamped the heli, were tugging it down. I jumped out.’ Ghost shut his eyes, a furrow appearing between his brows, no doubt remembering the noise, the chaos. ‘The heli took off. I fought through. But they got me. They always get you in the end. I didn’t even realised I’d been bit til I felt blood running down my neck. Didn’t know it was mine.’

‘But you didn’t change,’ said Johnny, softly. He stared at his face.

‘No. I collapsed. Didn’t even have the strength to finish myself off. When I woke up I was like this.’ He shrugged, then he suddenly sat up, dislodging Johnny. ‘I didn’t come back for you because I didn’t think you’d want me. I’m-I don’t know what I am.’ He scrubbed a hand over his hair.

‘Of course I want you,’ said Johnny, moving closer. ‘I’d want you even if you grew tentacles.’

Ghost turned, smirking.

‘Yeah you fucking would wouldn’t you, you fucking deviant. I’ve seen the porn you watch.’

‘Aye,’ replied Johnny. Ghost looked up as he swung a leg over his hips, seating himself in his lap. ‘Can you then? Grow tentacles?’

‘You’re fucking incorrigible MacTavish.’

Johnny slammed him down onto the blankets. ‘Whatever that means you can tell me later.’

 

Ghost fell asleep sprawled over the bed. Johnny propped himself up on one elbow and stared at him, brushing his hair back from his face.

It was real. They were real. He was his.

Ghost shifted and mumbled something under his breath. Sitting up Johnny traced a hand down the line of his broken nose, and over his parted mouth. He was still breathing. No heart but he had air in his lungs. Just what sort of monster was he?

Johnny let his hand drop. He moved away, stretching for his backpack. He dug in the front pocket for his sketchbook and his hand brushed against cold metal. He pulled out Roach’s tags.

Sgt Gary Sanderson. O pos. CE.

Johnny’s throat thickened. He’d never even known his name. He stuffed the tags back in and shuffled to the edge of the sleeping bag. His leg gave a sudden sharp twinge of pain. Opening his sketchbook he turned to the picture of Roach and spent a long time staring at it. Then he forced himself to open to a fresh page, and eyes on Ghost, began to draw.

 

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew Ghost was shaking his shoulder.

‘Johnny,’ he said softly. Far softer than when they had served together.

Johnny buried his face into the padded sleeping bag. The light hurt his eyes. His head hurt again, like he was being smashed repeatedly over the head by a sledgehammer. He whimpered.

‘You’ve been asleep all day,’ said Ghost, material rustling as he knelt next to him. He pulled something free from under Johnny’s chest.

Johnny cracked open one eye and saw he was flipping through his sketchbook.

‘Is that what my arse looks like from behind? Really?’ He grinned, Johnny wincing at the flash of white teeth in his ragged cheek. ‘Johnny?’ He frowned, setting the book down and leaning in. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Head hurts,’ mumbled Johnny.

Ghost pulled off his glove and rested a rough hand on his forehead. ‘Shit. You’re burning up.’

‘M’fine.’

Ghost pulled off the blanket he was tangled in. His hand felt down, gliding over Johnny’s calf.

‘This doesn’t look good,’ he said, probing around the bite mark, the skin hot and stretched shiny with inflammation. ‘I think you’ve got an infection.’ He clicked his tongue against his teeth as he thought.

Johnny grabbed for the blanket and pulled it over his face. His head gave a vicious thump, making him squeeze his eyes shut so tightly he could see patterns painted on the inside of his eyelids. He heard Ghost stand up.

‘I’ve got some painkillers you can take but you need antibiotics,’ said Ghost.

Beneath the prickly blanket Johnny listened to him walk up and down.

‘There’s a supermarket with a pharmacy inside it a couple clicks away. I’ll go get what we need and come back.’

Johnny sat up, gasping at the echoing pounding in his head.

‘Don’t.’

Ghost turned around in surprise. He’d been running a hand over the priest uniforms.

‘Don’t what?’ he said.

‘Don’t go without me.’

Ghost walked back to him, standing over him. ‘Johnny you’re not well.’

Johnny struggled to his feet, the blanket draped absurdly over him like some sort of toga.

‘Dope me up with the painkillers,’ he said insistently. ‘I’ll be fine. You’re not leaving without me. Ghost.’

Ghost looked up at his tone. ‘Are you giving me an order, sergeant?’

‘Yeah. I am,’ said Johnny, raising his chin, managing to meet his hard eyed stare despite the hammering in his skull. ‘We’re fucking teammates. We go together.’

Ghost cocked his head to one side. Behind his mask he was smirking.

‘Just teammates?’

Johnny grabbed the front of his t-shirt.

‘You know what we fucking are,’ he growled in a low voice. ‘And if you ever wanna blow your load again you’re gonna listen to me, is that clear?’

Ghost snickered. ‘Oh it’s crystal clear.’ He looked down. ‘Better let go of me if you want those painkillers, sir.’

It was just a tiny word but oh fuck if hearing it come from Ghost’s mouth didn’t do something to him. He let go of Ghost’s t-shirt, giving him a shove for good measure.

‘On my way,’ said Ghost, and winked at him as he left the room.

 

Illuminated by half a dozen tealights Johnny sat and ate something out a tin that said it was all day breakfast but mainly seemed to be comprised of beans. He swallowed ibuprofen as Ghost busied himself sorting equipment.

He watched as he produced bundles of equipment from various hiding places around the church and slammed them all on the table, making the pile of ibuprofen on the scratched surface jump.

Ghost picked up the crumpled packet. ‘Just how many of these have you had?’

‘Not enough,’ said Johnny. He still had one bastard of a headache, but at least he could open his eyes. He spooned another measure of baked beans and mushy sausage into his mouth. ‘Aren’t you going to eat something?’

‘Can’t eat,’ said Ghost shortly, unlocking a foot locker and pulling out a canvas pouch.

‘You can’t eat?’ Johnny hastily wiped his mouth. ‘What, at all?’

Ghost shrugged. He undid the pouch.

‘Tried. Can’t keep anything down.’

Johnny, feeling vaguely guilty, set down the tin. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

Ghost briefly met his eyes. ‘Starving.’

He produced a sleek pair of night vision goggles and leaned over the table to hand them to him.

‘Holy shit LT. These are a pair GP18s.’ He turned them around in his hands. ‘You could buy a house with what these cost.’

‘Yeah so don’t drop ‘em,’ replied Ghost. He pulled a helmet out another bag. ‘Set them on this. They won’t fit your other helmet.’

Johnny frowned, carefully clicking the goggles into place. ‘Why are we getting all suited up to go to Asda? I mean I know there are a few scallies hanging around the car park but-‘

‘Whole area is gang controlled,’ said Ghost leaning over the table. ‘They call themselves raiders but they’re just little boys with too many knives. They’ve put up barricades on all the main roads. We can move over the back gardens and avoid them but that comes with the added risk of attracting biters.’ A large hunting knife appeared in his hand. He shunted it over the table. ‘We do this fast and quiet, understood?’

In the guttering candlelight his mask looked especially menacing but Johnny found himself admiring his blonde eyelashes. He nodded.

‘Affirm.’

‘Good boy,’ said Ghost, moving away.

Johnny had to very quickly adjust himself. He took another handful of ibuprofen.

 

It was pitch black outside, so dark that Johnny almost walked into a lamppost. He pulled down the goggles, the world revealing itself in shades of green. He glanced at Ghost.

‘You don’t have any NVGs?’ He was sure he’d seen a second pair lying on the table while Ghost had been pulling on body armour and sliding knives into various places on his body.

‘Don’t need ‘em,’ replied Ghost, walking beside him in the centre of the road, bootsteps near noiseless.

‘You can see in the dark?’ said Johnny, fascinated. ‘What else can you do?’ He eyed the hushed houses lining the road. ‘Can you climb up walls?’

Ghost turned and glared at him. ‘Do I look like bloody Spider-man to you?’

Johnny stuck out his lower lip, considering. ‘I mean I think you’d look fucking fit in red spandex.’

Ghost sighed. But then as they reached the end of the road he spoke again.

‘Hey Johnny,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Hm?’

‘Why did Spider-Man spend so much time on his computer?’ he said.

Johnny frowned.

‘Why?’ he finally asked.

‘He was addicted to his web cam,’ said Ghost, already snickering at his own joke.

‘That’s fucking awful. Hey, I’ve got one for you-‘ he began but then he fell silent as Ghost held his palm up.

He crouched, beckoning him over. Johnny crawled over to him. They squatted motionless at the turn of the next road. Ghost shook his fist. Vehicle. Johnny angled his head. He could hear a high whining, steadily getting closer. Ghost moved back, into the darkness of an overgrown hedge, Johnny following. His hand went to the hunting knife at his hip. A light appeared on the dark road. A motorbike. Through the goggles Johnny’s eyes picked out two youths, both carrying machetes.

‘You’ve got some sharp ears,’ murmured Johnny as they passed. ‘They part of the gangs?’

‘Yeah, let’s cut across before they circle back,’ said Ghost.

They ran across the road and into a back alley, crowded with wheely bins. The fences were lower here, Johnny could see into people’s back gardens. Just ahead Ghost stopped again. He gave Johnny the sign for hold and a second later had disappeared over one of the fences. Johnny bolted after him, his leg burning in protest, and peered over the fence just in time to see Ghost dragging a biter to the ground and plunging his knife into its eyeball.

‘Fucking beautiful sir,’ he couldn’t help but breathe.

‘Do you ever keep your mouth shut?’ said Ghost as he clambered back over the fence.

‘You weren’t complaining about my mouth earlier,’ said Johnny and grinned.

‘Idiot,’ said Ghost, shaking his head, but there was warm affection in his voice. He looked past Johnny. ‘Doesn’t seem to be anymore up ahead. C’mon let’s get moving.’

 

Across a roundabout Johnny caught sight of Asda appearing out the gloom. He never thought he’d feel so happy to see a supermarket.

‘Around the back,’ murmured Ghost in his ear. ‘Behind me.’

‘You’ve been here before?’ Johnny questioned, following him down a service road.

Ghost nodded. They stopped at a gate. He held up two fingers, and jumped up and onto the fence. He was over and had disappeared into the shadows in a second. Johnny lost sight of him between the parked delivery vans. He quickly followed and caught up with him just before a large metal shutter. Two men were standing on either side, both shifting, looking bored.

Ghost gestured with his head, drawing a knife. Johnny felt for his. Ghost disappeared back into the line of vans, circling around. Johnny padded towards the nearest man as he saw Ghost appeared silently on the other side like a phantom. They struck at the same time, Johnny popping up behind the guard like a jack in the box and slapping a hand over his mouth. He drove his knife into the side of his neck, and caught him as he dropped.

Ghost appeared over his shoulder.

‘Nicely done MacTavish.’

‘Told you I’ve still got it,’ replied Johnny.

Ghost produced a set of keys and bent down to open the shutter. It raised with a great creak and groan. Ghost cocked his head.

‘Someone will hear that. Let’s be quick about this.’

‘Rog,’ replied Johnny, slinking behind him as he ducked inside.

 

They padded through a vast, echoing warehouse, heading for a door on the far side. They came out in what had been the shops bakery. The kitchen space was stripped bare. Ghost jumped over the counter and Johnny followed, his leg giving a hot throb of protest. Ghost stood and waited for him to catch up. He motioned with two fingers.

‘Hostiles?’ muttered Johnny as he struggled to keep up with Ghost’s long stride. Johnny had never considered himself short until he met Ghost. Now he felt like a terrier running alongside an Alsatian. As they marched down the aisles, stripped shelves yawning empty, Johnny idly considered what dog breed Ghost would be. Something large and unfriendly, certainly. Something that bit your fingers off until it learnt to trust you. Maybe he wasn’t a dog at all.

He stopped as they turned into another aisle. There was still food here, glinting in the dim light. Johnny crouched, pulling a cardboard box full of tins towards him. He picked one up, turning to read it. Several lengths away Ghost had stopped and was shifting his weight impatiently.

‘Smoked oysters,’ he read. ‘I guess our scallies didn’t want to take a chance with seafood.’

‘Soap. Move. Now,’ said Ghost, impatience pressing at his words.

Johnny looked back at the tin. Weren’t oysters supposed to be an aphrodisiac? Maybe they could help Ghost with his little problem. He stuffed a couple of tins into his pockets.

‘So you can’t eat at all?’ he said, sloping after Ghost’s broad back. ‘What happens?’

Ghost glanced at him. ‘Puke my guts out.’ His voice was clipped.

‘Maybe you’re just not eating the right things,’ Johnny mused, making Ghost glare warningly at him.

‘Here,’ said Ghost and headed past an empty cosmetics display to a counter.

Johnny lingered. There was more on the shelves here; Chapstick, cough syrup and a whole display of sunglasses. He took one of each. His pockets were bulging. He hoped Ghost’s belt would hold.

Ghost ducked into a back room and Johnny followed. Most of the shelves were empty. Johnny tried a desk drawer and found it was locked. He pried it open with a knife and found several paper packets. Frowning he read the labels.

‘Suppositories for a Mr D Smith,’ he read. ‘Don’t think we need that. Unless you-?’

Sweeping the shelves, behind his mask Ghost scowled.

‘If the wind changes you’ll get stuck that way,’ said Johnny, and smoothed out another packet. ‘Omeprazole for Mrs H Roberts. Well I’ll take that anyway she doesn’t need it. Aha.’
At his exclamation Ghost turned. ‘Penicillin for a Mr J Jones. Thank you Mr J Jones.’ He pocketed the little plastic pot of pills.

‘I found some Cefalexin,’ said Ghost, holding out a packet. ‘I don’t think any of those idiots out there know what it is.’ His head suddenly jerked up, his hand going to the knife at his side.

Johnny heard it in the next moment, running footsteps. He ducked his head out the back room and saw the round white shine of a torch on the other side of the store.

‘C’mon let’s move,’ said Ghost in a low voice.

Johnny struggled inelegantly over the counter. With a look that suggested he was mad and also possibly stupid, Ghost raised the end of the counter and walked through. He strode back the way they had come. Voices drifted over from the other end of the large space. They passed the oysters again on the way to the exit. Johnny grabbed another tin.

‘Hey Ghost,’ he hissed, making the man turn. ‘Why don’t oysters donate to charity?’

‘Why?’ said Ghost, sounding intrigued.

‘Because they’re shellfish,’ said Johnny and giggled.

‘Hey!’ A shout came from behind him. He turned and a high beam torch hit him square in the face, momentarily whiting out his night vision. He pulled them up and then the shouter was on him, large knife raised.

A blade thunked into the attacker’s eye and he dropped backwards. Ghost grabbed his arm.

‘C’mon move,’ he barked.

There came another cry as they raced towards the bakery, everything in Johnny’s pockets banging painfully against his thighs, his leg burning. Ghost picked him up by the back of his body armour and threw him over the counter. The shouts grew nearer. They ran through the bakery section and bolted into the warehouse. Johnny collided with a roll cage and almost fell but Ghost doubled back and grabbed him under the arm. He pulled his goggles back down for him and then they were out, running in the warm night air.

They stopped in an ally, Johnny panting. He was still laughing, little giggles escaping from parted lips. Ghost peered at him.

‘Johnny,’ he said, voice hard edged with worry. ‘What’s wrong?’

He clearly thought he was having some sort of fit. This only made Johnny laugh harder. Sucking in wheezing breaths he finally managed to get hold of himself enough to speak.

‘That was fucking fun,’ he finally said, looking up at his lieutenant, unable to stop the broad grin spreading over his face. He fumbled with one of his pockets. ‘And look, we have oysters.’

Behind his mask Johnny saw the corner of Ghost’s mouth twitch. A gloved hand pressed down on his forehead.

‘Fucking hell you must have a temperature of 115.’

‘Aren’t you happy about the oysters LT?’

‘Ecstatic,’ said Ghost dryly. He looked up at the sound of a bike whining past. ‘Let’s get you off the streets.’

‘Aye I’m for the sheets not the streets,’ said Johnny agreeably. He clapped Ghost on the shoulder. ‘Hey LT, why did the oyster go to the gym?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ hissed Ghost, dragging him further into the darkness, keeping up a fast pace as they moved down the street.

‘So they can grow mussels,’ said Johnny, sniggering. ‘Get it?’

Ghost gave a low chuckle. ‘Yeah Johnny. I get it.’

‘Knew you would,’ murmured Johnny, hysterically, deliriously happy.

Chapter 10: russet

That night Johnny dreamt of the desert.

He stood, at the edge of the camp, hand resting on his rifle, looking out over the endless, arid landscape. His eyes flicked up, to the stars above, glittering in the deep black canvas above like a million watchful eyes.

‘Johnny.’

Ghost had appeared behind him. Johnny knew it was him without turning around by the scent of him, the heat of his body.

‘Shifts over,’ said Ghost as Johnny continued to stand there.

‘Makes you feel small doesn’t it,’ said Johnny, gaze lingering on the sky.

‘Maybe if I was as short as you,’ said Ghost, a smirk in his voice.

‘Fuck off,’ snapped Johnny, and elbowed him. ‘You always ruin the moment.’

He choked on his own breath as a hot, wet mouth closed around his neck. He heard the jingle of equipment as Ghost pressed against him.

‘Do I?’ he murmured in his ear, hot breath making him squirm.

A hand crept to the front of Johnny’s jeans. Johnny shifted.

‘Someone will see,’ he hissed.

‘Nah. No one around for miles,’ said Ghost and Johnny heard the unmistakable sound of his fly unzipping. ‘Brought you a present.’

‘If it’s your cock I hope you kept the receipt,’ said Johnny. His chest hitched as a gloved hand forced its way into his jeans and boxers, grabbing a handful of him.

Ghost kicked out his legs, widening his stance, before deftly undoing his jeans. He eased them down. Johnny tried to look back, to see if anyone was watching, but Ghost shoved his head back around. The click of a bottle and the rustle of Ghost removing one of his gloves was all the warning he got before a finger dipped inside him.

He gasped. Ghost held him in place as he worked him open with wet, slick sounds.

‘Mm knew you’d like this,’ murmured Ghost, his fingers twisting while Johnny quivered. ‘Always got some whore on top of you. How many cocks you taken, hm?’

Johnny stared up at the stars, his eyes glazing over. Was Ghost jealous? Surely not. Did he want an answer? It wasn’t as though he kept a spreadsheet. He moaned as Ghost removed his fingers. His ears picked up the rustle of a condom packet.

‘Gift wrapped it for you,’ murmured Ghost. A second later the fat head of his cock nudged at his entrance.

Johnny reached down a hand to wrap around his own length. Ghost pressed inside, hands on his hips to hold him in place. Even so Johnny had to brace himself, boots scuffing in the sand.

Ghost started to pound him immediately, he pulled Johnny back so he was almost seated on his cock, one arm wrapped around his waist. Johnny whimpered as he hammered into him.

‘Good boy,’ rumbled Ghost in his ear, and fucked him harder, skin slapping against skin, his cock stretching him open. His tac vest ground against his back. His mouth planted a wet kiss against his neck, a delicate press of his lips. It was this, this gentle action, contrasted with the vicious pistoning of his hips, that made Johnny tremble. He crashed over the edge in a hot rush, taken completely by surprise, his body trembling in Ghost’s arms.

Ghost moaned, mouth biting into the hard muscle of his shoulder, and followed him, pulling out and leaving Johnny aching. His cum splattered over the sand.

Johnny’s legs buckled and he fell, catching himself on his hands, feeling something sharp edged under one palm. His hand closed around the empty wrapper. He heard the jangle of Ghost’s belt as he tucked himself back in.

Johnny could hear him breathing, still ragged. He forced himself up, his legs feeling like wet sponge, and pulled up his jeans with shaking hands.

‘I-‘ he began, although he had no idea what he was going to say. Thanks sir for a great shag? Sorry I only lasted two minutes? But Ghost was already striding away. He left him at the edge of the desert without uttering a single word, the stars watching with indifference.

 

Johnny woke up. He lay there for several moments, wondering what had changed and finally came to the conclusion that his fever had broken. He felt, for the first time in three days, better.

He looked down at Ghost, still asleep and pressed against him, one pale thigh thrown over his lap, one arm intwined with his. He’d never slept like this with him. Johnny recalled him peeling himself off and briskly tugging on his trousers, of the feelings on his face disappearing behind his mask. This was new. Was it because they had nearly lost each other?

Ghost snuffled slightly in his sleep and his grip tightened. Taking advantage of his closeness Johnny turned his head and planted a kiss in his soft blonde hair.

His gaze was drawn to the blinds covering the window above. He carefully eased himself free, and rested a hand on Ghost’s cool back. No heartbeat. What was he? Maybe he was something else. Vampires weren’t real, of course they weren’t, but perhaps-?

Frowning, Johnny leaned over and reached for the pull cord. Syrup yellow sunlight flooded the room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and Ghost’s red-gold hair. Ghost cracked open one dark eye. He looked irritated but unharmed.

‘Johnny, what the fuck are you doing?’

Johnny shut the blinds. The vampire theory was out then. He crawled over to him, and flopped onto his chest, making Ghost grunt.

‘Just admiring my-‘ Shit. What was he going to call him? Commanding officer didn’t have much of a ring to it. The word boyfriend made him want to cover his heating cheeks with the blanket.

‘Your what?’ said Ghost, his voice hoarse with sleep but sounding intrigued all the same. His fingers drummed a rhythm on the small of Johnny’s back.

‘Just admiring,’ Johnny finally said, and leaned in to kiss his cheek, fox red stubble scratching his chin. ‘You need a shave.’

Ghost finally opened his other eye. He ruffled Johnny’s overgrown hair.

‘I’m not the only one.’

 

Standing over him in the yard Ghost turned on a pair of clippers.

‘How short do you want it?’ He leaned in, running his fingers through Johnny’s hair and brushing it back.

For a second Johnny forgot what he was asking. He tipped his head up, enjoying the warm sun on his face.

‘Johnny?’

Ghost wobbled the chair he was sitting on.

‘Huh, what?’

Ghost moved, his shadow gliding over Johnny’s legs. His voice was pleasant to listen to, a low rumble, like an engine, but Johnny couldn’t parse any of the words.

‘Did you say something?’ said Johnny, trying to focus.

‘I said is the beard staying?’ Ghost ran a hand affectionately through the curling hair on his chin. ‘Felt pretty good between my legs last night.’

Johnny’s brain stuttered to a stop. His blood didn’t. Ghost raised an eyebrow as he looked down at his groin. ‘Why don’t you think about it and I’ll get on with your hair,’ he continued, and turned a dial on the clippers.

‘Just take it all off,’ said Johnny, trying not to squirm as Ghost made the first pass.

‘Gotta give me something to grab love,’ replied Ghost, deftly gliding the clippers over his nape.

Love. That was nice. He’d never called him that before. Johnny basked in it like the sun. He finally noticed the clippers had stopped when Ghost brushed a cool hand over his bare shoulder, dislodging the loose hair.

He crouched in front of him, squinting as he tried to get the haircut straight. Then he angled Johnny’s head, touch still gentle, and started to trim the edges of his beard.

Johnny felt up, hand creeping over stubble. His fingers faltered as they travelled over the entry scar, a smooth patch of skin. It was completely numb but he shuddered all the same.

He looked over the yard, the decaying cigarette ends swept into heaps, the red brick of the high walls and then what he could see of the residential street beyond; roofs and top windows of semi-detached houses. Ghost stepped back to admire his handiwork, and Johnny saw a flash over his shoulder, in a window high above.

For a tenth of a second his hesitated, because surely that wasn’t-?

It was. He leapt out his chair, tackling Ghost to the ground, and a bullet thudded into the brick wall opposite.

‘Sniper,’ gasped Johnny. ‘11 o’clock.’

‘What the fuck,’ growled Ghost. He pushed him off and crawled over to the far wall. ‘There he is.’ He ducked, and a cloud of brick dust puffed into the air, an inch away from where his head had been. ‘Inside. Now!’

Johnny dove into the church, Ghost right behind him. He grabbed Johnny by the wrist and dragged him into the nave.

‘Stay there,’ he commanded and ducked back into the office. He reappeared with clothes and body armour, his mask back in place. He jammed Johnny’s helmet onto his head.

‘Do you think it’s the gang?’ said Johnny, hastily zipping up his hoodie and strapping himself into armour.

Ghost, still topless and barefoot in joggers, suddenly kicked the bottom plank of the raised altar. It fell inwards and he dropped to his knees, dragging out another foot locker. He glanced at Johnny.

‘Where the fuck would they get a sniper rifle?’ He opened the box, pulling out a sleek, black Glock 17 and two boxes of ammo. He handed them to Johnny like he was handing out Christmas presents.

He got up, and leant in to do up the bottom strap on Johnny’s helmet.

‘Don’t you need a weapon?’ said Johnny. ‘And clothes?’ His helmet felt odd, he could feel the padded inside pressing against his shaved scalp.

‘Need to take out that sniper,’ said Ghost shortly and took off across the church. He looked back at him. ‘Stay here, away from the windows.’

‘No,’ said Johnny, already on his heels.

Ghost swung around. ‘Are you disobeying a direct order sergeant?’

‘And what if I am? What are you gonna do?’ snapped Johnny, shoving the gun down the back of his trousers even though he knew it was a bad place to put it. The box of bullets jingled in his hand as he pointed at Ghost. ‘You gonna call the fucking warrant officer?’

‘I-‘ Ghost seemed at a loss for words. He didn’t like this, this strange defiance. It upset his rules. Ghost was a stickler for rules.

‘I’m not just your sergeant,’ tried Johnny, moving nearer.

Ghost turned on the spot, striding over to the steeple steps. He didn’t reply.

He paused at the top of the tower, hand pushing Johnny behind him. He ducked behind the parapet and crawled over to where his sniper rifle was set up. He put an eye to the scope.

‘Third house down,’ said Johnny, keeping low he moved over to him, and crouched over him, his armour brushing against Ghost’s bare chest. Ghost stayed stock still but Johnny heard him make a little sound in the back of his throat.

‘I see the fucker,’ he murmured.

A shot rang out and Johnny flinched but it wasn’t aimed at them.

‘He just potted a biter,’ said Ghost. ‘He’s gonna stir ‘em up like a fucking hornet’s nest.’ His hands moved over the scope, adjusting the distance. ‘Wind?’

Johnny licked a finger and held it up.

‘Northwest.’

‘In my sights,’ said Ghost. He made one final adjustment before his finger closed on the trigger. The gun cracked. ‘Target down.’ He got up onto his knees, frowning as he looked over at the houses and the street below, the dead biter sprawled in the middle of the road.

Johnny looked with him, leaning over the low wall.

‘What’s a lone sniper doing out here?’ he said.

Ghost cocked his head. ‘Let’s go see.’

 

‘Wait,’ said Ghost as they stood at the threshold of the house. He leaned around the partly open door and then squatted, pulling free a knife. ‘It’s trapped. Let me see if I can get it free.’

‘Let me see,’ said Johnny, leaning over him. There was a string pulled taut across the entry, barely visible. Tracing the line he saw it led to a grenade taped to the wall. ‘Hm. Old school.’

‘Yeah and I’d really like the prize,’ said Ghost. He grunted. ‘Can’t reach it.’ He stepped back, boots crunching on the garden path, and looked up at the house, considering. ‘Looks like he shimmied up this drain pipe and climbed through that window. See?’

Johnny nodded.

‘That’s not gonna take my weight,’ said Ghost. ‘Can you get up there?’

‘I-‘ Johnny stared up at the house. In truth he wasn’t sure. A few months ago he would have been up and in before Ghost had even finished speaking. He swallowed.

‘It’s alright,’ said Ghost, watching his expression. ‘Let’s try around the back-‘

Johnny jumped at the wall and skidded down, feeling Ghost reaching for him. He jumped again, hand closing around the pipe and grunting, pulling himself up, hand over hand, trainers slewing on the brickwork. His leg protested, pulsing with pain, wobbling under him. He growled under his breath, and lunged for the windowsill.

Beneath him he heard Ghost’s sharp intake of breath but arms shaking he pulled himself up and over and crashed into the room.

‘Johnny,’ called Ghost, sounding anxious. ‘You alright?’

Grinning, Johnny popped his head over the windowsill.

‘Solid LT. I’ll open the door.’

‘Wait, Johnny, be careful.’

Ghost’s voice faded as Johnny walked from the room, a disused guest room by the looks of it, he had the vague impression of a small bed and dusty ornaments, and stalked out into a pink carpeted hallway and into the room the shots had come from.

The sniper was slumped over his rifle, blood a jammy smear on the grey floorboards. A rug was rucked up under his booted feet.

‘Johnny?’ Ghost’s voice drifted from downstairs, jagged with anxiety.

Johnny jogged down the stairs and back to the front door. He spied Ghost’s masked face through the pane of glass in the front door.

‘I’m here LT. Give me a minute.’

‘Right,’ replied Ghost, stepping back. ‘Take your time.’ He cleared his throat.

Johnny knelt, fingers skimming the line, some sort of fishing line. He peeled the grenade off the wall, and squinted as he unknotted the line from the pin.

‘Careful,’ said Ghost, watching his blurred silhouette through the bubble glass.

Johnny eyed him. Then he stamped his foot on the floor and yelled.

‘Johnny!’ Ghost’s weight slammed against the doorframe. He paused. ‘You-what the fuck are you doing!? You fucking idiot! You-‘

Johnny opened the door, Ghost bulling inside. He held out the grenade.

‘Present for you, LT.’

‘You fucking stupid idiot!’ bawled Ghost. ‘That’s not fucking funny! Give me that!’ He grabbed the grenade and eyes narrowed tucked it into one of the pouches on his vest.

‘Sorry can’t hear you,’ said Johnny, sniggering. ‘My ears are still ringing.’

Ghost grumbled something under his breath. He shouldered past him and made his way up the stairs.

‘Shit,’ he said when he saw the outstretched sniper.

‘What?’ said Johnny, edging into the room behind him.

‘This is no lone crazy, this is professional gear,’ said Ghost, stepping towards him. He grabbed the dead man by the back of the neck, and looked at the bullet hole in his temple. ‘Hm. Bit left.’ He glanced at Johnny. ‘You probably could have got that dead on.’ He nodded to the rifle. ‘Pack that up.’

Johnny leaned past, reaching for the sniper rifle. He turned it over in his hands.

‘Hm a Dragunov,’ he said. ‘Not bad.’ He held it up and peered through the scope.

‘Fuck,’ muttered Ghost, still examining the body.

Johnny looked up.

Ghost ripped a patch off the man’s shoulder and held it up. A black wolf on a russet field. Johnny frowned, sifting through meagre memories, then one caught.

‘That’s Volk group,’ he said. ‘The PMCs. What the fuck-?’ He reached out and took the patch from Ghost’s fingers, staring at it. ‘What’s a Russian merc doing here?’

‘He’s a scout,’ said Ghost. ‘Must be clearing the way.’

‘But Russian operators on UK soil, I mean that’s an act of war,’ said Johnny. He tucked the patch into his back pocket.

Ghost shrugged.

‘Who’s gonna stop ‘em? You?’ He knelt over the body and busily began to strip him. Then he pointed to a backpack leaning against the wall. ‘See what he’s got. What’s your shoe size?’

Johnny had a sudden flashback of Roach holding out Adidas trainers. His stomach dipped.

‘Johnny?’ said Ghost, sounding concerned. ‘You okay?’

‘Sound LT. Size 10.’

Ghost began to unlace the sniper’s combat boots.

‘These’ll fit you then.’

 

They left the house with a dead man’s boots and a dead man’s rifle, Ghost holding the backpack. He was shaking his head as they got back to the church.

‘I don’t like this,’ he said, leaning against the kitchen table.

Johnny, crunching through a packet of malted milks he’d found in the pack, looked up at him. ‘You want to set up a wider perimeter? Or retreat and regroup?’

‘We should leave,’ said Ghost. ‘I was only here for you.’

He looked at Johnny, who stopped chewing.

‘Where do you wanna-?’ began Johnny and stopped short as Ghost’s head jerked around.

Ghost strode smartly back out into the church and stood in the porch.

‘Can you hear that?’ he said to Johnny over his shoulder.

‘Hear what?’ replied Johnny and then felt the old, cracked terracotta tiles tremble under his feet.

‘Stay here,’ said Ghost and ducked out the door.

Still eating biscuits Johnny followed.

‘Johnny,’ huffed Ghost when he saw he was following. ‘Get back inside.’

‘Oh gonna order me again LT?’

Ghost stopped short and swung around. He snatched the packet out his hands.

‘First of all,’ he began, voice a dangerous rumble. ‘Stop eating Russian fucking biscuits. Biters will hear you coming a mile away. Second of all you left your bloody helmet in the office. Third of all-‘ Ghost stopped talking as Johnny drew closer, tilting his head back to maintain eye contact.

‘Go on sir,’ said Johnny. ‘Carry on. Been ages since I had a good dressing down.’

Ghost frowned. Then he unclipped his helmet and shoved it into his chest before marching off.

‘Keep up Soap,’ he snarled.

‘Can I have my biscuits back?’ said Johnny, lagging after him.

‘No!’ snapped Ghost.

They followed whatever Ghost could hear, turning into a main road. Ghost kept close to the houses, using cars in people’s driveways and privet hedges as cover. Johnny heard a heavy rumble drifting down the otherwise muted street.

‘Please don’t tell me that’s what I think it is,’ he remarked, ducking behind Ghost as he crouched behind a Range Rover.

‘They’re coming up the main road,’ said Ghost. ‘Look.’

Johnny peered over the bonnet of the car. A black tank trundled slowly down the road. Several lengths behind men in black combat armour trudged behind.

‘Steaming Jesus,’ breathed Johnny, watched them all slope past. ‘That’s a whole company.’ He looked at Ghost. ‘A whole company of Russian mercs just breezing past like they own the place!’

‘Guess they think they do,’ replied Ghost, eyes on the dark clad figures. ‘Let’s see what they’re up to.’

Johnny nodded.

They moved through back gardens and streets, keeping a careful distance, following the PMCs by sound alone.

At the end of a row, Ghost leaned against a fence, hands clasped to give him a boost. Johnny jumped, grabbing onto the lip of the fence, and froze. The company had stopped too, and were barely metres away. The tank looked particularly out of place in the tree lined suburban street. Ghost, below, looked up at him, clearly unsure if he should push him over or pull him back down. Johnny wedged one knee against the fence and gave him the sign for wait.

There was a barricade across the road; two burnt out cars and a heaped collection of furniture. Johnny watched a man in dark sunglasses pop his head up from the tank hatch and gesticulate to some of the contractors. Johnny tilted his head as he heard a familiar mosquito like whine. He moved along the fence, Ghost still holding him up, so he could look down the road. A motorbike appeared, two men in balaclavas on it. They swerved to a stop on the other side of the barricade, pointing at the tank.

One of the contractors shoved through the unit. He could clearly see them through the tangle of furniture. He pulled out a pistol and fired twice. Johnny ducked, falling onto Ghost, as the bike spun out of control, spinning over the grass verge and crashing into the fence, smoking. He crouched down, eye to a small knot in the wood, and drew his pistol.

He watched the man shout at the tank operator and then he retreated. The hatch slammed shut. The tank moved on, slowly but surely crunching through the makeshift barricade. Ghost stayed hunkered next to him until the soldiers moved past. He glanced at the sky.

‘Not much daylight left,’ he said. ‘They’ll stop soon. There’s another supermarket down that way. Best guess is they’ll camp there.’ He looked at him. ‘Go back to the church Johnny,’ he said, but his voice was gentle, without any of his usual commanding bark.

Because of this, and the way his dark eyes softened as he looked at him, Johnny didn’t immediately refuse.

‘Why?’ he asked. ‘What are you gonna do?’

Ghost crossed his arms.

‘For every biter roaming the streets, there’s five more trapped in a house,’ he said. ‘I can let ‘em out and lead them straight to the mercs.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ spluttered Johnny, stunned. ‘You’ll be torn apart.’

Behind his mask, Ghost grinned.

‘Can’t die twice.’

‘Yeah you fucking can,’ Johnny reached for him. Ghost didn’t move away as he clasped the back of his neck. ‘That is a stupid idea.’

‘Got a better one?’ said Ghost.

‘Yeah. We take that bike and ride off into the sunset together,’ said Johnny, grinning.

Ghost frowned. ‘Not like you to back down from a fight.’

‘That’s not a fight, that’s suicide,’ said Johnny, frowning right back.

Ghost removed his hand, his face hardening. Johnny could tell the discussion was over. Ghost pointed past him.

‘Go back to the church.’

‘I’m not your pet fucking dog!’ Johnny voice was raised.

‘No Johnny you’re my fucking-‘ Ghost’s mouth snapped shut. Clearly he didn’t know what to call them either. ‘I don’t want to lose you again.’

‘I’m coming,’ said Johnny, decisively, crossing his arms, glaring. ‘And you can give me my fucking biscuits back.’

‘You’re like a fucking parasite,’ growled Ghost, scowling, but his fingers dipped in a front pouch and produced the crumpled packet. He shoved it into his hands. ‘Keep up you stubborn bastard.’

‘No’ a bastard,’ grumbled Johnny, as he hopped over the fence and clambered down the other side. ‘My parents were married. Church wedding it was. Lovely.’

‘Soap shut up,’ snarled Ghost.

‘Sure you don’t want a biscuit?’ said Johnny, taking another. ‘Might sweeten you up.’

Ghost grumbled something under his breath. It might have been arsehole.

Ghost stalled at a garden wall. Johnny wondered what he was doing until he violently kicked it and sent several loose bricks tumbling to the ground. He handed the pieces to Johnny.

‘Take the left side, and keep your gun handy,’ he commanded. ‘I’ll take the right.’

Johnny ran to the first house and threw a brick at the bay window. It cracked. He picked it up and threw again. He could see movement through a grimy set of curtains. He threw one final time, aiming for the lower corner and the glass shattered. The biter inside threw itself into the broken window, scattering glass, and plunged towards him.

Johnny bolted, and threw a brick at the second house. This one broke in one throw, and he glanced back to see three biters were crawling out.

‘Johnny!’ Ghost appeared alongside him, tailed by five more. ‘Keep up.’

Ghost turned, and whistled, making the biters snarl. They sprinted down one road and up the next. Several other undead popped their heads out from behind parked cars and garden walls and joined the chase. Johnny could barely breathe, his throat burning. Perhaps he should have listened to Ghost. He felt like he was running in slow motion, his vision fuzzing in and out.

‘Up that tree,’ panted Ghost and before he could protest, he had grabbed him by the hips and shoved him up the smooth trunk of a large poplar. ‘Get up you bastard.’ He pushed him, Johnny’s hands scraping against the bark.

There was no time to speak, and Ghost had no time to stop.

‘Stay, I’ll be back,’ he said, and ducked out the way of an undead lunging at him. He paced backwards, eyeing them. ‘Come on you horrible bastards. On me.’

Ears ringing, every muscle screaming, Johnny clung to the tree and could only watch as the biters swarmed past, hissing and shrieking. The mass followed Ghost around a bend and disappeared from sight.

Johnny blinked back tears. This was the stupidest plan Ghost had ever conceived and he’d just…let him. Johnny felt for his gun with a shaking hand. He should have shot out his knees and dragged him back himself. He should have-

Johnny jumped as a sudden, loud blast echoed down the winding road. He slithered down, legs feeling like chewed wire, and hobbled down the street, drawing his gun and clicking off the safety.

He smelt burning metal drifting on the wind, and caught the black tendril of smoke above the row of houses. He heard a hiss and saw a biter slowly stumble out from behind a cluster of wheelie bins. Johnny levelled his gun and fired, then, as he reached the next tree, haltingly climbed it.

Several hours later Johnny picked out a skull mask heading towards him in the increasing gloom. He thought for a second he’d hallucinated it, until he saw he wasn’t alone. There was another man with him, slumped over and clutching his stomach, his steps halting.

Ghost stopped, looked up, and spotted him immediately.

‘That’s not the same tree,’ he said.

Johnny wanted to hit him. He climbed down and nodded at the man he was holding by his collar.

‘New friend?’ he asked.

‘Something like that,’ replied Ghost. Dragging the man by the scruff of his neck he moved over to a garage and knelt to open it.

‘What happened?’

‘Took care of that tank,’ said Ghost, still struggling with the door. He let go of the man and he fell, crashing onto the driveway like a fallen tree. ‘Help me with this.’

Johnny grabbed hold of the door and pulled. The garage door rose and they moved inside.

‘What about the PMCs?’ questioned Johnny.

‘Scattered,’ replied Ghost. ‘Caught this one in the chaos.’ With a grunt he grabbed him by one ankle and pulled him inside.

The garage was pitch back. Johnny could hear the laboured breathing of the mercenary and listened as Ghost dragged him over to the far side of the garage. The space was abruptly illuminated with a fizzing red hand flare. Ghost dropped it to the floor, making scarlet shadows jump and dance up the walls. Slumped against the brickwork the mercenary weakly raised his head. Ghost squatted in front of him, a knife flashing into his hand. He prodded the man’s belly, making him squeal.

‘You know it can take an hour to bleed out from a gut wound,’ he said, sounding quite conversational. He leaned in and pressed his knife against the man’s throat. ‘Now you can die fast or you can die slow. I just have some questions first.’

The mercenaries’ eyes shone in the red light. He glared at Ghost.

‘Leave me here,’ he said in heavily accented English. ‘I die.’

Ghost shifted his weight on the concrete floor. He glanced over his shoulder at Johnny, and then, looking back at the mercenary he pulled off his mask. He opened his mouth, peeling his lips back and exposed long, jagged canines that glinted wetly in the dim light.

Johnny gave a heavy swallow, trying not to step back. He’d kissed that mouth.

Ghost leaned in, mouth in line with the mercenaries’ ear. ‘If you don’t talk you don’t get to stay dead,’ he said quietly.

The mercenary baulked, trying to jerk back and ground his head against the brick wall. Ghost pulled back, head tilted, meeting his eyes. In the pulsating red light he looked especially eerie.

‘Now then,’ he said. ‘Ready to answer my question?’

The mercenary nodded. He suddenly coughed, dark fluid bubbling over his lips and down his chin. When he finally spoke his voice was faint.

‘Fine. Question. Ask.’

‘What’s Volk group doing in England?’ rumbled Ghost. ‘Why are you here?’

The mercenaries’ nostrils flared.

‘Well?’ said Ghost when he didn’t answer.

‘Virus,’ he finally blurted out.

‘What?’ said Johnny, dumbfounded. ‘You don’t have it in your country?’

The mercenary managed to drag his eyes away from Ghost and looked at him.

‘No have,’ he said thickly. ‘Only want.’ He looked back at Ghost, chin raised in defiance. ‘No more question. Kill me.’

Ghost didn’t argue or try to press him. He nodded and his blade drew against the man’s throat in a single, practiced motion.

‘Spokoynoy nochi,’ he muttered and stood up. He didn’t look at Johnny as he pulled his mask back on.

‘Let’s move out,’ he said, turning away. ‘Soap,’ he added when Johnny didn’t move.

Johnny was silent as he stumbled after him. Those teeth. His face. He stared at his back. But-despite everything he was still him. Johnny opened his mouth but it was Ghost that spoke first. He stopped as the church came into view, resting a hand on the metal sign. He stared up at it as he spoke.

‘Look if you’re freaked out just say so. I know this-‘ here he gestured to himself. ‘I’m-well it’s fucked up. I’m fucked up. You don’t have to be with me. But I’ll see you safe Johnny. I’ll find somewhere you can go.’ He finally turned around, meeting Johnny’s eyes. ‘Johnny?’

Johnny’s mouth was dry. He chewed at his bottom lip as he fought for the right words.

‘I won’t pretend that thinking of those teeth so close to my dick doesn’t freak me out but-‘ he closed the space between them, one hand curling under Ghost’s plate carrier to tug him closer. ‘You were an ugly bastard behind that mask anyway, LT. Why the fuck would I leave, hm? You’re all I want, fucked up or not.’

Behind his mask Ghost laughed. ‘You always were a fucking idiot, MacTavish, even before the bullet to the brain.’

Before Johnny could protest he ducked his head and kissed him, lips crashing into his. Johnny grabbed his behind to pull him closer and Ghost hissed. Johnny immediately let go.

‘Why are you-?’

‘It’s fine,’ said Ghost. ‘Just caught a couple rounds.’

‘You got shot?!’ cried Johnny. ‘And you didn’t tell me?!’

Ghost grabbed hold of his shoulder, pulling him towards the church. ‘It’s not as though I’m gonna bleed out, is it?’

‘Where?’ said Johnny.

‘We’ll discuss it inside,’ replied Ghost.

Johnny struggled out of his grip.

‘Ghost, where?’ he asked insistently.

Ghost ducked his gaze. He muttered something as he unlocked the church doors.

‘What was that?’ said Johnny.

‘I got shot in my arse, alright?’ Ghost rounded on him, voice raised. ‘One in the thigh and one in my arse. Happy now?’

Johnny grinned.

‘Suppose I better kiss it better LT.’ He followed him inside.

Chapter 11: cream

Trousers and boxers puddled around his ankles, Ghost shifted under Johnny’s hands like a restless horse.

‘Come here,’ said Johnny insistently, huffing as Ghost moved away again. ‘I can’t see unless you stand next to the light you giant eejit.’

Ghost grunted as he dug into his flesh with the knife.

‘You removing a bullet or digging me a new arsehole back there MacTavish?’

‘Haud yer wheesht,’ said Johnny, digging the blade in more firmly, Ghost flinching. ‘You big baby. It’s no’ that deep.’

‘That supposed to be English?’ Ghost craned his head, struggling to keep him in his sights. It looked like he was about to say something but then he hissed sharply between his teeth as Johnny dug the point of the blade deeper.

‘I can feel it,’ said Johnny. ‘I need something thinner. You sure you don’t have some tweezers? Or a screwdriver maybe?’

‘You’re not sticking a screwdriver into my arse.’ Ghost turned and grabbed Johnny’s wrist. ‘It’s fine, leave it.’

‘You can’t just leave it!’ cried Johnny exasperated. ‘Just fucking stand still and bend over.’ He reached for the candle and moved it closer.

‘Is this supposed to be foreplay?’ said Ghost. ‘I’d prefer hot wax if it comes down to it.’

Johnny slapped his uninjured buttock, making him jump.

‘Last warning,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Or I’m using my teeth.’

‘Don’t.’ Ghost’s voice was strangled.

Johnny, with a glance at him, dug a finger into the bullet hole and felt his fingertip nudge against metal. Finger turning he pried it out, Ghost grunting in pain. The bullet fell to the floor with a clink, blood slowly oozing from the wound. Johnny leaned in to kiss his skin and Ghost sprang away. He pressed a hand to his behind, wincing.

‘Are you fucking mad?! You could catch the bloody virus.’

Johnny looked up at him, pouting.

‘Really? That’s what you’re worried about? Didn’t think that when we were shagging, or kissing.’ He grabbed for Ghost with a bloody hand, slamming him down in the chair and making him yelp. ‘We’re not done.’

He knelt next to Ghost’s leg, a perfectly round bullet hole peppering his broad thigh.

Ghost snorted through his nose as he cautiously prodded the muscle with the knife.

‘Maybe you’re not a carrier,’ continued Johnny, grabbing for his leg as he twitched away. ‘Maybe it’s different for you.’

‘Maybe,’ said Ghost but he didn’t sound convinced.

Johnny glanced at him from under his eyelashes. He was staring fixedly ahead, eyes blank behind the mask. He wanted to ask what had been niggling at him since they’d reunited.

‘What are you huffing and puffing for?’ said Ghost and then growled something under his breath as Johnny angled the blade.

Johnny pulled back, one hand resting on his leg. ‘Whats it like, dying?’ he asked quietly.

‘Don’t remember.’ Ghost’s tone was casual, disinterested, but behind his mask his jaw tightened.

Johnny sighed. He hadn’t expected one. He thought of the tunnel, and the bullet, and the white, blinding flash of light. Perhaps they’d been nothing for Ghost, like they’d been nothing for him. He continued his work and finally the second bullet came free, plopping into his palm. He stood up, dropping it onto the table. Ghost looked up as he slotted between his legs. He rested a hand on one of his hips.

‘I lied,’ he said, squeezing Johnny’s flesh, although there wasn’t much left to squeeze.

‘Hm?’

Ghost leaned in, resting his masked forehead on his chest. His other arm came up and he wrapped them around his lower back. He spoke into his too-big hoodie.

‘I died thinking of you,’ he said. ‘I remember all of it. The bite. The fever. My limbs locking up.’ Ghost swallowed. ‘It felt like I was drowning and all I could think was I’d let you down. I’d fucked it all up.’ Ghost moved back slightly, staring up at him. ‘Do you-can you forgive me?’

Johnny frowned. He felt under the edges of Ghost’s mask and slowly inched it up. Ghost didn’t stop him.

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ he said, watching his scarred face slowly reveal itself.

Stripped bare Ghost looked distraught, dark eyes pleading.

‘I wasn’t fair to you in the beginning,’ he said, voice barely higher than the crackle of the candle. ‘You wanted more but I wasn’t ready to give it-‘

‘Ghost, I don’t remember. I don’t remember what you did or didn’t do. I just remember you. I came back for you. All I’ve thought about since waking is you.’

Ghost nodded. His mouth twisted before he spoke again.

‘Whatever you want you can have it. I’m-‘ his throat bobbed as he gave a heavy swallow. ‘I want you, Johnny. If you’ll have me.’

Johnny grinned. ‘You know it almost sounds like you’re asking me out, LT.’

The arms around him tightened.

‘I am,’ said Ghost.

‘I thought we were just keeping things casual?’

‘John. I’m serious.’

Ghost’s eyes were so dark and so deep Johnny wondered if it was possible to swim in them. If so he’d never surface. He felt his gut clench.

‘Great,’ he finally said, trying to keep his voice light, trying not to show how much those words affected him, made him want to jump up and down like a teenage girl. ‘Can’t wait to have a picnic in between all the screaming, shouting and shooting.’

Ghost stood up, letting go of him and pushing him away.

‘You can’t take things seriously for a second can you? I’m fucking spilling my guts here Johnny! I’m-‘

Johnny grabbed hold of the back of his t-shirt, pulling him back.

‘Simon. I’m serious too.’ He looked up at Ghost. ‘I love picnics. Can’t beat a scotch egg.’

‘You-‘ tried Ghost, before Johnny leaned in and kissed him.

He pulled back. ‘And I’d rather be in your guts than spilling them.’

 

Johnny sunk into him as he leaned over the table, running a stained hand down the broad length of his back, tracing the scars there, an atlas of past hurts. Would the bullet holes scar? Would they heal? Ghost gasped as he started to fuck him, hammering into him with long, hard strokes. Johnny tangled a hand in his blonde hair, wrenching his head back. His skin slapped against Ghost’s behind, making him flinch and whine at the same time.

‘C’mon Simon, make some noise for me,’ he panted. ‘Wanna hear you.’

He slammed into him, the table jolting across the room, and Ghost groaned.

‘That’s it. Good lad,’ gasped Johnny. He leaned in, kissing between Ghost’s shoulder blades and making him shiver.

Ghost continued to whine as he fucked him, sweat pouring off him, muscles trembling. He poured himself into him, his cock pulsing. Ghost’s heavy length swung between his thighs as he was pounded. Ghost whined as he seized hold of it, tugging, but there was no response. Johnny let go, brushing a hand over his chest instead, feeling Ghost shudder. Johnny could feel his pleasure cresting, about to crash.

‘Are you gonna-?’ he ventured.

Ghost reached back, digging a hand into his thigh, wordlessly urging him on. Johnny’s strokes became ragged. He spilled with a deep groan, biting down, cock pulsing. He had to grab hold of the table as he pulled back, his legs trembling. He collapsed in the chair and watched Ghost reaching for his underwear. He caught hold of his wrist.

‘You didn’t finish,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to-?’

Ghost shook his head. His voice sounded strained at the edges.

‘I’m tired, Johnny. I’m gonna go to sleep.’

Johnny glanced at the candle and saw it was almost burnt out. He pinched the wick and snuffed out the light.

 

Johnny stared into the darkness. He couldn’t sleep. He turned onto his side. In the gloom all he could see of Ghost was his skull faced mask, the rest of him an incomprehensible lump under the blanket. Johnny listened to his steady breathing. What now? What next? He was scared to ask and scared of the answer. He’d found Ghost but what about everyone else? He knew he had a family, out there somewhere, but when he tried to think of them the memories slipped away, fading in and out, like a cine film. He felt nothing for them. There was only…him. This man that wasn’t a man at all. Not anymore.

Johnny shifted closer. He reached for the edges of Ghost’s mask and jumped as a heavy hand seized hold of his wrist, grip crushing.

‘Can’t sleep?’ said Ghost.

‘Have you been awake this whole time?’ asked Johnny.

‘Could feel your eyes on me,’ said Ghost. He let go of his wrist.

Johnny turned onto his back, staring up at the blank square of ceiling.

‘Pfft and you say you’re not Spider-Man,’ he remarked.

‘I’d rather be Batman,’ replied Ghost, moving to prop himself up on one elbow. ‘He gets to shag Catwoman. I like brunettes.’

‘Excuse me,’ said Johnny, nose wrinkling. ‘That’s your reasoning? You want to get into some bird’s knickers?’

‘You know I was considering stepping down from the task force before you joined,’ continued Ghost. Johnny could feel his eyes grazing over him. ‘Then we met in, where was it? That shitty safehouse in Turkmenistan. And I told Major Walker to stuff his promotion and stayed on.’

Johnny sat up. ‘Do you mean to tell me you turned down a promotion because you fancied your new sergeant?’

In the darkness Ghost chuckled. ‘I think it worked out well in the end.’

‘Yeah the undead and the destruction of civilised society is just the icing on the cake,’ replied Johnny. ‘Wait. So I’m Catwoman in this scenario? Don’t think I’m qualified LT.’

‘You like cats don’t you,’ said Ghost, edging closer.

Johnny jumped as a wet tongue licked his ear. He hadn’t even noticed him removing his mask. Ghost’s hand slipped down the length of him and crept into his waistband.

‘Aye I do like cats,’ said Johnny, no longer recollecting what they were talking about. Childhood pets?

‘Purr for me,’ said Ghost, hand slipping lower.

Johnny’s thoughts whited out.

 

Johnny woke up to a crash and sat up in a panic, scrambling for the knife he’d left under a corner of the sleeping bag. He blinked hazy eyes and saw Ghost was standing next to him, frozen in place. The noise had been him dropping a tin of evaporated milk.

‘Didn’t mean to wake you,’ said Ghost. ‘Go back to sleep.’

Johnny rubbed his eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Packing up,’ replied Ghost, turning to a backpack on the table. ‘I did your pack too.’

‘Don’t fancy taking a chance with the Russians?’ Johnny stretched, and felt Ghost’s eyes on him, tracing the line of dark hair that ran down his stomach.

Ghost leaned against the table, making it creak. He turned the tin over in his hands before he stabbed it with a serrated knife, slowly peeling open the lid. He handed it to Johnny.

‘When this first started, before everything went to hell, I heard things. Even sitting by your bedside, I overheard Gaz and Price talking. Nurses. Radio chatter. Liverpool they all kept saying. I thought they were talking about the footie.’ He looked at Johnny now wiping evaporated milk off his beard. ‘They all said Liverpool. I think that’s where the Russians are heading, and I think that’s where we should go too.’

Johnny frowned, setting down the tin.

‘Who’s Gaz?’ he asked.

 

‘You really don’t remember?’ Ghost was saying. ‘What about when he fell out the helicopter?’

Staring at the never ending grey road out of the city Johnny’s mind flashed back to a very different helicopter.

‘Cmon, c’mon.’ Price was standing with one leg on the lip of the cabin. He hustled him inside the thrumming helo, a hand pressed against his back.

Johnny looked down at himself. He was brown edged with dust and sand, the wind whipping off the desert and ruffling his hair.

He hung over the side as they rose, and saw the dunes, glowing hot and orange as lava in the unrelenting desert sun. He finally pulled his head in and ducked inside.

Ghost was sitting, legs spread, in one of the narrow seats. Johnny nodded at him. Ghost barely glanced up.

Johnny felt a prickle past down his neck. He moved down the heli and sat down opposite, nudging one of his boots with his foot.

‘Sleep well LT?’ he asked, smirking, remembering the feeling of his hands on him, the hot wet mouth on his neck, the stretch of his cock.

Ghost grunted. He crossed his arms, and looked not past but straight through him, dark eyes cold, like chips of coal.

The smile on Johnny’s face dropped. He cleared his throat. Still despite getting up at an ungodly hour, even for the army, he knew Ghost wasn’t a morning person. Perhaps he was just tired. He tried again.

‘Guess I wore you out last night,’ he said, leaning in so Gaz couldn’t hear.

A frown flashed across his Lieutenant’s face. When he finally spoke his voice was hard edged.

‘What the fuck are you talking about Sergeant?’

 

‘Johnny what the fuck are you doing?’

Ghost had stalled, standing several lengths away. Johnny looked down at his appropriated combat boots. He’d stopped dead in the middle of the road.

‘You bastard,’ he breathed.

‘What?’ Ghost sounded baffled. ‘You feelin’ alright?’

Johnny resumed walking, a quick march. Ghost lagged after him.

‘Johnny? Johnny, what’s wrong?’

Johnny rounded on him. ‘I remember what you did,’ he hissed.

If Ghost had sounded baffled before now he sounded completely confounded. He caught up with him in a single long-legged stride, jogging alongside.

‘What did I do?’

‘In the heli when we left Libya.’ Johnny’s teeth ground together. ‘After we-‘ he couldn’t look at him, striding on ahead, eyes fixed on distant buildings. ‘You made me feel this big,’ he finally said, holding up two fingers for emphasis.

Now he remembered he couldn’t stop, memories tumbling from the dark corners of his mind, all of them smearing together like an oily stain. Ghost appearing in his room at midnight, after days of ignoring him, Ghost cornering him in a safe house and bending him over a table, leaving him sticky and wanting. Ghost paying no attention to him at all. Leaving him. Appearing only when he wanted something like a bloody phantom. Johnny stopped in the middle of a wide road, packed with abandoned cars, fury burning through him.

‘And that wasnae the first time was it?!’ His voice raised. ‘All those times- all I wanted was some fucking acknowledgement! You fucking arsehole. No wunder yous was so set on apologising you big sassenach bastard!’

His accent thickened the angrier he got. Ghost looked agonised. He crept closer until Johnny jabbed him in the chest.

‘Don’t.’ The word was a barrier. Ghost took a step back.

‘Johnny,’ he said, sounding pleading.

‘No wunder yous been so off wi’ me you glaikit cunt. Get ta’ fuck Simon bloody Riley. Oh yous sat by my bedside did ya? Big fucking deal.’ He shoved Ghost in the chest. ‘Bet yous was proper sweating I’d remember all the shite you did tae me. It wasnae even aboot being a bloody…whatever yous are now, was it aye?’

‘Johnny I said I’m sor-‘ began Ghost.

Before he could finish the car window next to Johnny shattered. He ducked and another thudded into the side. Drawing his pistol he looked around. Ghost dropped next to him, an arm across his chest.

‘Johnny get out of here I’ve got this!’

Johnny ignored him, looking wildly around for the source of the shooting. He finally spied a black helmet peering out from behind a BMW.

‘One of the PMCs,’ he panted. ‘1 o’clock. You see him?’

Ghost angled himself, keeping his body between Johnny and the shooter. ‘Yeah I see the fucker.’

The two of them ducked as another rattle of gunfire whistled overhead.

‘Cover me,’ said Ghost, and dove behind the next car.

Johnny fired. Ghost covered ground in a matter of seconds, the shooter baffled, looking left and right. Johnny heard a rattling hiss and looked around in alarm. At the other end of the road several biters had appeared and were making a beeline straight for them.

‘Ghost we’ve got company!’ he called. He stood, and fired, hitting one and missing another. He smacked the first around the face with his pistol as it reached him. Grabbing his knife with his off-hand he plunged it into its eye and kicked it away. A second jumped off the bonnet of a parked car and pounced. Johnny saw right down its gaping throat, jaws spread wide before gunfire thudded through its head and it wilted.

Ghost grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him through the tangle of stationary cars, pausing to fire again.

‘Go let’s go,’ he barked. ‘We need to find cover.’

Johnny wrenched away from him and potted another.

‘Soap you’re gonna run out of bullets!’ growled Ghost, grabbing for him.

‘Get off me,’ snarled Johnny, but at seeing more biters swarming around the bend he holstered his gun and ran, vaulting over parked cars.

They sprinted out and onto a slip road, leap frogging through jammed cars. Johnny jumped as a trapped biter head butted a windshield.

‘We need to get out the city,’ said Ghost, pulling him away. ‘This way. We can cross over the motorway and head out into the fields.’

Johnny glanced back. The cars had slowed the biters. He ran after Ghost.

 

They walked from the city into a hinterland of scrub and empty industrial estates. It grew hotter, the air thicker. They marched across a large grey car park, Johnny glaring at Ghost’s back. Ghost stopped at a chain link fence and climbed up, making it rattle. He sat astride and reached down to help him up.

Johnny pointedly ignored him and scrambled up himself, although it was a challenge with his pack dragging at his back like a turtle’s shell. He was wheezing by the time he made it over, feeling Ghost’s eyes tracking his every movement.

‘C’mon,’ Johnny snapped as the other man lingered although what he really wanted to do was lie down on the concrete. ‘Daylights wasting.’

The wasteland gradually gave way to overgrown farmland, the land turning green before their eyes. Johnny walked through a dense field, the tall grass brushing against his waist. Every time he peeked at Ghost the other man was staring back at him, brown eyes agonised.

Finally, as they pushed through a thorned hedge and wandered out onto what Johnny thought had been a golf course, Ghost halted.

‘Let’s stop here,’ he said.

‘We’ve only been walking for a few hours,’ said Johnny, refusing to let on how relieved he felt. His feet were killing him.

‘That’s enough,’ said Ghost. He winced as he heaved off his pack and tentatively took a seat in the grass, favouring his right side.

Johnny had forgotten about his injuries. Despite how angry he was he felt a little bad. He felt worse as he ate cold ravioli out a tin and Ghost watched with big sad eyes.

‘Can heat that up for you,’ he offered.

‘Don’t need fuck all from you,’ snapped Johnny. ‘Surprised you’re still here. You always loved to pull a disappearing act.’

Ghost sighed. He didn’t try to argue.

He followed Johnny as he headed towards a beech tree. Johnny turned and crossed his arms.

‘Why the fuck are you following me?’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Ghost.

‘To take a pish what do you bloody think!?’ exploded Johnny.

‘Johnny I said I’m sorry. You said you forgave me. I don’t know what else I can do.’ Ghost rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m not good at this shit.’

Johnny walked away from him. He didn’t follow.

Having nothing else to do Johnny flicked through his sketchbook. He tried to draw the tank but the pencil felt clumsy between his fingers, a piece of wood rather than an extension of himself. Sighing he lay back on his sleeping bag and watched the sky slowly purple. Maskless, Ghost flopped down next to him.

‘Fuck off,’ said Johnny.

Ghost abruptly stood up. ‘Alright,’ he said, and stalked off towards the line of trees.

Johnny watched him go. He refused to feel bad. He looked back up at the sky and marvelled at the vastness of it.

 

He didn’t come back. Johnny glanced over the makeshift camp. He’d left all his gear. Did he even need gear? Did he still get cold? Thirsty? He hadn’t thought to ask. As the sun set and the sky grew inky Johnny began to worry. He stood up and was about to shout but then he thought of the biters. He sat back down on his sleeping bag, staring out into the darkness.

‘Johnny.’ A solid body pressed up against him.

Johnny jerked away. He sat up. Ghost was next to him, illuminated like his namesake in icy moonlight.

‘Where the fuck did you go?’ he hissed.

‘You told me to fuck off, so I did,’ replied Ghost with a shrug.

‘I didn’t mean literally!’ cried Johnny.

Ghost’s only answer was to shrug again. Then he felt in his pocket and pulled out several shining packets. He tipped them into Johnny’s lap. He undid the pockets of his vest, producing more and finally, with a flourish, a bottle.

‘What the fuck is all this?’ said Johnny, picking them up. ‘Where did you get twenty fucking chocolate bars from?’

‘Found a newsagent,’ said Ghost. ‘Most of the stuff was looted but I found a few in the back.’ He nodded to the bottle. ‘Got you some Iru-Bru.’

‘You think because I’m Scottish I love Iru-Bru?’ said Johnny, cracking open the bottle. He raised it to his lips, trying not to smile. ‘You’re right. I do.’

Ghost stared at his throat as he took a long swig.

‘Fuck that’s good,’ said Johnny. ‘What is this? Is this instead of flowers then?’

Ghost shifted on the grass.

‘I can get flowers,’ he said, standing up. ‘There were roses in a garden-‘

‘Oh sit down you big eejit,’ said Johnny, tugging at his trousers. ‘I can’t take you glomming around me like a wet weekend in Aberdeen.’

Ghost sat. He nodded to the pile of chocolate bars. ‘What one are you gonna eat first then?’

Johnny sifted through them. ‘I was always partial to a Starbar.’

‘You have diabolical taste in chocolate, MacTavish,’ said Ghost, settling next to him and leaning back.

‘Mm and men it seems like,’ replied Johnny, and ripped open the wrapper. ‘You’re on thin ice, Lieutenant.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant,’ said Ghost. He wiggled slightly on the grass like a dog, trying to make himself comfortable. ‘My arse still hurts.’

Johnny finished the Starbar and opened a Twix. ‘If that’s meant to be a come on I’m no’ biting. I’m still pure radgin.’

‘Please,’ pleaded Ghost. ‘Speak English.’

Johnny threw a Snickers at him. Ghost was silent, trying not to watch him eat and failing.

‘Do you think this counts as a picnic?’ he finally asked.

‘Well there’s no scotch eggs but I suppose it’ll do,’ replied Johnny. He gazed up at the moon and sighed. ‘Be almost romantic if I wasn’t so pissed off at you.’

Ghost moved until his forehead bumped his arm. Johnny didn’t stop him. After a moment he brushed a hand through his hair.

‘Don’t leave,’ he said, and winced at the desperation in his voice. ‘Don’t leave again.’

Ghost curled an arm around his back. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said.

They sat in silence, staring up at the moon. As first dates went Johnny supposed it could be worse. 

Chapter 12: violet

Johnny was in the gym, on his last set of deadlifts, when a harassed looking lance corporal appeared, sweating through his uniform. He dithered at the edge of the room, trying to catch Johnny’s eye. Johnny slowly lowered the bar (450, a new personal best, he’d have to text Gaz later), undid his belt, and padded over to him.

‘Sergeant MacTavish?’ said the lance corporeal breathlessly.

‘Yeah?’ said Johnny, taking a sip of water and watching the soldier’s gaze resting on his chest as he swallowed. He wasn’t bad looking. Little young though. He must be new.

‘Lieutenant Riley wants to see you in his office,’ said the soldier. ‘He said right now.’

Johnny frowned. ‘Tell him I’ll be there when I’m finished.’

‘He-he said it was urgent,’ mumbled the lance corporal, at great pains for Johnny to know they were Riley’s words and not his.

‘Aye, I’ll be right there.’ Johnny turned with a sigh, and started to unrack the bar.

 

‘You haven’t been answering your phone,’ were Ghost’s first words to him as he slammed into the office. He had been sitting behind his desk but now he immediately stood, so sharply the chair clattered to the floor. He quickly picked it up, clearing his throat, and turned around, standing stiffly like he was on parade.

‘I assumed if it was urgent Price would have called me,’ said Johnny. He mirrored his stance, chin up. ‘We got new orders?’

‘No. No. Johnny I-‘ Ghost ducked his head. He wasn’t wearing his mask, just a paper face mask, and he fiddled with the string, finally pulling it off.

Johnny tried not to stare as his face came into view. It was something he rarely got to see. Simon pretty boy Riley. Too good looking for his own good, even with all the scars and a thrice broken nose. It was hard for Johnny to stay angry at him, with his angelic blonde curls shining in the warm rays of sunlight filtering through the window, with the way Ghost was looking at him, lower lip pouting, big brown eyes sincere. But he was. Angry at him.

Ghost dropped his voice. ‘I phoned you yesterday. And I text you. You got a problem with your phone or summit?’

‘You text me are you up three days ago,’ said Johnny, eyes narrowed. ‘I wasn’t up. I didnae see it. Is that all sir or am I dismissed?’

Ghost stared down at his desk, gazing at something on the laptop screen. He spoke to that rather than meet Johnny’s eyes.

‘No that’s not all. I-‘ he chewed at his lower lip.

Johnny felt a little twinge in his belly, remembering all the times he had bitten it for him. He shifted his weight.

‘Those are some short shorts,’ said Ghost suddenly and their eyes met.

‘You called me in here to complain about my shorts? Take it up with Price or Walker.’

‘No. No!’ Ghost came out from behind the desk. He looked like he was about to grab his arm but clearly Johnny’s sneer put him off. He stood awkwardly an arms lengths away, fiddling with pencils in the Sports Direct mug on the desk. ‘There’s a gig, in July, of that band you like. I got tickets. I thought we could go, I mean, if we’re still here, but it’s on a Sunday, and we could get food first or a beer. Or after. Whatever you prefer.’ He picked up a violet pen, looked at it, and set it back down.

Johnny, watching him, was baffled.

‘Are you having a fucking stroke LT?’ He finally uncrossed his arms.

‘Feels like I might be,’ said Ghost, still staring fixedly at the pens and pencils. ‘Well? What do you think?’

‘What band?’ asked Johnny, intrigued.

‘Limp Bizkit.’

‘Oh. Yeah I-I do like them.’ He ran a hand through his mohawk. ‘Don’t recall ever mentioning that.’

‘You made Price play break stuff through the heli speakers.’

For a second Johnny saw it, saw them together standing awkwardly at the gig, Ghost scowling at the crowds, at the loud music, maybe even scowling at him. Would he wear his mask? Would he talk to him, really talk to him, other than making shit jokes or innuendos?

Johnny sighed. ‘If you had asked me this a few months ago I might have said yes.’

Ghost finally dragged his gaze away from the mug. ‘You’re not?’

‘I don’t want to go anywhere with you,’ continued Johnny. ‘I can’t take this-‘ he let out a long breath. ‘You only like me at night.’

‘That’s not true!’ said Ghost. ‘I-look I’m shit at this sort of thing but-‘

Ghost’s phone suddenly buzzed, loud and urgent, rattling against the desk. They looked over at it. Boss flashed up on screen.

‘I have to take this,’ said Ghost.

 

Eating a Mars bar Johnny watched Ghost rolling up his sleeping bag.

‘That day,’ he began and Ghost immediately looked up.

‘Yeah?’ he said, moving closer on the dew wet grass.

‘The day we were called out to that bomb threat in the Underground. That was the same day you asked me out,’ said Johnny. ‘To see fucking Limp Bizkit.’

Ghost frowned slightly. Then he grinned.

‘I did it for the nookie,’ he said. ‘You remember then?’ He edged nearer, pulling up his mask with one hand. ‘You smell nice.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Johnny, staring at his mouth and wondering if he was about to kiss him. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna make up for all the shit you did with-with fucking chocolate bars and lame compliments.’

‘I still think you smell nice. Good enough to eat,’ said Ghost. He leaned in and Johnny parted his mouth in reflex but he chomped down on the Mars bar instead.

‘Oi!’ said Johnny pushing him away.

Ghost suddenly gagged. He got up, and walked several steps away before spitting out the chocolate. ‘Fuck that’s rank,’ he muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Johnny got up and rested a hand on his broad back. ‘You alright?’

‘Yeah. Fine,’ said Ghost tightly. He looked out over the golf course, squinting. ‘Is that a dinosaur?’

 

‘It is a dinosaur,’ said Johnny as they got closer. He pushed through the overgrown grass and stared up at it. ‘It looks like a t-rex.’

Ghost caught up with him.

‘Nah it’s an albertosaurus,’ he said. ‘Not as big as a t-rex, and it’s got a crest.’

Johnny stared at him.

‘What?’ said Ghost.

‘Alright Dr Malcolm.’ Turning away he spied another model in the near distance, and made his way towards it, Ghost following.

‘Life finds a way,’ said Ghost, in what was probably the worst Jeff Goldblum impression of all time. ‘Ha. Look at that one. That’s an ankylosaurus.’

‘Do you think he saurus?’ said Johnny, fighting through a patch of brambles to get closer.

Ghost snorted. ‘He lived in the cretaceous period, few million years between him and that other one though. Not very accurate.’

‘I had no idea you were such a repository of dinosaur facts,’ said Johnny, tearing grass away from the model’s face. He patted its nose.

Ghost looked past him, frowning. Then he pulled out his sniper rifle, squinting through the scope.

‘Trouble?’ said Johnny, immediately turning.

Ghost lowered his rifle. ‘No I was just reading the sign over there. Jurassic golf. D’ya wanna play?’

‘Don’t we need to be getting on?’

Ghost shrugged. ‘We’re not on a schedule.’ He set his rifle back in place.

‘We don’t have any golf clubs or balls,’ pointed out Johnny.

Ghost moved closer, grinning. ‘I’ve got a couple you can have.’ He crowded Johnny with his body, pushing him back against the model.

Johnny looked up at him and this time Ghost did kiss him, his gloved hands drifting to his hips and touching the tiny sliver of exposed skin he found there. He pulled back, and suddenly bent over, fishing in the patch of brambles. He straightened up, triumphantly holding two golf balls aloft.

‘Told you,’ he said.

They spent several hours throwing balls at all the flags they could find, and then at a particularly ugly model of a triceratops. Ghost decided that hitting the horn was worth the most points, and they spent the best part of an hour lining up shots. It grew steadily hotter. Johnny became more and more uncomfortable in his hoodie and body armour. Finally, stopping in the shade of the tree where he’d dumped his pack, he started to undress. Ghost, watching him, did the same.

‘Oi this isn’t a shared activity,’ said Johnny.

‘Was gonna give you my t-shirt,’ said Ghost. ‘You look a bit sweaty. Here, drink some water.’

He dug in his pack and handed him a bottle. As he glugged water Ghost stared at him. Johnny almost dropped the bottle as a split second later he pulled him into a tight hug, his chin resting on the top of his head, tucking him into him. Ghost didn’t do anything further. They stood there together, under the swaying tree, the long grass chirruping with grasshoppers, the humid air molten.

‘Guess it’s summer,’ said Johnny and took another swig of water.

‘We might make that concert after all,’ murmured Ghost, into his nape, and Johnny snorted water and almost choked.

‘We should get on,’ said Johnny eventually, leaning back against Ghost.

‘S’pose,’ said Ghost, sounding reluctant.

‘It was your idea to walk to Liverpool,’ Johnny reminded him. ‘What do you think is in Liverpool anyway?’ He gently extracted himself from Ghost’s grip and sat down on the grass, tossing the golf ball from hand to hand.

‘Aircraft carrier was docked there,’ said Ghost, joining him. ‘Probably isn’t anymore but.’ He shrugged. ‘Stranger things have happened. And if we come across any more Volk group I want to track ‘em. They clearly know something we don’t.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s not a good spot to be in.’

Johnny looked at the water bottle and then back at him. ‘You haven’t drunk anything.’

‘No. Can’t keep it down.’ Ghost shifted on the grass, his injury clearly aggravating him.

‘Are you in pain?’ questioned Johnny.

‘I’m fine,’ said Ghost tightly.

Johnny tugged at his arm. ‘Let me see.’ He looked around. ‘There’s no one here but those dinosaurs.’

Ghost got up and on his knees and Johnny carefully eased his trousers down. The bullet hole was a perfect, round red circle. Johnny brushed a hand over his velvety arse, making him flinch.

‘It looks fine,’ he said, although the wound looked unchanged. It hadn’t scabbed. Was he going to rot he suddenly though. Would he have to watch Ghost’s body slowly decay while his mind stayed intact, fully cognisant as bits of him shrivelled up and fell off?

Or worse, would he stay the same, unchanged, unhealing, until he was so wounded he couldn’t move anymore, chunks taken out of him. What if he lost his legs? Or even his eyes? Would he go on, a living faceless lump of flesh? The thought made Johnny shiver, his skin goose bumping despite the hot, heavy air. He stared at Ghost, eyes blurring.

Ghost jumped as he flung his arms around him in their second embrace of the day. Johnny squeezed him so tightly he hissed but he didn’t try to pry him off, only gently patted his arm.

‘It’s alright,’ murmured Ghost although he couldn’t have had any idea what he was thinking. ‘It’s alright love. You’ll be alright.’

Johnny sucked a deep shaking breath. As he did a rumble of thunder sounded in the east.

The sky hung over them like a heavy shroud as they walked over the golf course and into more fields. At the crest of a hill Johnny looked out. He could see a sheet of rain in the distance, steadily moving closer. The sky flashed, momentarily dazzling him. Ghost nudged his shoulder and he followed.

‘We can bunk here,’ said Ghost, turning onto a driveway that Johnny hadn't even noticed, half hidden by overgrown hedges on either side.

Johnny looked up and saw a white house at the end of a long gravelled path. He grabbed for Ghost.

‘Wait!’ he hissed.

Ghost stopped, and looked at him, head slightly tilted.

‘You sure you’re alright?’ he said, and pressed a hand to Johnny’s sweaty forehead. ‘You got another fever?’

‘There could be someone in there!’ continued Johnny, trying to keep his voice down and not completely succeeding. His heart was thudding in panic. He had a vision of another house, another shotgun, Ghost blown into meat.

‘Johnny.’ Ghost bumped him with his shoulder. ‘There’s no one there.’

‘How do you know? Unless you really are lying to me about the spider senses.’

Ghost smiled. ‘Look, I’ll go first.’

‘No!’ Johnny grabbed for him.

Another roar of thunder sounded over them, so loud it made Johnny flinch. Lightening flashed in the sky, and he had to blink. In that split second Ghost pulled away from him and marched towards the house. Johnny ran after him.

‘Ghost!’ he shouted. ‘Wait!’

Ghost stopped on the doorstep. He booted the door and it sprang open. Johnny staggered back, not in fear, but because a haze of stench had been released, uncurling in the humid air. He gagged.

‘Stay back,’ said Ghost. ‘I’ll sort it.’

Johnny wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. He retched and staggered several paces away, to throw up chocolate tasting vomit into the brambles. Several minutes later Ghost emerged with a lump wrapped in a pair of stained purple curtains. He ducked back into the house and came back out lugging a discoloured mattress. He looked down at the swaddled corpse and then at Johnny.

‘We’ll burn all this,’ he said. He squinted up at the sky. ‘Got a few before the storm hits proper.’

 

The house was neat inside, with old fashioned fitted carpets and matching wallpaper. It’s unfortunate owner had gone for a theme for each room. The living room was green, with matching green sofas. Ghost stomped around the house, opening all the windows. He stopped in the doorway, watching Johnny building a fire in the fireplace.

‘Oh a little bushcraft this evening Sergeant MacTavish.’ He leaned against the doorway watching.

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ said Johnny. ‘But I have a lighter.’

‘Do you remember that time in Estonia with the wire wool?’ said Ghost.

‘Fuck yes it was freezing. And there was a cabin just down the mountain side that you completely missed because you read the map wrong,’ said Johnny. The fire blazed to life under his hands. He sat cross legged on the green rug and watched it.

He listened to Ghost’s bootsteps move across the room. He settled on the sofa next to him. A heavy hand pressed against his head, stroking through his hair. After a moment Johnny leaned back. Ghost continued to pet him.

‘You do remember then,’ he said.

Johnny closed his eyes.

‘Aye,’ he said quietly. ‘Maybe I’ll remember more as time goes on.’

He felt Ghost’s fingers travel lightly over his shorn scalp and rest on his shoulders.

‘What now?’ said Johnny, stretching out his legs.

‘What do you mean?’ replied Ghost.

Johnny half turned, looking up at him.

‘If there’s nothing in Liverpool. If there’s nothing anywhere. What are we gonna do?’

‘Survive,’ replied Ghost, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He began to massage his shoulders, pressing down firmly on sore muscle.

Johnny turned back to the fire, eyes trained on the dancing orange flames. It was a struggle not to be distracted.

‘And when we’re done surviving, what then?’

Ghost sighed. ‘I don’t think there’s gonna be a then, Johnny. I think this is it.’

Johnny sat for a while digesting this. Then he had another thought. ‘Do you think it’s like this everywhere? The whole world? I mean not Russia according to that PMC but everywhere else? Even…the Isle of Skye?’

Ghost snorted. ‘You think the entire world consists of here and the Isle of Skye?’

‘I always wanted to visit,’ said Johnny wistfully.

Ghost chuckled. ‘So we’ll go. Raise sheep or summit. Alright?’

‘Sounds almost romantic,’ said Johnny, drawing one leg up, and fiddling with his bootlaces.

‘I didn't realise you thought shovelling sheep shit was romantic,’ said Ghost. He moved, swinging one leg over him, and stood up. He held out a hand. ‘Let’s check out the rest of the house.’

While Ghost perused book shelves in a back room Johnny wandered into the aquamarine bathroom. He turned one of the bath taps, out of habit really, he wasn’t expecting anything. He exclaimed in surprise as water spluttered from the facet. Ghost appeared at his shout, worry in his eyes. He stared at the water and dove for the plug.

‘Holy hell,’ said Johnny, watching it. He held out a hand. The water was lukewarm. He glanced up at the ceiling. ‘There must a tank in the attic.’

They looked at each other, Johnny unable to stop grinning. Who knew he could be so delighted by the idea of a bath.

‘You can go first,’ said Ghost. ‘You need it more than me.’

‘Oi. Shut yer geggie you cheeky cunt,’ snapped Johnny. He ran an eye over the tub. ‘Anyway. No reason we can’t sit in it together.’

 

‘What are you reading?’ asked Johnny, leaning back against Ghost’s wet chest.

‘Brighton Rock,’ replied Ghost, turning another page.

‘Dunno how you can see in the bloody dark,’ remarked Johnny, reaching for a dried out sliver of soap and dunking it in the water. Outside the storm battered against the windows, the sky outside murky as an oil painting.

‘Perks of being dead,’ replied Ghost shortly.

‘Don’t call yourself that,’ said Johnny, lathering his face and scrubbing his beard. Maybe he should shave. There was probably a razor somewhere.

Ghost set down the book on the edge of the bath. ‘What should I call myself then? Pulse impaired?’

‘Heartless,’ said Johnny, turning with a grin. Ghost didn’t return his smile. ‘Sorry. I’m just messing with you.’

Ghost picked the book back up, concealing his face with it. Johnny turned and moved up the bath so he could look at him, wedged between his large thighs. Glancing at him Ghost flipped back to the first page.

‘Hale knew, before he had been in Brighton three hours, that they meant to murder him,’ Ghost read.

Johnny leaned back, wedged between the taps and Ghost’s cool body.

‘Go on,’ he said.

 

Lying outstretched on one of the green sofas Johnny slept poorly. Each time he dropped asleep he dreamt of the undead or worse of Roach. Shivering in the midst of one nightmare he watched a headless Roach crawling towards him, pleading for help. Behind him he heard taunting laughter, so close his head echoed with it.

Johnny sat up, gasping. Beneath the rattle of rain he could still hear it. A low, mocking cackle. He jumped to his feet, grabbing for his gun, and shouldered out the room.

‘Hm? Johnny?’ Ghost was slow to react, swaying as he rose and trailed after him.

Johnny tracked the laughter through the house to the back door. He peered through the rain dashed window, at the gloom outside. He saw a blurred shape behind him and swung around, but he was only Ghost, bare chested and glowing like marble in the shadows.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Ghost and yawned.

Johnny winced at his shredded jaw, no better or worse, still raw.

‘Can you hear that?’ said Johnny.

‘Hear what?’ said Ghost. He moved through the kitchen, bumping against a table. ‘There’s nothing out there.’ He tried the door handle. ‘I can keep watch if you like.’

Johnny looked at him, at the violet shadows under his eyes, and the tender wound on his throat. He looked exhausted. If he couldn’t drink, and he couldn’t eat, would he eventually dry out? He clapped one of his shoulders.

‘No. You go back to sleep.’ He tilted his head, all he could hear now was the storm outside. ‘I must have been dreaming.’

For once Ghost didn’t argue. He nodded and slumped back to the living room. Johnny sat at the kitchen table, gun within easy reach. He didn’t sleep.

 

The following afternoon they passed through a small village and Ghost took down two biters; one that had been lurking under a bridge and another that lunged out from behind a parked van. Johnny hadn’t even seen them. They crossed from there and back out into open fields. Ghost stopped at a fallen fence. He crouched.

‘This was electric,’ he said, fingering the tape.

‘Private land y’think?’ said Johnny, looking with him.

Ghost pulled out Johnny’s A-Z.

‘It’s not on the map.’ He straightened up, shrugging. ‘Probably an over enthusiastic farmer.’ He stepped over the fallen fence. ‘Be on your guard.’

‘Always am LT,’ replied Johnny. In the guise of needing to balance he rested a hand on Ghost’s lower back as he strode over the fence, taking comfort in the solid mass of him.

The fields beyond looked the same as all the others, verdant grassland rippling in the warm breeze. Johnny couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. He stopped briefly beneath a beech tree to take a sip of water. He was nearly out.

‘You alright?’ said Ghost, watching him. ‘Tell me if you need to stop.’

‘You fuss worse than my grandmother,’ huffed Johnny, screwing the lid back on the water bottle.

Ghost tugged his pack off and took a moment to stretch, swinging his arms. Then, he froze mid swing. His head swivelled around, staring across the empty green field.

‘Do you smell that?’

Johnny sniffed. He smell only damp vegetation and beneath it, the sour tang of his own sweat.

‘Smell what?’ he said and the words were barely out of his mouth before Ghost took off at a fast pace, gear jingling.

He froze several lengths away and lowered his weight, a hunting knife appearing in his hand. Beneath the whisper of rustling grass Johnny heard a low peal of laughter. Ghost stopped, Johnny jogging to catch up, mimicking his crouch. Ghost pointed. Hidden by the overgrown grass was a steep rise in the ground. Below, a metre drop down, was the bloody torn apart carcass of an animal, guts tangled in the grass like scarlet streamers. Standing over the body was a hyena. Johnny blinked several times, disbelieving. He drew his gun. As he did so Ghost jumped, thudding just in front of the body. The hyena slowly backed away, chuffing. Knife still in hand Ghost stalked towards it.

‘Ghost,’ hissed Johnny. ‘What are you doing!?’

Ghost growled. Not the irritated grunt that Johnny had heard him make countless times but a low dangerous rumble. He sounded like an animal. Like a monster. The hyena turned tail and fled, dashing across the grassland. Johnny scrambled down the bank. He holstered his gun and grabbed for the rifle, tracking the animals lope, watching it head for a cluster of trees some distance away.

‘Should I shoot it?’ he asked. ‘Ghost?’

Johnny dragged his eyes from the scope and looked back over his shoulder. Ghost was crouched over the carcass, his face hovering barely inches away, hands digging into the dirt. Johnny lowered the gun. He turned.

‘What the fuck. Am I hallucinating?’ he said. ‘What’s next, a lion?’

Ghost pulled off his mask and tore into the animals guts. He gulped down a long purple rope of intestine, then he dove in, prying open the beast's belly, his entire head disappearing inside. Drawing back he swallowed a mouthful of dark flesh, throat convulsing.

Johnny’s brain took several seconds to comprehend what he was looking at. He finally shook himself and grabbed for his shoulder. ‘Ghost what the fuck-? Ghost?’

Ghost turned, teeth flashing white, and snapped, growling like a dog. Johnny backed away.

‘What the fuck-what the fuck-‘

He didn't know who he was talking to. The only person here was the one currently gulping down bloody kidneys. Speechless he paced back, listening his lieutenant, his lover, ripping into the dead sheep with gusto. He flinched at the snap of bone. Ghost looked like the biters that had torn apart the horse, his hands moving the same desperate grasping way, fingers tearing into mottled flesh, his dark eyes vacant.

Johnny shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. ‘Ghost?’ he tried one final time, voice low.

Ghost didn’t answer, head down, hands bloody, jaws working away, congealing black blood leaking down his throat and glistening like jelly. The front of his t-shirt was sodden with it. Johnny heaved.

He walked away, swallowing down acid, feeling his stomach churn. Shaking his head he trailed back to where Ghost had left his pack. He stood there for several minutes, running his hands over his hair. Had he turned into one of those things? Was he going to attack him? Eat him? Here he pulled out his gun, staring down at it. Was he going to have to put him down? He swallowed, his throat catching. He couldn’t do it. Not like this. His bottom lip quavered and he dug his teeth into it. Get a fucking grip MacTavish.

Sucking in a deep breath in he strode back towards Ghost and peered over the ridge, grass seeds catching on his body armour. Ghost had vanished, the carcass stripped down to bone and  fleece. Johnny looked up, scanning the grassland. He couldn’t see any sign of him. He jumped down and landed on a discarded strip of material. He looked down. It was Ghost's mask. He shoved it into his pocket and walked on.

He struggled uphill, his thighs aching, his skin clammy beneath his hoodie. He looked left and right, seeing nothing but a wide expanse of rustling green. He felt as though he were adrift in a wide emerald sea. Then, finally, as he crested the top of a hill he saw a wooden house just beyond. He headed towards it.

A roar echoed over the empty endless pasture. He swung around and saw, perched on a rock, a sandy coloured lion. The lion roared again. He was going mad. He must be. Hyenas, and lions and his lieutenant eating soggy entrails like spaghetti. He’d died back in that tunnel and this was purgatory. He had to force himself to carry on, breaking out into a run, the lion bellowing like it was auditioning for a job as an MGM mascot.

There was the house, long and low. He slammed into the door, locked of course, but a single butt from his rifle shattered the glass. He reached through, unlocked the door and hurried inside, shutting the door firmly after him. It was second nature to search and sweep, his eyes picking out dark corners. As he did so he realised that what he had entered wasn’t a house at all. He holstered the rifle, and eased his heavy pack off, letting it thud to the floor, puffing up a cloud of dust.

He walked slowly to a low square table, packed with square displays of stationary and gemstones. He picked up an eraser, turning it over in his hands. West Midlands Safari Park it read in bold green font. Well. At least he wasn’t mad. Not yet anyway. He set down the eraser and picked up a pencil, reading the same lettering over and over. He grabbed a handful of pencils and shoved them into one pocket. Curiously he strode over to shelves displaying an entire row of plush animals. He picked up one, saw it was a hyena and set it back down in disgust. Then he spotted something out the corner of his eye. A drinks cabinet. He grabbed a warm Fanta from the bottom shelf and drank as he wandered around the shop. He stopped again at a display of t-shirts and with barely a seconds hesitation pulled off his sweat stained hoodie and swapped it for a forest green t-shirt declaring roaring with pride. He spotted himself in a mirror and paused.

Was this him? This sharp eyed stranger? Was he back to being John Mactavish? Would he ever be John MacTavish again? He heard a scuffle at the door and turned.

‘Ghost?’ he called hesitantly, not sure if he’d rather see him or the fucking lion.

The door opened and a short black muzzle thrust inside. Johnny reached for his gun. It wasn’t a lion but the hyena that ambled inside, snuffling at the floor. Johnny clicked the safety off and aimed for its head. The hyena slowly turned and saw him. It immediately scrambled backwards. The door burst open and Ghost filled the doorway, face drenched in blood, eyes black holes in his face. He grabbed the hyena by the scruff of its neck and it yelped. It struggled, writhing in his grip and Ghost grabbed the underside of its neck and twisted. The hyena squealed, eyes bulging.

‘Ghost stop!’ cried Johnny and Ghost let go of the hyena as though it was an afterthought, zeroing in on him.

The hyena fled, the door banging and Johnny found himself pressing his back against the wall, the hand holding the gun trembling. A lion plushie slowly fell from its place on the shelf and fell to the floor with a squeak. Ghost stalked towards him.

‘Don’t come any closer,’ hissed Johnny.

‘Or what?’ said Ghost. ‘You’re gonna fucking shoot me?’

Relief flooded through Johnny at the sound of his voice, although he wasn’t sure how much, because the way the man’s eyes were locked on to his made his spine flood with ice.

Ghost took another step forward, and another, until the barrel pressed against his chest.

‘I might,’ said Johnny. ‘Depends on what you’re planning.’

Ghost lunged, too fast to follow, the gun wrenched from his grip and clattering to the floor. He laced a hand around Johnny’s neck and pressed him into the wall. He leaned in, gaze unwavering. Johnny was afraid to move, afraid to talk. He opened his mouth, screaming inwardly at himself to say something, anything. And then Ghost kissed him.

It started with his mouth, lips moving urgently against his, and quickly moved to his neck, hot mouth steadily moving down, sucking great swathes of skin into his mouth, nipping him with his teeth, the hand on his neck holding him steady. The other was fumbling with something and Johnny was dully aware of Ghost removing his plate carrier. He flinched as he dragged his teeth down his throat.

‘Don’t,’ he choked out, and Ghost muttered something against his skin.

Johnny, thinking of how that mouth had been tearing into a dead sheep barely half an hour earlier, tried to push him away. Ghost sucked harder, his mouth hot, teeth scraping against his skin. Johnny weakly slid to the floor, Ghost sliding with him. He nuzzled the underside of his chin, kissing the soft underside of his throat and Johnny whimpered. He grabbed hold of him, no longer pulling him away but dragging him closer. He was a weak, stupid person and-

His thoughts blurred into shapes and colour as Ghost palmed the front of his jeans, squeezing his thickening cock.

‘Green suits you,’ murmured Ghost.

‘You-‘ attempted Johnny, wanting to ask him about the hyena, the sheep, how he fucking felt but losing his sense of self in a blur of creeping arousal.

He was dimly aware of laying back on the dusty floor, eyes glazing over as he looked up at the soft toys. Ghost pulled up his t-shirt, kissing down his stomach, every touch making his skin blaze with sensation. Johnny tried to sit up and Ghost pushed him back down, hot hand splayed across his chest. Johnny finally registered what felt different about him. He was warm.

Ghost tugged off his combats, pencils scattering across the floor, and swallowed his straining cock in a searing mouth. Johnny shuddered. He was rock hard in half a second, pushing into the furnace like heat of his mouth, hands reaching down to pull at blood stiff hair. He felt like he was dissolving, pleasure spider webbing across every nerve he owned. Ghost rumbled, the sound vibrating against his cock, making him jolt. He pulled off with a sodden pop and crawled up the length of him, nipping and kissing as he went, love bites blooming like flowers beneath his questing mouth.

Clutching his arms, Johnny stared up at him. ‘Do you want me to come on top?’ he asked.

‘No need,’ said Ghost, smirking beneath the blood and gore. He unzipped his jeans, heavy, hard cock standing to attention, glistening with pre cum.

Johnny goggled. There was a clatter of belt buckles and boots and Johnny’s legs were hoisted over Ghost’s shoulders. The man spat once, twice, and pushed up against him. His eyes were no longer dark. They glowed golden in the light of the setting sun.

‘Yes?’ he said, head cocking to one side.

Johnny reached out a hand, beneath the rusted blood splattered down his neck he could no longer see his bite mark. He realised Ghost was still waiting for an answer. He nodded.

Ghost sheathed himself with a bitten off moan, leaning over him, weight on his elbows. He buried his face in his shoulder and began to thrust, immediately hitting the right spot. Johnny shivered, noise spilled over his lips unbidden, moans filling the gift shop. The plush lions watched with beady glass eyes as Ghost fucked him into the floor, his spine knocking against the wood. Johnny’s eyes rolled back, his hands grabbing hold of whatever was in reach; a fistful of cotton, Ghost’s flexing arse. The breath was squeezed out of him with every heavy thrust, his head smashing against the wall. That couldn’t be good for what was left of his brain. His cock slapped against his stomach, aching for release, pre cum smearing sticky against his belly.

‘Yours,’ muttered Ghost into the whorl of his ear.

‘What?’ said Johnny weakly, sure he had misheard.

‘Yours,’ said Ghost again. ‘Yours. All yours.’ He punctuated each word with a teetering thrust of his hips, one hand feeling out and clasping Johnny’s. ‘Belong to you.’

‘Don’t…own you,’ panted Johnny between gasps, hand squeezing his pumping behind.

‘Yeah you do,’ murmured Ghost. ‘Been a shit to you. Just want to make things right.’

He increased his pace, cock dragging against his nerves, teasing him with his heavy length, pulling him apart to watch where they were joined, Johnny stretched pink and taut around him.

Johnny squeezed his hand and he jolted, spilling over, filling Johnny with heat. Johnny whined and then whined again as he pulled out, leaving him throbbing and aching.

Ghost leaned in and crushed his lips against him, taking hold of Johnny’s cock in a hard grip, and stroked him to completion with a heavy hand, burying his face back into the crook of his neck as he moaned, teasing him until he was trembling from overstimulation. Finally, he let go.

Johnny lay back and watched the dust motes sparkling in the air. At least he thought it was dust. He fancied for a second it was Ghost’s soul, burning hot and white as a star.

Ghost got up with a grunt, receding from Johnny’s glittering vision. He reappeared with a t-shirt. He gently wiped him clean and then sat down next to him.

‘Told you you look nice in green,’ he said fondly, brushing Johnny’s hair back from his forehead. He pulled one of the lion plushies from the shelf and turned it over in his hands. ‘Hey Johnny, why did the lion spit out the clown?’

Johnny struggled to keep his eyes from closing. His answer was half swallowed by a yawn.

‘Why?’

‘He tasted funny,’ said Ghost, smirking. ‘Are you falling asleep?’

‘No,’ replied Johnny and did.

Chapter 13: rust

‘This map is shit.’ Ghost stood in the middle of the road, flicking through the A-Z. Around them overgrown hedgerows rustled in the warm breeze.

‘Probably because it’s a map o’ roads LT.’ It took Johnny a while to catch up. His legs were sore. So were…other areas. He yawned. Neither of them had slept much.

Behind his mask, Ghost looked thoughtful, lips pursing. He looked back at the empty road.

‘Maybe we should make camp,’ he mused.

‘Already? We’ve barely walked an hour.’ Johnny was relieved they hadn’t come across any other animals. An elephant, he decided, would be the last straw.

‘It’s good to pace yourself,’ said Ghost, smirking now, moving so he stood over him, blocking out the flaming June sun. He pulled up his mask, leaning in to kiss him and Johnny shoved him away.

‘Not til you have a wash. Look at the state o’ you.’

‘You weren’t complaining last night. In fact I seem to remember a lot of fuck yes Simon, harder, deeper.’ He leaned in again, teeth very white against the red stain of his face and Johnny pushed his stubbled jaw away.

‘Well it was dark.’ He walked past him, wincing.

Ghost lagged after him, hooking a finger through his belt loop. He opened the A-Z again.

‘Got Stafford coming up if we follow this road. Can pick up supplies there.’

‘Good,’ said Johnny shortly.

‘What’s got into you?’ asked Ghost, eyes trained on him.

A massive cock, thought Johnny.

‘Just tired,’ he replied.

‘I-‘ Ghost pulled his mask back down, eyes bright against the rust red of his eye sockets. Even his eyelashes were stained bloody. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry if I got carried away.’

‘M’ a big boy, I’m fine.’

Ghost grinned and slapped his behind, leaning in to nuzzle at his neck. ‘Yeah you are.’

Johnny couldn’t help but grin back. ‘You’re a fucking idiot.’

‘Better than an impotent idiot.’

Johnny bit back a smile, shaking his head. The scant memories that were slowly coming back showed many sides to his Ghost; undeniably harsh, horny as fuck certainly, but never so playful and, dare he say it, as sweet as he was being now, rubbing up against him like a big friendly dog. He finally had to physically push him away so they could continue.

 

Stafford was still and silent. Johnny was tense as they wandered down winding streets, certain that at any moment a biter was going to pop out from behind a corner and bolt towards them. But the meandering streets, with their jumble of black and white townhouses, remained silent. The sun beamed down. A bee bumbled past his nose, heading for a spill of dog roses overgrowing from an abandoned garden; picturesque even in neglect.

The road they followed led to a market square, overlooked by a large hall. Johnny spied a stone trough next to a small war memorial. He tested the water and filled an empty bottle. Ghost leaned past him, peeled off his mask and dunked his head with a splash.

‘Oi,’ protested Johnny. ‘I was drinking that.’

Ghost straightened up, vigorously rubbing his face, and finally dislodged the last of the flaking blood. The tear through his cheek was still there, but the edges were healed over, no longer raw. The bite mark was similarly healed; deep puncture marks reduced to mauve blotches. Ghost ducked his head again, wetting his hair.

Johnny sighed and wandered away. He sat on the steps to the hall, pulling off his backpack with a grateful sigh. Several pigeons fluttered down in front of him and he watched them pecking at the ground. Several feet away he noticed Ghost was also watching, eyes wide with interest.

As a pigeon bobbed close to his boots he lunged, grabbed it, and shoved it into his mouth. Johnny jumped to his feet, the remaining pigeons taking flight with a clatter of wings.

‘What the fuck are you doing?!’ he cried.

Ghost ripped off the head of the flapping bird with his teeth, swallowed, and tore into the rest of it, pausing to spit grey feathers. Johnny stalled. He watched, grimacing, as Ghost chewed through the rest of the pigeon, bones, claws and meat all churning in his mouth.

‘What does it look like?’ said Ghost, finally, after giving a heavy swallow.

‘Is my head next?’ said Johnny, trying not to look at the flash of his sharp teeth as he picked a spot of meat free from behind one jagged canine.

‘Don’t be fucking stupid,’ replied Ghost, tongue now swiping over his fangs. ‘You’d taste terrible, you use about 85 tonnes of hair gel.’

‘So you enjoy it then, raw meat?’ continued Johnny.

He might have continued but Ghost prowled over to him, replacing his mask, and hiding that terrible mouth. As he stood over him Johnny felt a sharp stab of something between his ribs, a fizzing, electric excitement.

Ghost grabbed the front of his body armour, leaning in and Johnny’s stomach plunged.

‘I like a lot of things raw,’ he said, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. ‘How about you bend over and I show you?’

‘You really need to work on your chat up lines,’ said Johnny, boots sliding closer on the baking concrete all the same.

‘Alright,’ said Ghost, walking him backwards until his back nudged against a pillar. ‘Why did the zombie fall asleep?’

‘Why?’ said Johnny, too tired to point out that a joke was not in fact a chat up line. Why did he find this man so attractive. He couldn’t even blame the head injury.

‘He was dead tired,’ said Ghost and laughed at his own joke.

Behind them several more pigeons fluttered to the ground. Ghost glanced at them.

‘No,’ said Johnny sharply.

‘Give me something else to eat then,’ said Ghost, and shoved him into the pillar.

 

After being slammed into granite and thoroughly mauled in the shade of the great hall, Johnny finally pushed Ghost away. It was too much of a risk to be so off guard out in the open. He kept a careful distance between them as they wandered through the square and followed another road, although he wasn’t quite sure who’s benefit it was actually for.

‘Be a nice place to stop,’ said Ghost, looking around them at the houses. ‘Dead quiet.’

‘Give it a rest,’ sighed Johnny. He eyed a shuttered café. Turning a corner he looked up at a large, glass fronted building. ‘Didn’t you want a better map? Library might have some.’

 

Ghost smashed one of the glass windows with his elbow and they climbed inside. Johnny watched as he picked up an enormous book shelf, hardbacks and all, and placed it in front of the jagged hole in the glass.

‘Just in case,’ said Ghost, catching his eye.

‘How fucking strong are you,’ remarked Johnny.

‘Seem to recall you won our squat competition that one time,’ said Ghost. The library was cool and calm with a high ceiling. Ghost dumped his pack and wandered off between the shelves.

‘You had the flu,’ said Johnny. ‘Remember?’

Ghost shrugged. He eyed him. ‘Few more chocolate bars and some weight lifting and you’ll be back on form in no time.’

Johnny trailed after him as he headed to a low shelf labelled Geography. Ghost’s problem wasn’t as easily solved by a few gym sessions. He leaned against the shelf as Ghost examined several books, watching his gloved hands slide volumes free. He liked him like this. But he also liked the Ghost from before. The Ghost that was whole.

‘Do you think there’s a cure?’ The words fell out his mouth before he could parse them.

There was an almost imperceptible tightening to Ghost’s body, his posture stiffening, something that only Johnny would notice, and he wanted to kick himself for speaking at all.

Ghost flicked to a page in the book he was holding, although it was certainly not what they were looking for. It looked like a guidebook for butterflies.

‘A cure for what?’ he said, as though he didn’t know full well what Johnny was talking about.

‘You know,’ said Johnny, adjusting his body armour, wishing he had never brought it up. ‘You-your problem.’

‘Who said it’s a problem?’ said Ghost, slamming the book shut and shoving it back into the shelf. He marched away and towards the back of the library, steps near stomping on the grey carpet although Johnny knew he could pad silently.

Johnny shoved his hands in his pockets and found the Chapstick. He turned it over in his hand.

‘It’s not,’ he said. ‘Ghost. It’s not. I didn’t-I don’t mean-‘ he uncapped the Chapstick.

Ghost turned.

‘You don’t have to stay with me,’ he said, voice fighting to stay neutral but there was a gruffness to his words. ‘I didn’t think you would. I told you, I’ll find somewhere you can go. Somewhere safe.’

‘I’m not leaving without you,’ said Johnny. ‘After everything I-‘ he choked on his own words, breath catching. He shook his head, looking away, at the horror section.

Ghost sighed.

‘Johnny,’ he said. ‘It’s over for me. Whatever happens. There’s no cure for dying. If the army come back, if they manage to retake ground, they’ll shoot me on sight. I’m no different to those monsters outside.’ He closed the space between them, cupping Johnny’s face in his gloved hands. ‘But you. You’re not dead. You still have a chance.’ He sniffed. ‘What is that smell?’

Johnny held up the Chapstick.

‘It’s strawberry flavour,’ he said, relieved to change the subject. He ran it over his mouth. ‘See?’

‘Always pegged you as more of a cherry man,’ said Ghost, cocking his head to one side, transfixed by Johnny’s mouth.

‘Beggers can’t be choosers,’ said Johnny.

Ghost pulled up his mask and kissed him. He slowly, deliberately, bullied him across the room, pushing at him until his knees gave way and he dropped to the charcoal carpet. He held Johnny in place with one hand on his mohawk and unzipped his jeans with the other.

Johnny stared up at him as his cock, thick, paler than he remembered, nudged against his mouth. He parted his lips.

‘Fuck you look good on your knees,’ purred Ghost.

Perhaps it was better to be doing this rather than talking. Ghost didn’t do much listening anyway.

Johnny opened his mouth and swallowed him all the way to the root, nose pressing against a thatch of corn light hair. After several tilting thrusts Ghost pulled out with a lurid pop, cock dripping with spit and precum.

He joined him on the carpet, shedding clothes. His movements were careful, unhurried. There was less frantic lust than the previous night. He peeled off Johnny’s armour and clothes like he was unwrapping a present, murmuring soft words of appreciation under his breath.

Johnny felt like he was floating. He closed his eyes as Ghost pushed him onto his back. His hands skimmed down his body, over old scars and sinewy flesh. By the time he finally reached his cock he was trembling. Ghost spat into his hand and stroked him almost reverently, long, leisurely strokes, taking his time, drawing him to the edge and back again, teasing his slit with a finger, and rubbing the underside. Johnny was very soon a whimpering mess in his hands.

‘You gonna fuck me or what?’ he finally whined, grabbing for Ghost.

Ghost leaned in and kissed him again. He pulled back, lips slick with spit. Johnny saw the glint of his sharp teeth.

‘You taste fucking fantastic,’ he rumbled and bowed his head, that same kiss swollen mouth clamping over his throat, tongue tracing the bone and tendons of his neck.

His cock rutted against his thigh and then, between them. Johnny gave a wet sob of lust, grabbing for his hips to hold him there, feeling Ghost’s length pushing up against his balls and between his legs. He clutched at his own cock, holding it as it throbbed, feeling his heartbeat thrumming between his fingers.

Moving back, Ghost turned him onto his side. He wrapped an arm around his chest, hot breath puffing in his ear and finally pushed inside. He grabbed Johnny’s thigh with his other hand, calloused fingers splayed across sensitive skin, easing him apart as he fucked into him. Johnny felt a sharp scrape of teeth over his nape and baulked, but then the hand holding him apart shifted to his aching cock and he was trapped in sensation; Ghost’s rough hand tugging his prick, his cock spearing him open and stroking over his insides.

Ghost teased him with his length, drawing out and back in, mouth clamping wet over one shoulder. Johnny tumbled over the edge and came, pulse after pulse of pleasure boiling through him, his cock splattering hot and white in Ghost’s firm grip. Ghost pulled out and finished on his hip.

He fell asleep afterwards, half draped over him, weight pinning him to the floor. Johnny stared at him. He pressed a hand to his hollow chest and felt nothing but silence in return.

Sighing he flopped onto his back, shifting restlessly. The carpet made his back itchy. He finally got up, pulling his trousers back on, and padded through the bookshelves.

He lingered next to the horror section, curiously sifting through books about devils, vampires and ghosts. He could find nothing about the undead. Giving up he wandered aimlessly into the children’s section and read the very hungry caterpillar.

Passing by the folklore section, he lingered, enticed by bright covers, and ended up idly browsing books about faeries, admiring the pictures. His eyes skimmed over the shelves and alighted on a slim blue volume with curling silver script. Zombies, Lichs and Revenants, an old world guide by Raphael De Villiers. Another fairy tale surely. But curiosity got the better of him, and he pulled it out.

‘Zombie,’ he read, leafing to the first chapter. ‘A word that often conjures images of shambling brainless slaves is a word thought to have originated in-‘ here Johnny flipped to the index, and turned to the page marked Lich.

‘In the common tongue a lich is generally understood to be a powerful sorcerer that seeks to defy death through magical means. The word lich comes from-’

Johnny wrinkled his nose. Ghost had certainly never been a sorcerer. He didn’t even like card tricks. He turned to the last section, entitled Revenant. His gaze travelled down the page.

‘In essence revenants are spirits that return to their deceased bodies for revenge or to fulfil unfinished business. In 1765 a Welshman known as Alexander Mason recorded in his diary experience of a revenant who haunted the small seaside town of Llandudno, hunting what it believed to be wrongdoers. Nothing could harm the being until a priest by the name of Francis Woods plunged a wooden-‘

‘What are you reading?’

Johnny slammed the book shut. He pushed it back into the shelf.

‘Kama Sutra,’ he breezed. ‘I thought we could try the lotus position.’ He nodded to the book in Ghost’s hand. ‘How about you?’ He noticed the title, Our Man in Havana. ‘Planning a trip away?’

Ghost shrugged. ‘Might be. Found you some water.’

He held out his hand. After a second Johnny took it. He was still warm.

 

They sat in a small kitchen at the back of the library. Ghost made tea on the camping stove, and Johnny drank it while eating a stale packet of custard creams he found in the cupboard. He wished there was milk. He looked up and caught Ghost’s eye.

‘You look nice,’ said Ghost suddenly, catching him off guard.

He’d never said that before. He’d never said anything like it. Compliments had always been dispensed in the dark, usually while one hand pulled his hair and another squeezed some other part of him. It didn’t mean much. Nice. Just a small crumb of a word. But it made Johnny feel that electric thrumming in his chest once again. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He covered his uncertainty with a gulp of tea.

‘Thanks,’ he finally replied.

Ghost slowly rested a hand on his knee. No urgency. No desire to move things further. Just a hand. And a knee. They sat together for quite some time.

 

They moved on the following day, back in armour, loaded down with weapons and backpacks. Johnny had found more crisps in the library kitchen. He was elated by his discovery. Even if they were prawn cocktail.

They followed one of the main roads out of town and passed from there into marshland, slogging through mud and bullrushes. Johnny stopped at the edge of an immense lake, water rippling in the light breeze, mist curling like smoke on the water. He watched a bevy of swans float sedately by. Before he knew it he was pulling off his pack and bending to untie his boots.

‘Johnny?’ Ghost’s voice was loud in the early morning stillness. ‘Johnny what the fuck are you doing?’ He jogged back to him. ‘It’ll be freezing.’

But Johnny had already tugged off his clothes and was wading through the water, feeling mud squish between his toes. It was freezing. He hissed. But he kept going, teeth gritted, until he could dive in. He swam out to the very centre, the water lashing against his skin like claws. He turned back to find Ghost lingering on the shoreline.

‘Don’t feel like swimming LT?’ he called over.

Ghost crossed his arms. ‘No,’ he said shortly.

‘Suit yourself,’ said Johnny, and lay on his back, floating, staring up at the cotton candy sky.

He heard a splash and sat up, treading water. Ghost sloshed towards him, cutting through the water like a shark. Johnny wondered if he was going to complain. To tell him they had to get on. The old him would have. But he didn't. He joined him, water lapping at his scarred chest.

‘Hey Johnny,’ he finally said.

Johnny dragged his gaze away from the swans, eyeing them from across the water.

‘Yeah?’ he said.

‘What do zombie pirates eat?’

‘Does it matter?’ said Johnny. ‘Are you planning to sail the seven seas?’

The smile was wiped off Ghost’s face in seconds. They floated there in silence, the only sound the distant, guttural cry of a cormorant.

‘Tell me,’ said Johnny with a sigh, not able to bear the silence any longer.

‘Arrrms,’ said Ghost, finally.

‘Steaming Jesus,’ groaned Johnny. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’ He realised what he had said. ‘I don’t mean-‘

Ghost leaned in and kissed him, his lips as icy cold as the surrounding water.

‘I know what you meant. Come on, you’re turning fucking blue.’ He headed back to shore and Johnny reluctantly followed.

 

They walked for several more hours, tramping over marshland and back out into empty farmland. Ghost stopped to unfold the map they’d found, producing a compass and reorienting himself. Johnny shifted from foot to foot, watching his shadow do the same.

‘Got a village coming up. We can take a break there.’

‘I don’t need a break,’ said Johnny.

‘Well I do,’ said Ghost, neatly folding up the map and stashing it in a pocket.

Johnny wondered how true this actually was. They crossed from a field and into a winding country lane, with thick hedges on either side. The sun slowly climbed higher. It grew hotter. Johnny decided that actually yes, he would like a break actually. He was about to suggest stopping in one of the fields when Ghost froze.

‘Soap,’ he said, and Johnny knew he must be serious to use his call sign. ‘We need to run.’

Johnny didn’t hesitant, throwing himself into a sprint. Ghost crashed through a hedge and tore through a field waist high with weeds, checking and rechecking that Johnny was following. Johnny ran as hard as he could, but he wasn’t as fast. Ghost doubled back and ripped the pack from his back, shouldered it himself and grabbed his hand, gloved hand wrapping around his and lugged him behind, forcing him to run faster. Then Johnny heard it. The screaming and shrieking that was becoming as familiar to him as a sharp wind.

He dared to look back and saw biters swarming through the hole in the hedge. They caught up in seconds, barely a length behind, so many the field was a snapping mass of them. Johnny turned to his side and saw there were more, they’d jumped or forced through the hedge and were running from the other side on all four limbs. The sight made his blood run cold. They were faster than they were. Ghost let go of his hand. He pulled his rifle free from its carrier, fighting with the packs he was weighted down with and fired.

The front of the biters throat burst, making it stumble but not slow. Johnny wrenched his pistol from his hip and took a pot shot. Beyond the ones advancing he could see more biters pushing through the hedge, snarling. One leapt at him and he fired, a perfect shot, making it crumple. But there were more coming, the field teeming with them, like locusts.

‘Soap run, I’ll lay covering fire,’ panted Ghost, jogging back as he fired, the shot going wide.

The ring of biters had slowed. No longer running, they prowled, heads tilted, almost like they were thinking. Johnny was sure he spied beady black eyes on their weapons. He fired again, the sound ringing. More were creeping around them. They were trying to outflank them. How did they know?

‘Dump the gear,’ he said. ‘We both run.’

‘Now,’ barked Ghost, and dropped both packs.

Johnny bolted, his leg screaming at him, breath blowing hot. He beelined for a fence he could see, hearing thin screaming just behind him, but without the weight of his gear dragging at him he was faster. He leapt the fence, feeling hands grabbing for him and slipping, and ran into the next. He turned to flash Ghost a triumphant grin but he wasn’t there. He slowed and immediately a heavy weight slammed into his back. A biter pinned him down, growling, slavering. Johnny fired his last bullet and threw it off. There was no time to think, only to run, as a dozen more were still chasing him, loping towards him on four legs.

He ran and kept running, soft earth turning to pavement. He tore through the outskirts of a village, seeing sand coloured houses flash past. His eyes picked out the corrugated steel of a partially open garage door. He dove inside, slamming down the metal. He stood in the dark, panting, the only light pinwheels flickering across his vision. Nausea rose in his throat, his stomach churning with acid. He flinched as heavy weight smashed into the door. Johnny held his breath but the roller held firm. Then, they stopped. Johnny thought for a second he had imagined it but no, they were moving away, still chittering and screeching. Johnny cocked his head. In the distance his ears picked up the rattle of gunfire. Was that Ghost?

Legs wobbling he retreated to the back of the garage. He braced himself as he heard heavy steps thudding on the concrete outside.

‘Johnny?’ Ghost sounded breathless.

Johnny immediately rolled up the door, just enough so Ghost could squeeze inside. He was carrying both rifles but nothing else. He slumped against the wall as Johnny yanked the door down. Johnny leaned in to kiss him but Ghost roughly pushed him away. He was indignant until the smell hit him; blood, thick and coppery as a palmful of old coins.

‘Fuck are you alright?’ He reached for him, automatically wanting to sooth him, to mend him.

Ghost held him at arms’ length. ‘It’s not my blood,’ he said shortly. ‘Let it dry.’

Johnny backed away. He sat down before his legs gave out, clutching at a hump of metal for support, his fingers feeling the slip of polyester. The garage wasn’t completely dark. There was a tiny chink of light above the garage door, just enough to illuminate Ghost as he moved across the space.

‘You good?’ he asked.

‘Solid,’ said Johnny, realising he probably have assessed himself before replying. He did it then, patting himself down. ‘Yeah. M’good.’ He looked up at Ghost, who was examining a shelf of tools. Johnny watched him pocket a screwdriver. ‘How did you find me?’

‘Smelt you,’ replied Ghost, now examining a heavy wrench. He swung it in his hands, trying it out before setting it down.

‘You smelt me?’ said Johnny. ‘I know I haven’t exactly been dousing myself in cologne but I didnae realise I smelt that bad.’

‘It’s not bad,’ said Ghost turning to look at him. ‘You just smell like you.’ He pulled off a glove, tucking it in one pocket as he inspected the covered lump Johnny was leaning against. ‘Move back a bit.’

Johnny shifted his weight, leaning against a set of shelves. ‘Did you see how they were moving, those things? Like-‘

‘Like animals,’ replied Ghost shortly. He yanked off the cover with a flourish and whistled. ‘Holy shit. Look at this.’

Beneath the cover was a motorbike. The little light there was in the garage seemed to cling to it, the metal chassis gleaming. Ghost ran his hands over it reverently, head bowed. When he spoke his voice was hushed.

‘This is a Norton Commando,’ he breathed. ‘Fuck, I’d sell my left bollock for this.’

Clutching the wall, Johnny got up. ‘Consider it sold then. I don’t think the owners are coming back for it anytime soon.’

‘It?’ said Ghost. He stepped around the bike, stroking metal and wires the same way he stroked flesh and muscle. ‘This is a lady.’

‘So it’s an open relationship you’re after then?’ said Johnny, tilting his head to one side.

‘Fraid so Johnny,’ said Ghost. He swung one leg over the bike and bounced slightly, testing the seat or the suspension, Johnny wasn’t sure.

‘Reckon you can get her running?’ asked Johnny.

Ghost popped the top of the petrol tank off and peered inside. ‘Oh I fucking think so,’ he said, grinning. 'Gonna bypass the ignition then I kick start her.' He sounded uncharacteristically animated. 

He continued to talk as he worked, talking about horsepower and then about four-stroke, which Johnny thought at first was something to do with sex and then realised was to do with the engine cycle. He had a sudden flash of memory like a lightning bolt, remembering a different day and a different bike.

Johnny had just eaten some awful slop in the canteen and was walking across the base, towards his car. He hadn’t seen Ghost for weeks. Hadn’t thought about him either. Or so he kept telling himself every time he looked at the transfer papers sitting on his desk. As he crossed the carpark he sensed movement on his left and turned, seeing a motorbike creeping next to him. A matte black Harley, its owner in a blacked out helmet, holding it back with the finesse of a lion tamer.

‘Fancy a ride?’

Johnny rolled his eyes. Of course it was Ghost, the man was fucking haunting him. He stopped, jingling his car keys.

‘I’m alright LT.’

Ghost rolled the bike in front of him, making him come to an abrupt stop. All in black he matched the bike, he looked good and he knew it. Johnny could imagine him smirking behind his helmet.

‘Come on,’ he said, sounding oddly cajoling. He patted the seat behind him. ‘I’ve got a nice helmet.’

Johnny squinted, feeling anger and arousal rising in his chest and not particularly enjoying the combination.

‘If you make one more stupid bloody joke-‘

Ghost shoved a spare helmet into his chest with a laugh. Johnny stared at it. He didn’t owe him anything, and certainly not his free time. He glanced up. Ghost flipped up his visor, dark eyes unpainted, wide and as innocent as he’d ever looked. Johnny wished he could throw the helmet at his head. But he was still drawn to him, like a masochistic moth.

‘Johnny?’

That was it. That was all it took for Johnny to pull on the helmet and climb up behind him. He was gone.

Johnny blinked. Ghost was still fiddling with the bike, the floor littered with tools. Another memory burst into his head with the intensity of a flashbang.

The rough bark of a tree, a canopy of leaves above, and Ghost, puffing air as he drove into him from behind, hands on his hips and a desperate, moaning voice in his ear.

‘Fuck I love you.’

‘Johnny pass me that screwdriver would you?’

Johnny rubbed at his beard. Was that memory real? Or was it some strange, desperate trick of his mind?

‘Johnny?’ Ghost looked up at him. ‘You sound?’

Johnny frowned. He didn't dare ask him. ‘Did we fuck on a motorbike?’ he asked instead.

Ghost didn’t seem surprised by his question. He grabbed the screwdriver himself and settled back in front of the bike. ‘Few times, yeah. In the back of your car once too.’ He eased at his shoulder. ‘Fucked up my neck for weeks.’ He looked back at the bike and set down the tool. ‘That should do it.’

‘So what, we were just friends with benefits?’ said Johnny having a vague recollection of sex in other, more uncomfortable places. Possibly a submarine.

‘No,’ replied Ghost, settling on the back of the bike and checking the pressure gauge. ‘You were never my friend.’

Johnny, indignant, opened his mouth.

‘You were more than that,’ said Ghost before he could reply. ‘You were-‘ he sighed. ‘Well. You know what you were.’

Did he? Johnny moved back, digging his hands into his pockets.

Ghost kicked the starter. The bike remained silent. Behind his mask Ghost frowned. ‘Need to get this old girl moving. Open the door for me.’

‘You sure?’ said Johnny, pacing backwards. He slung both rifles over his shoulder.

‘Yeah I’m sure,’ said Ghost, hopping off and wheeling the bike. ‘C’mon.’

Johnny wrenched open the garage door and Ghost wheeled the bike out. ‘Help me push,’ he directed.

Johnny pushed at the back of the bike, Ghost the front. They started to jog.

‘Come on come on,’ muttered Ghost under his breath. ‘You can do it sweetheart.’ He turned something and the bike coughed. ‘Let’s pick up the pace.’

Johnny felt a shiver pass down the back of his neck. He let go of the bike and swung around. A biter had appeared silently, standing motionless at the end of the road. They locked eyes, staring at each other. The biter chittered and started to pad towards him, movements jerky, like a puppet on strings. The chittering became a growl, and slowly heads started to pop up from behind parked cars. They swarmed together, and broke out into a sprint simultaneously.

‘Johnny push,’ commanded Ghost, putting a shoulder to the bike.

They ran along the lane, the Norton bumping over the pot holed road. The bike coughed again.

‘Come on you piece of shit,’ growled Ghost.

‘What happened to sweetheart?’ panted Johnny.

The bike sputtered. Ghost swung a leg over and kicked it. The engine roared to life. He pulled away immediately, Johnny overbalancing and falling to the ground, scraping both palms on the tarmac. He scrambled to his feet as he heard hissing over his shoulder. He ran, not daring to look back

At the end of the road Ghost turned. The bike rumbled towards him. As he came closer Ghost held out an arm, and caught him around the waist, throwing him over the petrol tank. They swerved past the pack of biters and skidded around the corner, the bike thundering beneath them.

The world was a blur, houses and hedgerows speeding by. Johnny had leapt out of airplanes and plummeted to earth but this, clinging to the bike, was the closest he had ever felt to flying.

 

They went back for the packs, Ghost keeping the engine idling while Johnny jogged back into the field, eyes on the bodies of the biters sprawled in the weeds. Staring at one, outstretched on its back, Johnny frowned. This one looked different. Its mouth seemed wider, and there was something off about the set of its shoulders-

‘Johnny, move it!’ shouted Ghost, voice carrying across the churned up earth and Johnny pulled on his backpack, grabbed the other, and ran to where he was waiting. Ghost set his backpack in front of him, waited for Johnny to climb up behind him, and pulled away.

As they drove down the zigzagging road, he leaned back and said something, the wind whipping the words from his mouth. Johnny wrapped around him, enjoying the solid bulk of him pressing up against his chest.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said we might be able to make it to Liverpool tonight,’ said Ghost. He changed gear, the bike leaping forward, Ghost leaning low as he took a corner.

Johnny stared at the blur of viridian borders and saw black flash out the corner of his eye. He opened his mouth to shout a warning.

A bang sounded in his ear and the bike screeched, Ghost swearing as they tumbled over. They hit the ground with a thud, Ghost taking the fall on his shoulder, still trying to hold the bike steady. Johnny grunted as it fell onto his leg. The bike gave a pitiful moan, engine hacking.

‘What the fuck,’ snarled Ghost, immediately standing and levering the bike upright.

A shot rang out, and they ducked in unison. Then another. Ghost stood in front of him, blocking him with his body. Several black helmeted soldiers were standing in the middle of the road, pointing assault rifles. Ghost slowly raised his arms. The soldiers steadily advanced.

‘Ne dvigaysya, blyad,’ spat one, jerking his rifle.

Russians.

Chapter 14: mauve

A man in a long coat shoved through the line of soldiers, thin mouth a firm line. Unless there was an identical coat sale going on somewhere Johnny was pretty sure he recognised him. It was the same captain they’d seen in Birmingham. He snapped something at one of the soldiers. They marched closer, drawing together in a tight ring. Johnny could see russet patches on body armour and shoulders. Volk group.

‘Spuskaysya!’ barked the closest, aiming his gun.

‘Sorry, don’t speak Russki,’ said Ghost, catching Johnny’s eye.

‘Get down,’ snapped the soldier. ‘On your fucking knees.’

A heavy hand on his shoulder finally made Johnny kneel, his bruised leg throbbing. The soldier pointing his gun at him patted him down, groping under his arms and feeling in his pockets. Where were the rifles? Had they fallen in the ditch? The second soldier edged closer to Ghost. Johnny’s hands were yanked behind them. He felt a plastic zip tie cut into his wrists. The captain watched with interest.

‘You are military?’ he asked, head cocked to one side like magpie. ‘Army? What unit?’

‘RAF,’ replied Ghost. ‘Parked my jet just down there.’

He looked up as the captain approached. His head snapped back as he backhanded him.

‘I’ll ask again,’ said the captain, voice crisp. ‘What unit? Are there more of you?’

‘Why?’ replied Ghost, voice thick. ‘You scared?’

The captain turned on his heel, coat flapping. ‘Shoot them,’ he said.

A bullet zipped past Johnny’s ear and pinged off the chassis of the bike. The mercenaries turned, hollering. Ghost leapt to his feet and smashed his head into the captain’s face, making him stumble back with a pained yell. More black armoured mercenaries appeared, gliding like shadows from gaps in the hedges. They fired down the long, thin road, rifles barking, taking cover against the verges. Johnny felt a bullet whistle past his ear. He flung himself sideways. Behind him the bike blazed alight, consumed by a molten tongue of orange flame, licking black smoke into the hot bright air.

Johnny wriggled along the road, working at his restraints, gravel digging into his elbows. There was a knife in his pack. If he could just get to it. The billowing smoke made his eyes sting. The air all around him roared with gunfire and shouting. He had no idea who or what the mercenaries were shooting at. One of them, pacing back, almost stepped on him. Johnny rolled onto his back. The mercenary fell, spewing blood, and landed heavily on top of him. His assault rifle clattered to the ground. Johnny grunted, wriggling his hips as he tried to buck him off. The man sprawled on top of him convulsed, coughing blood. He turned onto his front and finally Johnny managed to kick him off. He wormed over to the rifle, ducking as another round fired overhead.

Fumbling for it (and hoping it wouldn’t go off and shoot him in the arse) he grated the plastic fastening of the zip tie on the ridged part of the rifle. Straining, he finally felt the weakened tie snap. Slinging the rifle around his neck he crawled over to the ditch, falling into weeds. Crouched there was another one of the mercenaries. They stared wide-eyed at each other. The merc aimed his rifle but Johnny was quicker. The bare earth of the ditch oozed dark with blood. Johnny popped his head up, peering through thick smoke, eyes streaming. Where was Ghost?

His question was answered immediately as a dark figure materialised out the swirling black fumes, white skull shining like a beacon in the haze.

‘Ghost!’ Johnny shouted, not sure if he’d hear him over the gunfire.

Ghost stumbled, blood puffing from one shoulder. He turned, dropping low, and Johnny saw a second figure appear behind him, tossing their empty rifle and lunging at him with long blade drawn. Ghost stepped onto the back foot and blocked the knife aimed at him with crossed hands. The same hands grabbed hold of the assailants wrists and pulled. As the mercenary stumbled off balance Ghost dropped a knife from his sleeve and plunged it into the man’s eye. He fell onto his back, screaming. Ghost brought his boot down heavily over the handle and it skewered him with a bloody shuck. The heavy blast of gunfire overhead abruptly stopped. The sudden silence was shocking.

The drifting smoke cleared, although the stench of petrol lingered. Johnny could finally see how many bodies littered the narrow road. Ghost stalked over to him. A click made him freeze.

A man was standing several lengths away, head bare, dirty blonde hair glinting in the light of the midday sun. Something had caught his forehead, a spray of grit or gravel, and blood was running down his face in a crimson cascade. He levelled his pistol at Ghost.

Around them a circle of soldiers appeared out of the listing smoke. Johnny ducked back into the ditch, crawling belly down. He popped up behind the man and leapt out the tangle of nettles and weeds, tackling him around the waist. They smacked heavily to the ground. The gun fired blindly into the air. The crescent of soldiers halted.

Johnny swung at him, catching him in the jaw. He jabbed back, pain flashing across Johnny’s face as he hit his nose. He swung an elbow in response and followed up by slamming a hand into the man’s throat.

As he gasped for air Johnny wrapped an arm around his neck and squeezed. Still squeezing he yanked him up and onto his knees, pressing the muzzle of the rifle into the small of his back.

‘Fucking freeze,’ he growled at the watching soldiers.

The closest halted, anxiety flashing across his face. His eyes above his black buff were wide, ticking between the man and his gun. Johnny was vaguely aware of Ghost several lengths away, body low, tossing a knife in his hand. Johnny shifted his grip, one hand gripping the front of the man’s armour, the other moving to press the rifle into his temple. His arms burned.

‘Give me one good a reason why I shouldn’t blow your fucking brains out,’ he growled and wondered why his lips were wet. His nose, he comprehended in the next instant, was bleeding.

The man squirmed. Unbelievably, he gave a dry laugh.

‘I knew you boys weren’t Russian,’ he panted. ‘Why don’t you let go of me and we can talk soldier to soldier, hm?’

‘You’re American,’ he said, incredulous.

The man shifted against him, grunting. ‘Sure am, son.’

‘More bloody PMC,’ Ghost remarked. ‘You working with Volk?’

Another rasping laugh. The man spat out a mouthful of blood, jerking a head to the bodies cluttering the road.

‘Does it look like we’re working together?’ He yelped as Johnny gave him another shake. ‘No. No, we’re not. Those guys have been dogging my trail since we landed. You guys are army right? Army remnants? You don’t fight like raiders.’

Johnny caught Ghost’s eye. How much did he want to tell them?

‘Why don’t we start with names, huh,’ continued the man. ‘I’m Commander Graves and this is Shadow Company, and I hate to say it but we just saved your asses.’

He had a point. Johnny let go of him and got up. He paced back, standing alongside Ghost.

‘Lieutenant Riley,’ said Ghost at length. He stashed the knife. ‘What are you doing here?’

Graves flashed him a sudden, brilliant smile, displaying what must have been at least ten grands worth of dental work, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by the blood dribbling down his face.

‘We’re here to save the world, son.’

Silence, but for the shift of the soldier’s boots on the tarmac and his own panting breath in his ears. Then, Ghost burst out laughing.

‘Pull the other one, mate, it’s got bells on,’ he said dryly. He met Johnny’s eyes. ‘Smoke ‘im.’

‘Hey now, why don’t we cool it with the hostilities,’ said Graves. He raised a hand. ‘Look I get it. You boys are tetchy. I’ve been here five minutes and I’m ready to shoot anything that moves but I’m not bullshitting you. We’re here for the virus.’

Johnny’s vision stuttered.

‘What’s Volk group doing in England?’ rumbled Ghost. ‘Why are you here?’

The mercenaries’ nostrils flared.

‘Well?’ said Ghost when he didn’t answer.

‘Virus,’ he finally blurted out.

‘What do you mean, virus?’ he said, the point of his rifle lowering.

‘Look how about we put the guns away and talk about this like civilised folk, hm?’ said Graves, eyes on his weapon. ‘We can even do it over tea. You guys love tea right, I worked with some of you boys in Mozambique and it was all about the PG tips. You know I think we might even have some fish and chip MREs, what do you think about that, huh?’

Johnny snorted. ‘I fucking hate fish and chips,’ he said, but he lowered the rifle, clicking on the safety.

Graves let out a breath. He waved a hand at the watching soldiers and they did the same.

Behind his mask Ghost frowned. ‘Who the fuck hates fish and chips?’ he remarked. He sounded almost personally offended.

Graves held out his hand. After a second Johnny shook it.

‘Sergeant MacTavish,’ he said. ‘You can call me Soap.’

Graves eased at his neck. ‘You’re one hell of a fighter, Soap. Why don’t you give me a minute to clean up this mess and then we can talk?’

Johnny nodded.

Graves turned away. He shouted orders at the waiting Shadows and gestured with a hand. Several of them sprang to attention, walking over to the bodies of the Volk mercenaries and beginning to busily strip them.

‘You’re bleeding,’ said Ghost, peering at him, hands clasping his shoulders.

‘I’m fine,’ replied Johnny, looking up at him.

With a glance at the occupied soldiers Ghost pulled up his mask. He leaned in, and a hot, wet tongue licked over his bloody face.

‘There,’ said Ghost, sounding pleased. ‘All better.’

‘You manky bastard,’ breathed Johnny, feeling a hot flush of arousal burning through his veins all the same.

‘But you didn’t stop me,’ said Ghost, sounding smugger than he’d ever sounded.

Johnny saw a grin before he pulled his mask firmly back in place.

‘I gotta ask,’ said Graves, striding over. ‘What’s with the mask?’

‘I’ve got sensitive skin,’ replied Ghost. ‘You said something about tea?’

Graves nodded. ‘Step right this way, boys.’

Johnny retrieved his gear and fell into step beside the commander, Ghost next to him, close enough to bump shoulders. They walked down the narrow road, the sun bouncing back off the concrete.

The air seemed to swim around then. Johnny tried to focus on what Graves was saying but it became garbled noise. He stopped then, staring down at his hot boots on the hot road, easing at the collar of his t-shirt which all at once felt too tight, chafing at his neck.

‘Soap?’ Ghost’s voice cut through the noise but not the heat.

It felt like it was wrapped around him, suffocating him. A loud whoosh sounded behind them. He turned, almost overbalancing.

‘They’re burning the bodies,’ said Graves as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Johnny turned back, and as he did so a searing pain ripped through his head. He cried out, stumbling.

Ghost caught him as he fell.

 

He came to lying on a narrow cot, staring up at a canvas ceiling. Ghost was sitting cross legged on the ground next to him. He clutched Johnny’s hand.

‘You awake?’

‘No,’ croaked Johnny. The headache had reduced to a dull ache behind his eyes.

Ghost pulled off his glove and felt his forehead. It was then Johnny noticed he’d been stripped down to his boxers.

‘You’re still hot,’ said Ghost. He reached for something besides the bed. ‘Here. Water.’

He helped Johnny sit up and held a plastic cup up to his mouth, his other hand gently cradling the back of his neck.

‘Where are we?’ said Johnny, as he finished drinking.

‘Shadows set up camp. They needed to patch themselves up,’ replied Ghost with a shrug.

Johnny heard the hiss of a bottle, and a moment later Ghost nudged a bottle of cola under his nose.

‘Here drink this and then you can eat something. He wasn’t bullshitting about the MREs. Come on,’ he urged until Johnny finally opened his mouth, flooding it with sickly sweet soda.

‘You trust them?’ said Johnny, grabbing the bottle from him. He belched.

‘I don’t trust anyone,’ replied Ghost. ‘But I was in Mozambique, I worked with a few of these guys. I’m gonna listen to what he has to say, okay?’

His dark eyes found Johnny’s. A question, not an order.

‘I suppose,’ said Johnny, holding his chest as he belched again. ‘Fucking hell what’s in this?’

‘Blood, sweat and tears,’ replied Ghost dryly. He got up with a grunt. ‘Do you really hate fish and chips?’

 

‘There are just better options,’ Johnny said, as they left the tent. ‘Like, I dunno, a nice battered sausage.’

Behind his mask Ghost raised his eyebrows, but that was low hanging fruit even for him. Johnny swept an eye over the makeshift camp. There were half a dozen canvas tents like theirs, set up in a circle in a large field. Ghost led the way over to the largest, erected next to a black Jeep, the outside stacked with metal supply boxes. Graves was inside, standing over a table cluttered with maps and other odds and ends; a tea stained mug, and several pens. He was frowning and tapping at a satellite GPS.

‘Ah you’re awake,’ he said, looking up. ‘Feeling better? I think you had a touch of heatstroke. ‘Fraid I don’t got aircon.’

It took Johnny’s eyes a second to adjust to the darkness of the tent. He finally noticed another soldier standing there, stock still, hand on his rifle. Graves followed his eyeline.

‘Oh don’t mind him. Ramirez, put your gun down, you’re making our guests nervous.’

The man at first didn’t move. Then, his movements jerky, he set his rifle down on a chair and stood back in place.

‘S’pose you want some answers, don’t you?’ said Graves, stowing the GPS and leaning against the table. He’d cleaned the blood off his face and stripped off his armour, the blue shirt and jeans he was wearing underneath smudged with sweat and dirt. ‘Ghost and I met a few years back, although not in person. Just a few heads up over the comms, wasn’t it?’

Ghost nodded. ‘You launched those missiles.’

Graves grinned. ‘I did didn’t I. Lit those fuckers up like fourth of July.’

Ghost shifted his weight, crossing his arms. ‘So why are you here? Under whose orders?’

Graves tapped the side of his nose. ‘Fraid I can’t disclose my clients LT.’

Johnny bristled at that, only he got to call Ghost LT. Graves continued.

‘But I can tell you why I’m here.’ He suddenly straightened up, sighing, and the grin dropped. ‘It’s been a shitshow since we landed. Got Russkis up my ass and infected riding my fucking dick. I had sixty men when I landed.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Now I’ve got twenty.’ Here he met Johnny’s eyes. ‘You boys have turned up just at the right time. I could do with the extra horsepower.’

Ghost slowly nodded. ‘What’s in it for us?’

‘You want off this hellhole of an island, don’t you? I’ve got a ship docked at Liverpool, all ready and waiting to load up. We’ll take you with us when we go.’

‘Where are you going? America clear?’ said Ghost.

A frown passed over Graves’ face, one he tried to smooth out.

‘Parts,’ he said eventually. ‘Montana mostly. But the most important thing is we have tall walls and we have weapons. We can find you someplace safe to go.’

‘Alright,’ said Ghost, although his eyes had narrowed, squinting at Graves like he was trying to peer inside his skull. ‘Give me the sitrep.’

Graves looked back at the map. ‘The situation is, we’re here and we need to get here.’ He jabbed a finger at a grey square on the map. ‘We’re here to retrieve a scientist. We’ve been in touch via satellite phone but he went dark three days ago. He’s been working on a vaccine since this thing started.’

Johnny stiffened, head jerking up. ‘A vaccine?’

Graves nodded. ‘He’s some sort of expert apparently, cloistered away in there. The problem is this is ground zero.’ He ran a finger over the map. ‘Place is crawling with infected-‘

The soldier behind him suddenly shivered, so violently he took several steps back and knocked against the metal chair.

Graves turned. ‘Ramirez, you good? Why don’t you go get some chow with the others?’

Ramirez opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was a long wheezing rattle.

‘He’s infected,’ said Ghost, sounding matter-of-fact. 

Graves looked at him. ‘You serious?’

‘You’ve got five minutes,’ Ghost continued, standing stock still, arms crossed, watching the struggling soldier like he was waiting for the bus.

‘Ramirez,’ said Graves sharply. ‘This true? You get fucking bit?’

The man, shivering, placed a hand to his chest, his body trembling. He shook his head. Graves took one step over to him and grabbed his hand. ‘Don’t fuck with me. Show me.’

The man sucked in a breath. He raised his right hand. Graves grabbed his wrist and ripped his glove off. There was a circle of shallow teeth marks on the fleshy part where thumb met palm. Graves dropped his wrist like it burnt.

‘Fuck,’ he growled. ‘Fuck. Shit.’

Ramirez flinched away from him. He slowly, gradually, sunk to the ground, curled in on himself.

‘I can do it,’ offered Ghost.

The three of them watched the man shuddering on the canvas floor. Then, he abruptly went still.

‘Guess my timing was a little off,’ said Ghost. ‘He’ll be back up in a few seconds.’

Graves stepped back and lunged for the rifle. On the ground there was a sharp crackling noise as Ramirez straightened up, his neck clicking all the way over to one side and then to the other. Johnny wondered if he should move. Ramirez opened his mouth, lips pulling back from long teeth that, as they watched, only seemed to get longer. Graves fired and he flopped back onto the ground with a grunt.

‘You missed,’ said Ghost.

‘What?’ said Graves, unable to tear his eyes away from the man on the floor.

‘You’ve got to get the brain.’ Ghost walked around the side of the table. He pulled him up, knocking off his helmet. The man reanimated in his arms, hissing, and clawing at him. Ghost calmly turned his head to one side as he flailed. When Graves didn’t move he pulled out a knife and stabbed him through his orbital socket. The man, the biter, sagged in his arms, a dead weight. Ghost dropped him.

‘Done.’

‘Fuck,’ breathed Graves. He set down the rifle on the map. ‘Look let’s take a minute. We can go over this later. Why don’t you boys get some food? Supplies are just down there.’

‘Suit yourself,’ said Ghost. He nudged Johnny. ‘C’mon Soap.’

They headed out of the tent, and behind them heard Graves yell.

‘What about a kebab?’ said Ghost.

‘Huh, what?’ replied Johnny, taking a second to comprehend what he was saying, his mind still full of snapping teeth. ‘Oh. Can’t beat a donner after a night out.’

‘You get it with chilli sauce?’ continued Ghost.

They moved to the side as several soldiers ran over to the tent.

‘No, garlic sauce.’

Ghost nodded in agreement. ‘Cheesy chips?’

‘O’ course.’

They ducked back into the tent. Johnny sat down on the edge of one of the cots. He watched as Ghost, without warning, began to remove his armour.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, as he dropped his vest and pulled his t-shirt over his head.

Johnny gaped. He’d never get over this, this enormous tank of a man dominating the space with his sheer size. Would he stay this big as he got older, he began to think and then stopped. Because Ghost wouldn’t get old. And they wouldn’t grow old together. Ghost was dead.

‘Knackered,’ he finally answered.

Ghost moved closer, kicking out his legs and slotting between his thighs. Johnny’s hands came up, squeezing firm flesh, admiring with fascination blue-white skin and silver scars.

‘You looked good out there,’ said Ghost, voice dropping.

‘How d’ya mean?’ replied Johnny, fingers drifting in his waistband, tracing the line of wheat blonde hair that led down.

Ghost pushed against his touch.

‘Grabbing Graves like that. Using that voice. Haven’t heard you sound like that for a while.’ His gaze dragged over him. ‘Proper gets me going.’

Johnny glanced at the canvas flap to the tent, still partially open. Beyond he could see trampled grass and another tent. Ghost reached out and pulled it shut.

‘Do you really think there’s a vaccine?’ said Johnny.

Ghost sighed, massive chest rising and falling. ‘Who knows. But if there’s a chance, just a chance it’ll keep you safe-‘ he moved over to him, the cot creaking as he sat down next to him. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I think we should take it.’

‘Graves thinks he’s saving the world,’ said Johnny, staring into his eyes, coal dark in the gloom of the tent.

‘Don’t give a shit about the world,’ said Ghost. ‘Only care about you.’

‘You soft bastard,’ said Johnny with a smile.

‘Soft?’ Ghost reached for his hand, pulling it down to his groin. ‘Not anymore.’

Despite his words he was soft, hands ever so gently skimming down Johnny’s sides as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and eased off his filthy trousers. His massive hands splayed across Johnny’s stomach, tracing over his muscles, as though he were committing them to memory from touch alone.

Johnny felt himself stir, his cock hardening against his thigh.

‘I love how you look,’ said Ghost, in his ear, voice rough. ‘I love that look you get on your face when you’re threatening people.’

Johnny wondered if it was appropriate to say thank you. Ghost carefully eased him onto his back, his skin sliding against the rough canvas of the cot. He shut his eyes as his mouth closed over a nipple, painfully sucking, until he ached. He moved over to the other one, and Johnny gasped. Johnny’s hand came up, curling in the fabric of Ghost’s mask.

‘Take it off,’ he murmured.

Ghost glanced up, looking up at him from under those white-blonde lashes with big doe eyes. He pulled off his mask without another word and lowered his head once again. He licked down his torso, nipping at the bruises he’d left and finally, his lips met the head of Johnny’s cock.

His mouth lapped down his shaft and Johnny heard himself whimper. He licked down, his tongue dragging a wet trail from tip to hole and back again, making Johnny shiver and grab for him. Wriggling down the narrow cot he drew his balls into his mouth and sucked. Johnny’s hips bucked and Ghost grabbed hold of him, holding him in place. He trembled. Ghost pulled back, finger stroking over his hole.

‘But I love how you look like this too,’ he said, smirking. ‘I was a fool back in that desert, shoulda had you under me the first time-‘

As he spoke one hand curled around Johnny’s cock, slowly, rough palm catching on sensitive skin. He stroked him up and down, gradually speeding up. He leaned in, Johnny bracing himself, mindful of there only being canvas walls to muffle them. He could hear the hustle of the camp outside, soldiers talking and shouting over to one another.

But instead of a gentle press of lips and tongue Ghost bit down, hard, teeth digging into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. As he yelped, squirming to get away, he did it again. Johnny sat up, eyes watering.

‘What the fuck are you-‘ he cried.

Ghost slammed him down. Johnny looked down, at the red marks already blossoming on his skin. He hadn’t drawn blood, but it was close. Ghost stared at him, head slightly tilted.

‘You’re shaking,’ he said, rough hand letting go of his pulsing cock and gliding over his belly.

His touch wasn’t soft now, it was hard, fingers crawling and pinching. Johnny could see his teeth glinting in the dim light. He froze as Ghost dipped his head and grazed his teeth over his stomach, leaving behind angry red lines. The hand holding him down tightened. He moved up, tongue flicking over his chest. Johnny trembled. Ghost leaned in, Johnny’s gaze dipping to his scars, the flash of serrated teeth in his ragged jaw.

‘You taste incredible,’ Ghost whispered.

Johnny’s hands came up, digging into the larger man’s chest.

‘Don’t,’ he said, voice steady despite the squirming in his guts.

Ghost sat back on his haunches and unzipped his jeans, palming his heavy cock, his other hand dragging through Johnny’s chest hair.

‘Ghost,’ Johnny said warningly, not liking the way he was looking at him, with something akin to hunger, tongue escaping his parted lips. His fingers grabbed his chest and squeezed, too hard to be pleasurable. Johnny grunted.

Ghost pushed his cock against his and spat. The slide of slick skin on skin was almost intolerable. Johnny’s head fell back, his chest heaving, as Ghost wrapped one large hand around both their cocks and squeezed. The bites on his thigh stung.

Ghost swiped a thumb over his leaking head, making him quiver. It was too much, too soon. He came almost immediately, trembling, his nerves fizzing.

‘Simon,’ he gasped and felt the other man spill hot over his belly.

Johnny opened his eyes.

Ghost blinked. He got off the cot, still holding his dripping cock, jeans slipping down his legs. He ran a hand over his face.

‘Fuck.’ He looked down at himself. ‘I-‘ he let go of his cock, tucking it back into his boxers. ‘I need some air.’ He yanked up his jeans, and grabbed for his mask.

‘Wait,’ began Johnny, reaching for him, but Ghost shrugged away from him, and dove through the tent flap, leaving the canvas flapping.

Johnny sank back on the bed, tacky with sweat and cum. He ran a hand over the bite shaped bruises on his thigh, and winced.

He was running.

He was running away again.

Because that’s what Ghost did when things got uncomfortable.

Not this time. Not again. Johnny grabbed for his clothes, still jumping into his combats as he ducked out the tent and giving some poor soldier an eyeful of his arse. He spied Ghost slipping through the camp, pulling on his t-shirt as he strode away.

‘Ghost.’

Johnny could tell he heard him by the way his back stiffened but he ignored him. The crushed grass whispered against his bare feet as he spirited to catch up. He lunged for his arm, wrenching him around.

‘Did ya not hear me you big lummox?’

Ghost’s eyes darted away, focused on the tents behind them, the overgrown grass, the line of crooked trees, anywhere really but at Johnny.

‘I heard you,’ he finally said.

‘Where are you going?’ Johnny asked him. He was still holding his arm, fingers digging into his tricep. Ghost didn’t pull away.

‘I nearly-I could have-‘ Ghost pinched the bridge of his nose as though pained.

‘But you didn’t,’ said Johnny gently. ‘Come back to the tent. Talk to me.’

‘What use is talking,’ mumbled Ghost. ‘Always been shit at it.’

Johnny raised his eyebrows. His hand shifted higher, squeezing at his arm. ‘I think you’re doing a grand job.’

Behind his mask Ghost’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

‘I would never hurt you, you know,’ he said, leaning in, voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny thought of all the times he had anyway. All the times he’d shattered his heart and he’d had to sticky tape the pieces back together.

‘Oh aye, is that your word as lieutenant?’ It was a struggle to keep his voice breezy.

Ghost noticed. He shifted all the closer as though he might sink straight into him, possess him, like a phantom.

‘My word as your partner,’ said Ghost, who had gone very still, as though there was a spell between them he might break if he moved too suddenly.

And gazing up at him Johnny thought that perhaps he was for once remembering the same things that he was.

‘Partners in crime?’ he said, head cocking to one side, flashing that smile that he hoped was even half as brilliant as it used to be, still willing to give him a way out. Let Simon Riley run if he had to. Who was he to hold his leash?

‘Significant other, Johnny,’ said Ghost, speaking very slowly. ‘Lovers.’

‘Boyfriends?’ suggested Johnny, trying to repress his shudder at the word lovers.

‘If you want,’ said Ghost, nodding, sounding eager.

Oh fuck Johnny wanted to cry. Why had it taken the end of the world for Ghost to finally crack. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to kiss him.

‘Johnny?’ murmured Ghost, now standing so close he was standing over him, having to tilt his head and crane his neck to see his expression. ‘Are you crying?’

‘No!’ protested Johnny. Fuck, what had that bullet done to him. He was glad his back was to the Shadow’s camp. He hoped Graves wasn’t watching this display.

‘Alright,’ said Ghost, drawing him into an embrace. ‘Whatever it is, it’ll pass.’

Johnny wanted to say it, but he didn’t, the words snagging in his throat like splinters. Ghost’s arms tightened. Perhaps he already knew.

Chapter 15: jade

He was being shot at. Again and again and again. His ears rang with the ricochet. Where was he? Where was Ghost?

Johnny jerked awake to the sound of a heavy fist slowly and methodically rapping at his door.

He groaned. He was still drunk, the dark room spinning as he sat up, the duvet flopping to the floor. He stumbled to the door and wrenched it open. Ghost was leaning against the door jamb, in the ancient jeans and long sleeved t-shirt he always wore off duty. His mask, material, not the Halloween get up he favoured for combat, covered his smiling mouth. His blonde hair glittered in the slip of moonlight feeling his way across the hall.

‘What?’ growled Johnny.

‘Is that any way to greet your superior?’ said Ghost, peeling himself off the doorframe and wandering into his room uninvited. He stood in the middle of the space, sucking all the light to him like a black hole, picking over the few things that cluttered Johnny’s desk; an empty beer bottle, crumpled underwear that should have gone in the laundry basket, and his sketchbook. Johnny snatched it from him as he began to flip through the pages.

‘That your diary MacTavish?’

‘Fuck off,’ hissed Johnny, mindful of the thin walls and the sleeping soldiers on each side. ‘Why are you in here?’

Ghost pushed a heap of dirty clothing off Johnny’s desk chair and sat down with a creak. He crossed one leg over at the knee, leaning back.

‘Saw you at the pub,’ he said, slowly pushing up his sleeves.

Johnny tried not to stare at his forearms, one dark with ink, the other mottled with old burns. He wasn’t sure which he liked more. He refused to sit down opposite, standing over him with a scowl, hoping it would encourage him to leave.

‘And?’ he said. ‘It’s a free country.’

Ghost snorted. ‘Why do we pay so many taxes then?’

Johnny made a throaty sound of exasperation, stepping back. ‘It’s too late for your shit, Simon. Why are you here?’

Ghost shifted his weight, making the chair squeal, staring up at him. ‘I saw that guy you were with.’

Johnny had to make a conscious effort to stop grinding his jaw.

‘Mark?’ he said. ‘He’s not anyone. Just some guy.’

Ghost reached up a hand to unhook his mask and in the dim light Johnny saw his shredded knuckles.

‘And it’s gonna stay that way,’ he said and rose.

‘What the fuck did you do?’ breathed Johnny, staring up at him.

Ghost shrugged. ‘What does it matter if he’s just some guy?’ He hooked a hand in Johnny’s boxers, pulling him towards him.

Johnny didn’t stop him. He couldn’t escape. He was a moon caught in his orbit. Possibly on a crash course.

‘I thought we weren’t doing this anymore,’ he said, as Ghost’s hands slowly, surely, pulled down his underwear and cupped a handful of his arse.

‘You said we weren’t doing this anymore. I never agreed.’ Ghost dipped his head, hot breath drifting over his neck. He wrapped his arms around him and physically lifted him, walking the two steps over to the bed and throwing him down. He draped over him like a shadow, fingers stroking and fondling, like Johnny was his pet. One hand deftly removed his clothes.

Beneath him Johnny squirmed. ‘Are you gonna make me fill out a form?’

‘Yeah,’ Ghost breathed, right in his ear, as he began to push against him. He leaned past him with one arm, rifling in the drawer of the nightstand. ‘I want to see Price’s face when he reads it.’

His hand, lube slick, was already pushing into him, three fingers, too much. It hurt. Johnny let him. He pulled him closer. Shutting his eyes he listened to the crinkle of a condom packet and then Ghost was replacing his fingers with the heavy length of his cock, pushing inside as they both groaned.

‘You’re like fucking Jupiter,’ panted Johnny, as he was pounded into the bed, ankles over his shoulders. He knew all the physio for his knee would help somehow.

‘The God?’ grunted Ghost. ‘I’m glad you think so highly of my abilities.’

Johnny’s drunk brain struggled to explain. He moaned instead as Ghost pushed him onto his belly, slapping his arse before driving back into him. He pounded him into the cheap, bobbled sheets, the bed quaking. Johnny keened, arching his back, no longer giving two shits about his neighbours. Let them hear his lieutenant rutting him into the mattress. It was good for morale.

Ghost kept up a constant, muttered appreciation as he fucked into him, holding him in place as he stretched him open on his cock. He leaned over him, tilting his chin up so he could fill his mouth with his tongue and lick. He pulled back, planting kisses between his shoulder blades.

‘I fucking love how you feel on my cock,’ he groaned. ‘Love how you scream for me.’

He threaded his fingers between the strands of Johnny’s mohawk and tugged. Johnny moaned, pushing back on his length.

Ghost bit down, his next words half muffled by his panting breath but Johnny still heard it.

‘Love you,’ he gasped as he sank into him one final time and came with a muffled shout, fingers digging into his behind.

His other hand reached around to give his cock a sharp tug and Johnny came, shaking, hearing his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He had barely finished when Ghost pulled out, pulling off the condom with a snap. He slipped into the bathroom and Johnny heard the toilet flush.

Johnny turned his head, watching with one eye as Ghost gathered up his clothes.

‘I heard what you said,’ he huffed.

Ghost zipped up his jeans, tone matter of fact as he replied. ‘That I love you on my cock? You were meant to.’

Johnny sat up, glaring. ‘You’re a manipulative bastard, you know that.’

Ghost pulled his mask back on, but he couldn’t hide his smirk.

‘If you say so,’ he replied mildly.

‘Fuck you,’ spat Johnny, at a loss for anything more intelligent to say.

‘I did,’ said Ghost maddeningly. ‘I had a great fucking time.’ He closed the space between them, jabbing him in the chest none too lightly. ‘You wanted me and now you have me. You can’t shake me off that easy.’

For a second Johnny was worried he was going to drop to his knees. Ghost kept his hand on his chest, pressed over his heart.

‘I want you,’ said Ghost.

Johnny rolled his eyes. ‘Aye but only between these four walls.’

Ghost stepped back.

‘I’m your fucking lieutenant!’ he cried and someone banged on the wall in the room next door. His voice dropped. ‘What do you want from me? Footsie in the mess hall at breakfast? Hand holding in the briefing room?’

Johnny sighed.

‘Ghost,’ he began, and Ghost took an eager step back to him. ‘Leave me alone. Stop fucking everything up for me.’

Ghost frowned. ‘That’s what you think I’ve been doing?’ He tracked Johnny’s gaze back over to the desk. ‘What the fuck is that?’ he held the papers up to the window, squinting at the dark block of text. ‘Are these transfer papers?’

Johnny gave a long, weary sigh, his head flopping into his hands. He stared down at his bare feet on the worn carpet.

‘Please. Leave me alone.’

He heard Ghost’s sharp intake of breath but he didn’t say anything further.

‘Alright,’ he finally replied.

Johnny listened to the door clicking shut. They both knew he’d be back tomorrow.

 

The jeep rattled over a pot hole and Johnny lurched awake. He opened his eyes. The Shadows wedged either side of him stared steadily ahead. Opposite him Ghost met his gaze.

‘Alright sleeping beauty?’

I love you

Had he meant it? People said all sorts of shit in the throes of passion. He would know. One of the Shadows stood up, peering over the roof of the vehicle. An abandoned oil tanker blocked the narrow slip of road.

‘End of the line boys,’ called the driver. ‘Looks like we’re walking.’

There was a collective groan from all the men. One by one they trickled from the Jeep. Johnny lingered, checking and rechecking the assault rifle he’d been given, a standard issue M16.

‘Looking a bit foggy MacTavish.’

Ghost’s voice made him jump.

‘I’m sharp, sir,’ he replied.

Ghost leaned in, and Johnny tilted his head on instinct, but he was only doing up the strap of his helmet.

‘You should know better,’ he said. He tapped the front of the helmet with his knuckles. ‘Knock knock.’

‘Uh, who’s there?’ said Johnny, after a beat.

‘Woo,’ replied Ghost as he patted his cheek.

‘Woo who?’ said Johnny, looking up at him.

Ghost leaned in. ‘Glad you’re excited too,’ he murmured.

‘I had this dream,’ began Johnny and then was interrupted by a shout.

‘Hey boys, you coming?’ Graves was striding down the line of waiting Shadows.

‘On the way,’ replied Ghost. He patted Johnny’s shoulder as he moved past him.

 

They trudged down the narrow road, the soldiers having fight through overgrown nettles and hogweed. Behind him Ghost began to sing, quietly at first and then becoming more sonorous.

‘Mama take this badge from me, I can’t use it anymore, it’s getting too dark, too dark to see. Feels like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door.’

Johnny closed his eyes and was almost slapped in the face by a bramble. He joined in on the chorus.

‘Knock-knock-knockin' on Heaven's door!’ he sang, Ghost leaning in and yelling over his shoulder, growing steadily louder with every line, like they were at karaoke and not in the middle of an apocalypse.

The Shadows kept turning to stare at the two of them. Johnny assumed they were talking about them but he couldn’t hear them over Ghost’s deep rumble. He couldn’t find it in his heart to care.

 

Johnny stepped over a fallen fence. He had to duck as the soldier in front of him pushed through a branch and let it swing back. After fighting his way through the undergrowth he stalled at the edge of a lake, still and flat as a mirror.

Ahead Graves was standing, looking out over the water as he spoke to one of the Shadows. Maybe they were complaining about the singing. He turned and waited for Johnny to catch up.

‘Science park is five clicks that way,’ he said, pointing.

Ahead Johnny could see nothing but trees, a tangle of emerald and jade, spiky dark evergreens standing amidst lush beech and oak like sentinels. Even in the bright summer sun it looked a shadowy tangle, a fairytale thicket.

‘Through there?’ said Ghost, clearly thinking the same thing as Johnny.

‘That’s the quickest route,’ replied Graves, matter of fact. He said something else to Ryan in a low voice and he moved away.

Johnny wondered if he was trying to convince himself or them.

‘Those biters have been swarming the roads like stray dogs,’ continued Graves. ‘It’ll be quicker this way.’

‘Yeah maybe with a chainsaw,’ remarked Ghost.

‘Hey, you boys want to take the long route you’re more than welcome,’ replied Graves, voice a little sharper now. ‘Call me when you get there, huh?’ He turned to the assembled soldiers. ‘Shadows, let’s move out. Heads on a swivel, boys.’

‘Yup yup,’ replied the Shadows in chorus. They began to march around the edge of the water, heading for a path Johnny could see half hidden by the dense trees.

‘C’mon Soap let’s go,’ said Ghost.

Johnny caught the white flash of his eyes as he glanced at him. They followed behind the marching column. Johnny spied a discoloured sign at the entrance to the forest. He slowed to read it. Wyre Forest. He hoped there wouldn’t be any lions.

 

It was cool in the forest. Cool and silent. Untended it had grown in on itself, branches low and tangling together, the underbrush dense. The green canopy above blocked out the sweltering sun, so impenetrable it grew dark as they moved further in, a perpetual twilight. The only sound was the susurrating tread of the boots ahead of him. They followed a narrow deer trail, keeping to the rear of the Shadows. Ghost cleared his throat.

‘Shadows spread out,’ he barked. ‘Form a line.’

The Shadows glanced at each other. One or two began to drift out of formation. Graves stopped and marched back.

‘Hey now, I don’t recall granting you rank, LT. Now I appreciate the input but don’t forget yourself. These are my men, not yours.’

‘Well your men need to form a line,’ replied Ghost coolly. ‘You need eyes on. This is unfamiliar ground.’

‘And when they lose sight of each other in this mess, what then?’ replied Graves, thumbs hooked into his leather belt, head cocked like a cowboy.

‘If they’re so fucking stupid they can’t walk a metre apart you’ve got much bigger problems, mate. I don’t know what to tell you,’ said Ghost. He looked around the forest. ‘Something here isn’t right.’

Graves’ pale eyes narrowed, his mouth pursing as he sucked in air. ‘Look, Riley. Now I’m grateful that you boys are here, really I am. But leave the commanding to me, hm? You worry about your own.’ He briefly met Johnny’s eyes and looked away, making his way back to the head of the line, gait stiff legged as a pit bull.

Ghost shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

They continued through the forest, fighting through brambles and low hanging branches.

‘You alright?’ said Ghost in a low voice. ‘You need to stop you tell me, don’t need you passing out again.’

‘I’m fine,’ muttered Johnny, wiping at the sweat that had gathered in his beard. He glanced up, at the web of branches above them.

Up ahead Graves made the hand sign for wait. The men stalled.

‘Clearing up ahead,’ he called. ‘Be on your guard.’

‘Yup yup,’ responded the Shadows.

‘Fucking hell,’ muttered Ghost.

‘Yup yup,’ replied Johnny in a low voice, over his shoulder and Ghost elbowed him.

 

The forest opened out into a wide meadow, long grass brushing against Johnny’s hips. For a moment was glad to be out of the dark tangle of trees but after a minute of battling through waist high grass and nettles he wished for the former. He felt exposed. The sun too bright above, the grass tangling around his ankles. Ghost walked alongside him, brushing a hand over the top of the fox-tails and getting seeds caught on his gloves. Crickets chirped unseen. Johnny watched as a red admiral fluttered past his nose, alighting on a spray of cornflowers. Ghost crouched and plucked one. He held it out to him.

‘Matches your eyes,’ he said.

Johnny saw a ripple of movement in the swaying, golden grass. He turned, the flower drooping in his hand. There was no breeze.

The Shadow several lengths ahead of them disappeared with a bitten off scream, the grass swaying.

‘Ambush!’ shouted Ghost immediately, aiming his rifle, standing so he was back to back with Johnny, dark eyes sweeping the rustling plain.

Another soldier went down, screaming, the grass waving. Another fired indiscriminately.

‘Hold your fire!’ yelled Graves.

The soldier standing just in front of him was dragged off his feet and into the thicket of oat grass. He thrashed, screaming, one gloved hand raised like he was drowning.

‘Contact! On your left!’ growled Ghost, swinging around, just as a biter pounced, leaping from the grass like a tiger, hands outstretched.

He fired, its grey brains splattering across the green. Another leapt from behind, arms open, mouth an abysmal maw bristling with sharp edged fangs. Ghost fired in rapid succession, blood dashing from its chest and neck. It landed on top of him, throwing him to the ground. Johnny felt a hand close around his ankle. He turned, firing and the arm withdrew back into the grass. Ghost wrestled with the biter, elbowing it in the jaw, before throwing it off.

Ahead, the Shadows screamed. Graves swung left and right, gun popping.

‘Run!’ shouted Ghost, the biter clawing and snarling. ‘Make for the trees. Soap! Go!’

Johnny fired, a perfect round hole appearing in the biter’s face. It slumped over Ghost’s chest. Johnny grabbed for his hand and hauled him to his feet. He couldn’t run flat out, and instead plunged through the dense grass, thighs burning as he raised his knees. Another biter lunged and Ghost grabbed it by the back of the neck, physically dragging it off him. He smacked it to the ground, and snapped its neck. Johnny hobbled on, ripping through the grass and feeling it burn against his bare palms. All around the strands rippled and swayed with screaming.

There was the treeline, just ahead. As he finally untangled himself from the grass and bolted into the coolness of the forest, a pack of biters plunged from the trees above, scuttling like spiders down branches, leaves shaking free like confetti.

‘They fucking planned this!’ spat Ghost in disbelief.

They mowed through them with bullets and blades, biters grabbing at them with mouths open wide, teeth gleaming like metal. One of them shoved Johnny into the trunk of an oak tree, his helmet smashing against the bark. Under its ragged clothes he could see bones protruding, bursting out of its skin. He shoved the barrel of his rifle into its mouth as it bit down and watched it spark against the aluminium. He brought his knee up, making it wheeze and fired, closing his eyes as blood sprayed across his face.

‘Soap! Run!’ shouted Ghost, voice cutting through the screaming.

Johnny shoved the biter away from him and took off at a pelt, glancing up at the clacking tree branches above, waiting to see if more would drop down.

He wasn’t sure how long he ran for, crashing through the forest, his gear rattling with every pounding step, Ghost alongside, sometimes disappearing behind the trees. He smashed straight into a chain link fence, almost falling onto his arse.

‘Up,’ said Ghost, lacing his hands together and boosted him up and over in the next breath.

They staggered out the forest and onto a road. Alongside a handful of Shadows emerged too, chests heaving. Johnny ran an eye over them. Five left. Where was Graves?
He sensed movement behind him and turned to see the commander climbing over the fence. He stumbled into the road, panting.

‘They’re still coming,’ said Ghost, looking back at the dark blot of trees. ‘We need to go.’

Johnny caught a thin, high scream in the still air.

‘My men are back there,’ said Graves, struggling to speak. There was a gash from a tree branch just under his eye, steadily oozing blood.

‘They’re not your men anymore,’ said Ghost and Graves visibly shuddered.

He walked away from them, fiddling with his shirtsleeves, rolling one up and then down again. Another scream sounded, this one closer.

‘Where’s the science park?’ continued Ghost. ‘Graves?’

Graves looked down the road, fingers stroking over cotton. ‘That way,’ he finally said, hand shaking as he raised it. ‘Let’s move out.’

No one responded.

 

‘You alright?’ said Ghost, leaning in, resting a hand on Johnny’s shoulder as they continued down the road, boots ringing.

‘Are you?’ countered Johnny. ‘Just saw you WWE slam a biter.’

‘Well it wasn’t great for my back,’ replied Ghost. ‘Fuck me, what a shitshow.’

The Shadows talked amongst themselves in low voices. The country road joined a much larger one, a crash barrier dividing the two lanes. There was the occasional car here, doors flung open, boots spilling suitcases stuffed with clothes. Johnny ran his hands over one, blood and hair imbedded in the windscreen. What had happened here?

A white van began shaking as they approached. The Shadows skirted around with wide eyes.

‘I hate this fucking country,’ muttered one.

Johnny caught an undercurrent of whispering as he padded closer.

‘Can’t believe they got Ryan and that freak with the mask is still with us,’ whispered one to another.

They were no longer walking in formation, listing all over the road. Johnny looked back over his shoulder and saw Ghost was staring down the long serpent back of road.

‘Are they following?’ he questioned.

‘Nah I think we lost them,’ replied Ghost, letting out a breath. ‘Come on, eyes sharp.’

‘Always are, LT,’ Johnny murmured.

 

‘Fuck. Yes. There it is,’ said Graves, relief evident in his voice. A large sign was posted outside tall, metal gates.

Ares bio systems, it read, curling font over a red circle. Graves walked up to the gate and made to push it.

‘Wait,’ said Ghost sharply.

Graves froze. ‘You see something I don’t?’

‘We’re being watched,’ said Ghost.

Several of the Shadows looked from side to side. ‘There more of those fucking things stalking us?’ commented one.

Ghost pushed past Graves, squinting at the keypad. There was a small black lens just above the keypad. He pressed the entry buzzer.

‘That’s not gonna work-‘ began Graves and then, with a metallic click, the gates slowly began to open.

‘They have power,’ said Johnny in surprise.

‘Yeah but is it to keep us out or something in?’ said Ghost.

Johnny shivered. He hadn’t thought of that.

‘It’s a covert facility, I’d imagine their security is pretty tight,’ remarked Graves.

‘Oh yeah real fucking covert with the sign right out front,’ said Ghost with a laugh. He turned, running an eye over the remaining Shadows, nervously shifting from foot to foot. ‘One of your guys should scout.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Johnny immediately.

Turning his head Ghost scowled. ‘No, Sergeant.’ His tone was clipped.

‘And why not?’ said Graves, squaring his shoulders. ‘My boys worth less than yours?’

Ghost ground his teeth. ‘I’ll go,’ he finally said. ‘Give me 15.’

Johnny opened his mouth to protest, caught Ghost’s expression, and shut it again. He stood, fingers tapping against the side of his rifle. Graves produced a timer.

‘Alright LT. You have 15.’

They watched Ghost walk through the gates and up the long, empty drive. He disappeared from sight behind a wall of spruce trees.

‘You serve together?’ said Graves, sounding curious.

Johnny realised he was talking directly to him. ‘He’s my CO,’ he replied.

‘He’s got quite a reputation,’ continued Graves, tongue tapping against his teeth. ‘You know-‘

But Johnny never did find out what sort of reputation Ghost had as he reappeared, running. Three biters were bolting after him.

‘Catch ‘em!’ he yelled.

‘Catch them!?’ exclaimed one shadow.

Ghost pointed his rifle. ‘Aim for the knees.’

The infected were felled, falling head over heels with the momentum. Ghost looked distastefully at them twitching on the floor.

‘There’s dozens, maybe even a hundred,’ he said to Graves. ‘And no cover. Just open ground until you get to the building. We’ll be torn apart.’

‘So we’ll wait till nightfall,’ said Graves. He spat at one of the biters, curling his lip. ‘Fucking assholes.’

‘I have an idea,’ said Ghost.

Johnny stared at the squirming infected, scratching at the floor with overgrown nails. Many of them were wearing smart clothes, some were in what has been white coats, now torn and grass stained.

‘These people worked here,’ he breathed. ‘They were scientists or lab assistants.’

‘Yeah, no shit, kid,’ snapped Graves and Johnny’s hackles raised. ‘What’s your plan?’

‘There’s too many biters to take out,’ said Ghost. ‘We can skin the zombies and walk through ‘em. The scent will throw them off.’

There was a collective sound of disgust from the waiting soldiers.

‘You’re a fucking sick fuck you know that,’ said Graves, staring up at him. ‘I like it. You really think it’ll work?’

Ghost pulled a knife free from his vest, leaning over one of the biters. ‘Do we have much choice? Unless you got some rockets stashed away in those Levis.’

‘Fraid not, used those up when we docked. Place was overrun. Alright, let’s do it your way. Who dares wins, right?’

Ghost knelt over one of the biters. Johnny crouched, watching.

‘You really think this will work?’ he murmured, watching as Ghost ran the tip of his knife around the infected’s forehead. He was quick, methodical. Had he done this before?

It shrieked, thrashing, and Ghost dug his knee into its back, pinning in there with superior weight.

‘When a ewe’s lamb dies and another is orphaned the farmer skins the dead one and wraps the orphan in its skin. The ewe smell it, and thinks it belongs to them.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess we’ll see if my theory holds water.’ He glanced over at the watching Shadows. ‘Why are you not guarding that gate?’

Graves didn’t correct him. He pointed to one of them. ‘Do as he says boys. This is delicate work.’ He had a grim expression on his face as he watched Ghost slowly peel the biter’s face free with a squelch. ‘Just the face?’

‘We’re wasting daylight. Should be enough.’ Ghost grunted as he stood up, handing the dripping skin mask to Graves.

Graves audibly swallowed. He adjusted his sleeves with a little twitch before he reached out and took it.

Ghost busily moved to the next one. Johnny stared at the faceless biter, shrieking and writhing, muscle fibres contracting. ‘Do you want me to finish it off?’

‘Nah let the fucker suffer.’ Ghost skinned the next two with swift, practiced movements.

He handed the next one out to him. Johnny stared at the scarlet swathe of skin, the inside crimson with blood and yellow with buttery fat. He reached out for it.

‘Hey now, what about my men?’ said Graves.

‘You want masks for them, you go catch more,’ replied Ghost. He finished peeling the third, the biter shrieking. He stepped on its neck as he straightened up and there was a sharp crack. The biter continued to move from side to side but its body remained still. Ghost walked from one to the other, repeating the process.

‘I think I’m gonna be sick,’ choked out one of the soldiers.

Johnny stared down at the face in his hands. Then he unbuckled his helmet and, with a grimace, slowly plastered it over his own. Ghost leaned in, adjusting it. Johnny pressed his lips together. It smelt like iron. It was just meat, he told himself. It wasn’t a person.

Turning away from Graves Ghost removed his helmet and pulled off his mask. He replaced it with the bloody face of someone that had had a ginger beard.

‘Suits you LT,’ said Johnny and then wished he hadn’t spoken. The spongy mouth hole of his
new face brushed against his lips.

‘Right you wait here,’ Graves said to the assembled soldiers. ‘You know the protocol.’

He patted one on the shoulder before turning to the gates, looking hesitantly at the skinned face he was holding. Finally, he took a deep breath and put it on, blood squishing between his fingers as he pushed it into place.

‘No one say a word,’ said Ghost, and headed through the gates.

There came a clank and Johnny looked back in surprise to see they were closing, the Shadows on the other side looking forlorn. Ghost led the way, past the long row of overgrown spruces. They turned a corner and Johnny spied a long, glass building.

On the lawn in front were close to a hundred bodies, lying completely still, like sleeping policemen. He exhaled heavily through his nose. Ghost lightly patted his shoulder. He carefully stepped around the first row of bodies, and then over another.

Johnny could feel his heart thudding in his chest. He was very aware of the rustle of his clothing, and the grate of his rifle against the carry strap. He stepped over one biter with long blonde hair and its eyes flickered open. Johnny froze, one leg over. The biter looked right at him, dark eyes unblinking. Johnny stared back, his vision misting over. He clenched his hands to stop them trembling. The biters eyes slowly closed.

An alarm rang out, a shrill dingdingding, punctuating the still air.

The biters eyes opened. In a flash it grabbed for Johnny, wrapping its arms around his leg. It lunged, jaws open. Johnny wrenched away, hearing the clip of empty jaws.

All around them the pack of biters were crawling upright.

‘It’s the fucking timer! Shit!’ Grave’s voice was panicked. He fumbled to turn it off.

‘Fucking run,’ snarled Ghost.

Johnny couldn’t recall doing so much running back when he had been a fully paid up member of the special forces. But he also couldn’t remember his own middle name, so perhaps he had sprinted like this all the time.

He ran flat out, bounding like a hare. The biters surged after him in a great, snapping mass. Johnny looked back over his shoulder and stumbled. In the half second it took to regain his balance they swarmed him, tearing at his backpack, ripping at his clothes. He shrugged it off and continued running, and didn’t stop until he reached the building with its revolving glass door. He could hear gunfire over his shoulder but dove through the doors anyway.

He skidded on a black marble floor and swung around. Graves and then Ghost burst through after him. Ghost swung the heavy doors back around, biters shrieking as their reaching arms were crushed. They tried to push through but were bottle necked. Ghost fired half a dozen times, the bodies crushing together in a fleshy mass and blocking the doorway.

‘Should hold for a few minutes,’ said Ghost, stepping back and watching the door grate against snapping bone.

Graves was bent over, gulping air. His mask had fallen off. Johnny felt at his face, so had his. Finally Ghost turned back to him. His naked face was smeared with blood from ear to ear and he was licking his lips.

Johnny caught his eye and motioned to his mouth with a flick of his eyes to Graves. Wordlessly Ghost pulled his mask out and pulled it back over his head. Another snarl sounded from the creaking door.

‘Right, where’s this scientist then?’ said Ghost, looking around the empty square building.

There was nothing to see, just another sign on the far wall, and an empty, unmanned reception counter. Johnny strode towards it. His eye caught the glimmer of something and he looked down. The marble tiles were embossed with curling font. It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves he read.

‘Mm inspirational,’ said Ghost, reading with him, his voice so dry it was a wonder it hadn’t cracked. ‘Shall I get it tattooed?’

‘Yeah, across your arsecheeks,’ replied Johnny.

‘Nah I’m saving that spot for your name,’ said Ghost. He looked around the room and spied a half hidden lift door at the far end, a blinking light above it. ‘Graves, you coming?’

Graves lagged behind them as they strode over to the door. Johnny stared at another key pad.

‘Do you think it needs a key card?’ he ventured, tapping at it.

As though they had heard him the doors hissed open.

‘That’s what I call good service,’ said Ghost.

The lift had a mirrored back wall. Johnny tried not to stare at the blood in his hair and the green smudges under his eyes. There were five lift buttons. They started at 0. Ghost pressed one at random and the doors closed.

‘You gonna get it in a heart?’ continued Johnny.

Ghost looked at him. ‘What?’

‘The tattoo? I’m thinking real traditional style, my name in a heart, maybe a few flowers.’

Ghost snorted. ‘Yeah sure. I can get property of MacTavish on my cock too.’

‘I don’t think you have enough space,’ replied Johnny, mock serious.

Ghost laughed. ‘Just MacTavish then.’

‘With hearts,’ Johnny said insistently.

‘Yeah, yeah hearts too. At least six.’

Johnny felt a swooping sensation in his stomach as the lift descended. He mourned the loss of his pack. His sketchbook was in there. He wanted to draw Ghost’s tattoo, even if he never got it. Perhaps they could go back for it. He looked over at Graves, who hadn’t commented, or so much as glanced at them, even during their ridiculous conversation. He had one hand on the cool metal wall of the lift, the other tapping at the holster to his pistol.

‘Graves, you solid?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m good.’ Graves blew out his breath, chest hitching. ‘It’s been a long fucking day, y’know?’

‘Yeah and it’s not over yet,’ replied Ghost shortly. ‘This scientist, he know we’re coming?’

Graves nodded. ‘Yeah he knows. We get in, get the goods, and get out. We get this done and we’ll be on that boat by this evening.’

‘Understood,’ replied Ghost.

The elevator continued, down and down into the earth. Johnny’s hand inched out and caught hold of one of Ghost’s hands. He squeezed it. Ghost squeezed back. They looked up as the doors opened with a cheerful ding.

Chapter 16: burgundy

Just ahead was a solid metal door. Graves peeled himself off the wall of the lift and strode towards it. There was another keypad here.

‘Hey,’ said Graves, speaking into the speaker. ‘We’re here for Dr Neumann.’ He gave a dry cough. ‘Is he here?’

‘I thought you knew,’ said Ghost pointedly, crossing his arms.

A shrill buzz sounded and the metal door clicked open. Johnny looked up and saw himself reflected back in a round, black cctv camera. He considered waving before Ghost ushered him through the door.

Florescent lights clicked on above as they slowly walked inside. The room was long, so long he could barely see the door at the far end. It smelt like disinfectant and, here Johnny sniffed, there was also a sour undertone, a lingering tang of old blood and rotten flesh that the cleaning products couldn’t quite conceal. There were cages on either side, stacked one on top of the other, stainless steel and conspicuously empty. Ahead of him, Ghost stopped dead and Johnny ran into the back of him. Just past the cages were a row of large tanks. Johnny moved nearer. The first tank was empty.

The second wasn’t. There was a man inside, white skin soft and waxy. He was completely hairless, his head tipped back, floating slightly like a great pale fish. Johnny leaned in. The man’s eyes flickered open and he smacked against the tank. He thrashed, the water churning, his face becoming obscured with bubbles.

‘He’s a biter,’ said Johnny. ‘Do you think he worked here?’

‘Who cares,’ replied Graves with a shrug.

The following tank was devoid of any occupant. The third wasn’t. Inside was a man, at least he had been a man, once. He had three heads, all snapping, dark eyes rolling. His jaw was split several ways, the skin torn and ruby red. His four arms, skin melted together like frozen wax, batted against the glass.

‘What the fuck,’ breathed Johnny.

Graves didn’t say anything. He felt Ghost appear over his shoulder, looking with him. The man, the thing, tilted his head to one side, looking back at them with all six of his glittering black eyes.

‘Fucking hell,’ remarked Ghost. ‘He’s got three dicks.’

‘That’s what you’re looking at?’ said Johnny. ‘Not, you know, everything else?’ The tank rocked slightly and he took a step back. Would the glass hold?

The next tank was full too, the being inside a dissolving lump of greying flesh. It regarded them with a single, rolling eye, a darting blue tongue escaping its sideways mouth. The final tank was full of floating white scum, the water stained burgundy. Johnny rubbed at his arms. Shaking his head he headed for the door he could see at the far end.

The rest of the space ranged with shelves, full of binders, books and other odds and ends. Graves walked slowly, picking through an odd paper here and there.

‘This is all junk,’ he muttered. He held up one displaying a doodle of a whale. ‘Look at this. Scientists my ass.’

The second door was shut tight. Johnny looked all around for a keypad but found nothing. Behind him, the tank squeaked as the three headed biter smashed up against it. His skin crawled. He jumped back as a metal shutter was drawn across the door, revealing a small, square window.

A man was standing on the other side. ‘Ah good afternoon,’ he sang. ‘I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to all make it through. Well done. Well done, indeed.’ He was middle aged and bright blonde, with a twinge of an accent to his words.

‘Dr Neumann?’ said Graves pushing past him. ‘We were in communication. I’m Commander Graves.’

‘Ah my knight in shining armour,’ said Dr Neumann, smiling and displaying tea stained teeth. ‘One moment please, and I’ll let you through.’

He disappeared. Johnny looked back at the rest of the room. Ghost was still standing and watching the three headed biter.

‘Ghost, you coming?’ he called.

Almost reluctantly Ghost strode towards him. There was a clatter from the other side of the door.

‘Just a second,’ came Dr Neumann’s voice. ‘I just have to recall which key-aha. Yes.’

The door opened inward. They stepped into another lab, a large space that reminded Johnny of school science lessons. There were several white benches with high stools and counters cluttered with glassware and abandoned microscopes. There was a shining metal sink in one corner. Despite the cleanliness of the surroundings the room smelt like stale air and decay.

‘Forgive me I’m just running a few simulations,’ said Dr Neumann, walking over to a laptop displaying swirling purple graphics. His clothes were creased, the white of his shirt stained yellow beneath the arms.

‘You all packed up and ready, doc?’ said Graves, rubbing the back of his head and puffing up a cloud of dust.

Johnny eyed him. He hadn’t realised how dirty they all were. All of them filthy brown splotches in the sterile white of the room. Ghost especially, his jeans engrained with dirt. The white skull of his mask was tan with old blood and filth.

The scientist turned. ‘Oh good god no, nowhere near. As I said, I wasn’t expecting you to get through. Honestly when the satellite signal died I thought the worst. How’s it looking out there, hm?’ He frowned slightly as his eyes settled on Ghost. ‘You’re not part of Shadow Company.’

‘They’re mercenaries,’ said Graves quickly. ‘Anyway what does it matter? It’s hell out there. Where’s the virus?’

Dr Neumann raised his eyebrows. ‘I assume by virus you mean sample HEV-1. It is stored in the disease laboratory with all the other samples. Take a seat. There’s a fully stocked kitchen in the back if you wish to make tea. I have to finish collating data.’

Ghost was staring very hard at the scientist, arms folded. Johnny couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Finally he spoke.

‘Is it true then?’ His voice was gruff.

‘Is what true?’ said Dr Neumann, turning from the laptop back to him. ‘I must say, all these guns are making me a little nervous. Are they really necessary?’

Ghost pulled off his assault rifle and laid it on one of the benches. After a moment, Johnny did the same. Graves ignored the two of them, roaming around the lab, hands resting on his belt, stroking over the holster of his pistol.

‘Thank you,’ said Dr Neumann. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you any tea?’

‘Is it true that you’ve got a vaccine?’ said Ghost.

‘I believe so,’ replied Dr Neumann. He appeared to only be half listening, tapping at something on the screen.

‘Have you been here since this started?’ asked Johnny curiously.

‘Indeed I have,’ replied Dr Neumann. ‘I had colleagues at first, of course, but now there’s just me.’

Johnny scratched at the back of his head. He thought of the hospital and the empty city and the blue curtain. ‘Where did it come from then, the virus?’ he asked. ‘Bats or mice or summit?’

Dr Neumann straightened up in surprise. ‘You mean no one’s told you? And you’ve been out there, this whole time, fighting it?’ He looked between them. ‘What are you, soldiers?’

‘Does it matter?’ replied Ghost.

‘Take a seat,’ said Dr Neumann, nodding to the stools. He glanced at Graves who was reading the hand washing poster above the sink. ‘You too Commander.’

‘Can you just fetch the damn sample and we can get out of here?’ snapped Graves. ‘Where are you hiding it?’ He tried a door and it clicked.

‘All in good time,’ replied Dr Neumann. He looked at Johnny. ‘The E in HEV-1 stands for exobiology. That is biology from outside this planet. When the astronauts landed on Mars they collected several samples; ice, dust, rocks. The ice, once thawed contained a chain of proteins unlike anything we’ve ever seen. One sample was sent here and the other to our sister lab in the Princess Grace hospital. Unfortunately I do not believe that sample survived. This virus is, well, it’s almost outside human comprehension. It’s alien.’

Johnny sat down heavily on a stool. Astronauts return from successful Mars mission. It had been the first thing he’d read in the newspaper. Dr Neumann continued, becoming quite animated.

‘At first it took several hours from contamination to complete control of the brain, but then the response times became quicker, far faster than anything we’ve seen before, even compared to rabies. The virus inserts itself into the neural pathways of the brain, mimicking electrical impulses. At first it was, well it was nothing more than a wild animal, but over time it has started to become intelligent, to hunt, to strategize. And it has begun to adapt the host body to suit its own needs. We saw that at first with increased enamel on the teeth, but then bone spurs on the body-‘

‘You’re talking about it like it’s a person,’ said Ghost, standing motionless.

‘Not a person but an entity certainly,’ breathed Dr Neumann. ‘This virus, it was evolved for alien physiology but now it is adapting to our own. It’s learning.’

‘Almost sounds like you admire it, Doc,’ remarked Graves from across the room.

‘I do,’ replied Dr Neumann immediately. ‘I think, given time, the virus will mutate further. I believe the virus will start to communicate with us.

Ghost and Johnny glanced at each other.

‘What d’ya think it’s gonna say?’ said Ghost. ‘Think it’s gonna teach you the secrets of the universe?’

‘It’s certainly a possibility,’ replied Dr Neumann. He turned back to his laptop. The swirling purple graphics had altered to red, glowing softly.

‘Do you think there’s a cure?’ continued Ghost, his body stiff, but his fingers tapping rapidly against each other.

‘A cure? No. I don’t believe so. The virus embeds itself in the hosts DNA, there is no coming back from that. Did you know that 8% of our DNA is comprised of ancient viruses?’

Dr Neumann prattled on but Johnny was no longer listening. He was watching Ghost. He slumped, his head bowing and let out a long sigh. He looked at his gloves and finally, sunk down into a stool, head in his hands.

Dr Nuemann clicked something in the corner of his screen and the simulation stopped. He turned back and beamed at them. ‘I shall pack my things.’

Johnny watched as the scientist began to move around the room, gathering armfuls of folders, and trays of lab equipment.

‘What happened to everyone that was here?’ inquired Johnny. ‘A lot of those biters outside looked like they worked here.’

In the midst of reaching up to a high cupboard Dr Neumann paused. ‘Ah. Well. The mice didn’t last long. I needed volunteers.’

‘Volunteers?’ repeated Johnny. He felt his stomach turn cold, like he’d swallowed a mouthful of icy water.

‘Yes, for the experiments,’ replied Dr Neumann. ‘And now I am confident that I can reproduce a vaccine.’

‘The big fella out there in the water tank,’ said Ghost, raising his head. ‘He one of your volunteers?’

Dr Neumann sighed. ‘Yes, that was my lab assistant. Unfortunately he did not disclose that he already had a disease of the blood and, well, it was not a successful trial. Still the data proved quite useful.’

Johnny could hear a shrill ringing starting in his ears. Despite sitting down he felt quite faint.

Graves slammed a hand on the table in front of him, making him jump. ‘I think that’s enough talking Doc. You get packed up and I’m gonna make some tea.’

‘Yes of course. There’s coffee too if you prefer,’ replied Dr Neumann, holding up a piece of paper to the humming overhead light.

 

They followed Graves to a slender room at the back of the lab. A sleeping bag showed where the scientist had slept. There was a blinking red light on a microwave displaying the time. 4.11. Johnny stared at it. 4.12.

‘Johnny?’

Ghost squeezed his shoulder. He pushed past Graves opening and shutting cupboards. ‘You want a pot noodle? Got chicken and mushroom.’

‘I’m alright,’ said Johnny.

Ghost flicked on the kettle anyway. The three of them stood and listened to it bubble.

‘He did this,’ said Johnny. His words felt like they had come from someone else’s mouth, divorced from his body. ‘He did this. This pandemic. He infected people on purpose!’

‘Seems like it,’ said Graves, who appeared to only be half-listening, peering in the refrigerator. ‘There’s beer in here.’

‘I don’t give a shit about beer!’ said Johnny, voice too loud for the small space. He heard it bounce off the walls. ‘Why are we here? What’s the point of all this? The fucking Jack is out of the box. You can’t stuff it back in. Does he really have a vaccine or is he lying? He probably just wants more people to experiment on.’

Graves leaned back against the wall and opened the beer can with a hiss. ‘Cool it, kid. We’ll be done soon. Knew I shoulda left you behind.’

Ghost’s head whipped around. ‘No one gets left behind.’

Graves snorted into his beer. ‘Oh yeah? Then why are half a dozen of my men still standing at the front gates like fucking lemons?’ His eyes swept over Johnny. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed you spacing out every five seconds. Guess your CO keeps you around for a different kind of service.’

‘The fuck you say?’ growled Ghost, advancing on him.

Graves took a swig of beer as he looked up at him. ‘You don’t eat much for such a big guy,’ he said coolly. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed that either. I suggest you back the fuck off, buddy.’ His other hand, the hand not holding the beer, was resting on his pistol, fingers tapping the handle.

Ghost took a step back.

‘That’s better,’ said Graves. ‘Now why don’t you two sit tight and leave the sweet talking to me, hm? You want that free boat ride I’m gonna need you to be a little bit better, hm?’

He pushed past Ghost and headed back into the lab. In the sudden silence the kettle began to boil and clicked off.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Johnny.

Ghost poured water into the pot noodle. ‘The fuck are you sorry for, Johnny?’

‘If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have come all the way here. I put us in danger.’

Ghost stirred the noodles. He laughed. ‘That’s one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard you say and you once told me that joke about a naked blonde, a poodle and 6ft salami.’

‘What joke?’ asked Johnny.

‘It was-‘

They heard the raised voices from the other room at the same time. Pushing open the door they saw Graves standing over the scientist.

‘I told you the disease laboratory is a sterile environment, you are on no account to go in there! Give me back the keycard.’

Graves glanced around and caught sight of them. Lip curled he handed back the card.

‘Thank you,’ said Dr Neumann, tucking it in his breast pocket. ‘Now I understand you gentleman are on a time crunch. I shall decontaminate myself and retrieve the sample, okay?’

‘About fucking time,’ muttered Graves.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Ghost, with a hard look at Graves.

No one questioned Johnny as he followed the pair of them. Dr Neumann unlocked the door that Graves had tried earlier. Beyond was a small space and another door with a clear window. There was a row of hanging blue plastic suits and a shower. Johnny looked longingly at it. Ghost settled himself against the back of the door, arms folded and watched as the scientist climbed into a cleanroom suit. He swiped his keycard and disappeared beyond. Johnny pressed his face to the window to watch. In a small corridor beyond disinfectant sprayed from an arc over the doorway. Another arc puffed hot air. Dr Neumann swiped the card again and vanished into the second room. Johnny had a brief glimpse of cold white walls before the door sealed behind him.

He stepped back. With a glance at Ghost he turned on the shower and splashed warm water over his face and hair.

‘He’s got that soap you like,’ remarked Ghost.

They looked up at a pneumatic hiss from the laboratory door. The same process repeated and Dr Neumann reappeared, now holding a slim metal cylinder. Johnny hastily turned off the shower and moved back as he came back out into the room.

‘Hold this,’ said Dr Neumann, thrusting the cylinder at him.

Ghost quickly moved and grabbed it before Johnny could. ‘The virus is in here? All of it?’

‘There are several untainted samples in there, yes,’ replied Dr Neumann, climbing out of the cleanroom suit and hanging it up. He nodded to the door. ‘Shall we?’

 

Graves was waiting on the other side.

‘Hand over the sample,’ he said immediately.

‘Just a moment,’ said Dr Neumann breezily. ‘I just have a few more folders to gather and then we can depart.’

‘So this vaccine,’ continued Graves, as though he hadn’t spoken. ‘You’re the only one that knows how to make it?’

‘I believe so,’ said Dr Neumann, leaning over his laptop. ‘As I said I have-‘

The back of his head burst open with a spurt of pink and burgundy. He slumped over the counter before slumping to the floor, a long dirty streak of blood dripping down the cupboards.

‘Graves what the fuck!?’ yelled Johnny. He could see his assault rifle gleaming darkly across the room.

Graves levelled his pistol. ‘Give me the sample LT. Now.’

‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ said Ghost. ‘What happened to saving the world?’

‘I don’t give two shits about the world!’ spat Graves. ‘I care about delivering to my clients. Do you have any idea what you’re fucking holding? The greatest bio weapon that’s ever existed. One tiny drop of that, one bite, and you’ve got an army of super soldiers that don’t sleep, eat their enemies and don’t need paid fucking leave. You heard what the doc said, they’re learning. Now hand it over.’

Ghost shifted his weight. Johnny could see his muscles tightening beneath his clothes.

‘No,’ he said.

Graves fired, making Johnny’s ears ring. The front of Ghost’s face exploded, blood spraying across the bright white counters and splattering up the walls. He thudded heavily to the floor, the cylinder falling from his grasp and rolling across the tiles. Graves picked it up with a triumphant grin.

It felt as though Johnny’s heart stuttered to a stop. He couldn’t breathe, the white walls closing in on him, his throat closing up. He was dimly aware of the black eye of Graves’ gun staring right at him.

His dove sideways, his muscles carrying him through a dance he didn’t know the steps of, landing behind a cluster of stools with a clatter. Above him a glass beaker exploded.

Take stock. Find a weapon.

The gun.

Johnny ran, darting around the side of the room, bullets puffing into the wall behind him. He leapt through the air, grabbing for the rifle. Graves bolted as soon as he reached it, sprinting for the door. Firing a round into the air, howling, Johnny tore after him.

Graves slammed into the locked door. He fumbled for the key. Johnny fired again but his hands were shaking too much to land the shot. It pinged into the metal door. His vision reduced to a tunnel, zeroing in on blonde hair and a shit eating grin.

‘You fucking snake!’ he growled, finally able to suck in enough air to breathe.

Graves dove through the door, banging it in his face. Snarling Johnny slammed his shoulder against the metal, again and again. He heard the lock catch, and Graves stepped back, smirking.

‘A snake? I’m a fucking dragon, boy. And you? You’re locked in there with two dead men.’ He backed away, grinning from ear to ear.

Smashing his shoulder against the door Johnny noticed a control panel set into the wall. He pried it open. There was a large red button below a series of switches. Someone had helpfully labelled it. Purge, it read. Johnny slammed the button.

The lights in the laboratory dipped red. An alarm began to sound, blaring in his ears. Graves looked down as water spilled across the floor. The front panel on every tank slowly lowered. The featureless blob rolled out the tank first, groaning. It flopped onto a drain and lay still. The drowning biter melted as it emerged from the water, legs liquefying beneath it, eroding like a bar of soap.

‘Is that all you’ve got?’ said Graves, laughing. ‘See ya, kid.’

He turned, heading for the door, just as the third tank opened. The biter with three heads stepped out, blocking his path. Graves fired, dead on. Whatever he hit wasn’t the right head as the biter continued to advance, rumbling. It grabbed for him with three of its arms. Graves ran back. He held the gun up to the window.

‘Step the fuck back,’ he directed, then his eyes widened.

Johnny turned. Walking slowly down the length of the lab, trailing blood, was Ghost.

He had no face, just strips of hanging meat, slowly dribbling burgundy. Above the shredded mess his dark eyes blazed. He opened a slash of ruined mouth, jaw unhinging, bone showing beneath the red, and spat out the bullet.

‘You missed,’ he rumbled.

His hand smashed through the reenforced glass and grabbed Graves by the neck. He slammed his head into the cold metal edge of the window, again and again. Graves fired again, making Johnny duck. He heard the bullet ricochet.

Ghost tightened his hand, making Grave’s wheeze, and heaved. His shoulders wedged against the narrow window. Ghost continued to jerk. Johnny heard a snap. Graves screamed, a reedy whistle, as he was forced through the small square of window, his body grinding into mince. Ghost struck, like a snake, and bit off his nose. Graves screeched, his body thrashing like a maggot on a hook. Ghost dug his teeth into his skin and ate the meat off his face, Graves screaming all the while as flesh was pulled from his bones in long ribbons, blood dashing over the floor.

Johnny felt himself slowly falling to the ground, his knees giving out. He heard a crunch of bone as Ghost finally dug his fangs into his skull and pried it open, popping off the top like a bottle cap. He looked at his boots as Ghost dug his face into Grave’s cranium and began to eat his brains, gulping down mouthfuls of quivering meaty jelly. The screaming finally ceased.

Johnny heard a thud and looked up. Ghost had dropped Graves’ body back on the other side of the door. There was a flash of serrated teeth as he eased his jaw back into place. He watched, as before his eyes, his skin began to knit itself back together, bone and muscle slotting back together like a jigsaw puzzle.

‘Johnny?’ said Ghost, crouching in front of him. His face was crisscrossed with fresh scars and his nose was slightly off centre. ‘Are you okay?’ A gloved hand, sodden with blood, tilted his chin up. ‘Johnny? Love?’

Johnny reached for him, and pulled him close. ‘I’m not kissing you,’ he muttered, into his neck. ‘So don’t even ask.’ He was shaking, his jaw chattering.

Ghost wound his arms around him and pulled him into his lap. They stayed there for long minutes, Ghost rubbing his back through his body armour. Finally he spoke.

‘We should get out of here,’ he said, letting go and standing up.

Johnny nodded.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, eyes glazing over, fingers tapping over the rifle. His skin felt several sizes too tight. The inside of his mouth was itchy. He kept hearing Graves’ screaming in his ears. He was vaguely aware of Ghost clattering about the narrow kitchen, sweeping instant noodles and coffee sachets into his pack. He looked up as he nudged his boot.

‘You have, uh, brain on you,’ said Johnny, looking at the mess splattered down his front.

‘Oh.’ Ghost looked down at himself and wiped his t-shirt and body armour clean with a handful of blue paper towels.

Slowly getting to his feet Johnny looked back at the lab and the body of Dr Neumann. The laptop was displaying a screensaver of swimming fish.

‘Maybe we should take the laptop or the hard drive or summit?’ he proposed.

‘And do what with it?’ said Ghost. ‘Give it to who?’

Johnny shrugged. ‘There might still be someone out there.’

‘Fuck ‘em,’ said Ghost moving towards the door. ‘The missions over.’

‘Just because it’s over for you doesn’t mean it’s over for everyone!’ Johnny’s voice was raised. He cleared his throat.

Beneath the blood and scars Ghost’s expression was blank, but his jaw tightened.

‘Sorry,’ said Johnny immediately, feeling like the world’s biggest arsehole. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

Ghost looked out the jagged window. ‘You’re right, though.’ He gave a heavy sigh. ‘Alright, take the laptop.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Johnny, joining him in staring out the window. He patted his shoulder, needing to reassure himself, that he was still there and not a hallucination.

‘You’re the only thing that matters to me,’ said Ghost, eyes still on the small square of window, the edges smeared wet and scarlet. ‘I’ll do whatever you think is best.’

Beyond, in the next room, the three headed biter was standing motionless. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of his chest he could have been a particularly horrifying statue.

Ghost muttered something under his breath and went and retrieved the laptop and his rifle. He turned so Johnny could stuff the laptop in his pack.

‘What do you think?’ said Johnny. ‘Go for the eyes?’

‘Which ones?’ said Ghost, squinting.

The biter turned and looked right at them. ‘Mercy,’ he rumbled, his voice carrying across the empty lab. He cleared his throat. ‘Please,’ he said, clearer this time.

‘Did he just speak?’ said Johnny. He watched the biter amble towards them and raised his rifle. ‘Get back.’

The biter stalled.

‘Not sure we should open this door LT.’ He glanced at Ghost. ‘Ghost?’

Ghost held his hand. ‘Can you pass us those keys?’ he said.

The biter shambled closer. It knelt and felt in Grave’s pocket and held out the shining ring of keys. Ghost took them. He opened the door, shunting Graves body out the way. The biter stepped back.

‘Please,’ he said again, and slowly, awkwardly, dropped to one knee, lowering his three heads.

‘What do you want?’ said Johnny, rifle trained on it. He spied the metal cannister gleaming under the red lights and quickly stuffed it in his back pocket.

The biter blinked. ‘Kill me,’ he said, broken voice trembling.

‘I’ll do it,’ said Ghost. He drew a knife from the small of his back. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not,’ said the biter. ‘I just want this to end.’

Ghost cupped the middle head in his hand. Johnny wondered if he might say something profound.

‘Hey,’ he said instead, making the biter look up. ‘What do you call a cow with no legs?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the biter, two of his heads shifting.

‘Ground beef,’ said Ghost with a broad, terrifying grin.

The biter snorted. ‘That’s awful,’ he said and then he started to laugh, all three heads nodding.

Ghost drew the knife across his throat while he was still giggling.

 

They stood in silence as the lift ascended, the red lights blinking on and off. Ghost finally turned, and eyed himself in the mirror. He traced the line of his jaw, probing at the flash of exposed teeth. He caught Johnny’s eye in the glass.

‘I think that went well,’ said Johnny.

Ghost chuckled. ‘Oh yeah. Fucking fantastic.’ He let out a breath, running a hand over his face. ‘Do you think I’m gonna turn into one of those things?’

‘What, a biter? You haven’t so far.’

‘No.’ Ghost adjusted the straps on his backpack, shifting his weight. ‘You know, that thing. The one with three heads.’

Johnny clapped his shoulder. ‘I mean there’s a lot we could do if you had three cocks.’

Ghost started to laugh. ‘You’re a fucking idiot MacTavish.’

Johnny bumped him with his shoulder. The man in the mirror grinned. ‘And you wouldn’t have it any other way.’

 

The glass doors were still jammed with biters, wedged on top of each other. They hissed, grasping with outstretched arms as they spotted them.

‘There must be a back door or an emergency exit,’ said Ghost, marching around the wide space. He stared at the glass walls. ‘These don’t look bullet proof.’ He ran a gloved hand over the window, making it squeak.

Johnny grabbed the computer chair from the reception desk. ‘Here,’ he said, rolling it to him.

‘Mind your eyes,’ said Ghost and hefted it. He smashed it into the wall, staggering as it bounced back.

‘C’mon put some welly in,’ urged Johnny, trying to ignore the shrieking biters behind him.

‘S’cuse me, did I ask for audience participation?’ grunted Ghost. He swung the chair again, and finally a crack appeared in the tinted glass. He kicked at it. The crack spider webbed outward.

‘Nicely done,’ said Johnny. He smashed the butt of his rifle into the cracked glass and it gave, pieces falling outward.

‘Alright,’ said Ghost. ‘Run like hell and head for the back fence.’

Beyond, the back of the building Johnny could see the ground sloped slightly upward. In the distance was a high metal barrier.

‘Got it,’ he replied.

Ghost boosted him through the broken wall, glass snagging on his trousers. He heard something tear but then he was up and over, boots thudding on the concrete. Ghost followed. Almost immediately he heard running footsteps and turned. A pack of zombies on all fours were racing towards them. Before he could react they fanned out, increasing in speed, blocking the way they had intended to run.

‘Change of plan,’ said Ghost, and aimed his rifle. He fired several times, short, controlled bursts, sending several of them tumbling. ‘Different way.’

They bolted around the side of the building, the zombies following, howling like a pack of dogs. They were met by a second pack swinging around to meet them.

‘They’ve fucking flanked us!’ growled Johnny.

‘We’re going on a bear hunt,’ panted Ghost, firing again. ‘Can’t go over ‘em, can’t go under ‘em.’

He met the closest biter head on, throwing it over his shoulder. He skidded to a stop on the grass, stabbing the second in the knee. The third he grabbed by what was left of its clothes and bodily slammed to the ground. Johnny turned and fired, having to hastily reload, jamming the magazine into place.

‘Gotta go through ‘em,’ snarled Ghost, getting back up and smashing through two more.

Through a brief break in the crowd Johnny saw a familiar hump lying on the grass. His backpack. He slipped past a biter and dove for it, swinging it up and onto one shoulder. A second biter sprung, grabbing his outstretched arm and biting down. He yelled as its teeth dug into his forearm, fangs needle sharp, grinding against bone. He kicked out, and its teeth ripped free with a sound like tearing paper. He slammed a boot down into the centre of its chest and fired.

‘Johnny!’ Ghost bawled. ‘This way.’

Johnny looked left and right, seeing nothing but biters seething towards him, a boiling sea of snapping jaws. He finally spied Ghost, head and shoulders above everyone and sprinted towards him, feeling blood hotter than anything he’d ever felt sliding down his arm and making the rifle slip in his grasp.

There was the fence. He jumped, and scrambled over without Ghost’s help and leaned down to offer him a hand.

‘C’mon you big bastard,’ he spat, between gritted teeth and hauled him up and over.

They landed on the other side with a thud, in a tangle of trees, Ghost almost falling on top of him. The biters swarmed the fence, screaming.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Ghost.

‘Affirm,’ replied Johnny.

They headed into the trees, leaving the shrieking mass of monsters behind.

Chapter 17: brown

The coppice led out and onto a back road. Ghost checked the map.

‘Not far to Liverpool,’ he said. His gaze dragged over Johnny. ‘You alright?’

‘Fine,’ said Johnny. Keeping his bloody arm tucked out of sight he stopped for a moment, checking through things in his pack. He pulled out the first aid kit.

‘You injured?’ said Ghost, voice brimming with concern.

‘Just caught myself on the glass,’ replied Johnny, keeping his voice deliberately light, refusing to look at the bloody row of tooth marks as he busily wrapped a bandage around his forearm.

‘Hm, alright,’ replied Ghost, but he didn’t sound convinced.

How long did he have? Minutes? Hours? What would hurt Ghost more, telling him outright or him having to watch him change unexpectedly? Johnny pressed his lips together. He’d wait, at least until they were somewhere more secluded. Shouldering his pack he followed the road.

 

The road led them through street after street of sprawling suburbs and eventually, to a desolate high street. Ghost glanced up at the greying sky.

‘Let’s grab some kip and it’ll be a straight shoot to the docks tomorrow,’ he suggested.

Johnny nodded in agreement. Most of the shops were shuttered but the betting shop wasn’t. The lock was old, the wood warped. Ghost kicked it in with one swift strike. As Ghost headed inside Johnny loitered. It was likely his last sunset on earth and all he could see was a heavy bank of ashen cloud. He sighed and pushed open the door.

The air in the betting shop smelt stale. There was a glass fronted counter, a row of silent televisions on the wall, and several wonky stools. The stained red carpet was littered with old betting slips. Ghost tried a door at the back and found a stained little kitchenette. He shoved a table out of the way and busily began to unravel both their sleeping bags. Then he knelt and started to sort through his pack.

‘Right, we’ve got curry or beef and tomato,’ he declared, holding up the instant noodles, one in each hand.

Johnny could feel his pulse thudding in his arm. He glanced down at the bandage, seeing red already seeping through the cotton. Tears welled up in his eyes. He wanted to be calm about it. Practical. But words failed him. He gulped down a hasty breath. Ghost glanced up and froze.

‘I mean I’ve still got some tins left if you don’t want noodles. You don’t need to cry about it.’ He gave a forced laugh but his words were shaking. ‘Johnny? What’s wrong? Show me your arm.’

Johnny didn’t move, feeling hot tears sliding down his cheeks.

‘Johnny,’ said Ghost, his voice impossibly soft, all the grit and gravel smoothed over, which only made Johnny cry harder. ‘Let me see.’

Finally Johnny moved closer. He wasn’t sure if he fell or knelt but all at once he was on his knees in front of Ghost, holding out his arm. One eye on his face Ghost carefully unwrapped the bandage. He sucked in a sharp breath at seeing the bite mark. Johnny flinched.

Johnny waited for him to say something, anything. But he didn’t. The tears were falling faster now, making little wet marks on the sleeping bag. He sniffed.

‘I know what you’re gonna say,’ he tried, choking on tears. ‘I was stupid, I-‘

Ghost clicked his tongue. ‘Now why would I say a thing like that, sweetheart?’ he sighed. ‘Oh John.’ He slowly unclipped his body armour and pulled Johnny to his chest. ‘It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Let me clean it for you, at least, yeah?’

Johnny nodded. He expected Ghost to produce alcohol wipes but instead he brought his arm to his mouth and softly licked it, lapping carefully at the dried blood. He cupped Johnny’s face in both his hands when he had finished, staring at him. Johnny could see himself reflected in his brown eyes. No, not brown. Never just brown. Black and hazel and mahogany, and every rich tone there was, like expensive coffee and good chocolate. He shivered.

‘I’m right here, okay?’ said Ghost. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘How-how long-?’ choked out Johnny, breath trembling.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Ghost softly. ‘You just sit here with me. I’m right here. We’ve got all the time in the world.’

Johnny nodded. He stared at his backpack. What had been so important about it that he was going to die for it? Then he remembered. His sketchbook. He grabbed for the bag and pulled it out.

‘C-can I draw you?’ he asked.

‘Of course you can,’ replied Ghost. ‘Clothes on or off?’

Johnny gave a weak chuckle. He grabbed a fresh pencil, one he’d picked up at the safari park. It felt like a hundred years ago. He shifted back, sitting cross legged.

‘Let me light a candle,’ said Ghost. ‘Give you some light.’

He lit a few of the tea lights, arranging them in a circle around them, and then sat back. Johnny stared down at the page, damp with tears. He swallowed down his sobs, and started to draw. His hand was shaking. Was this the start of the infection? What did it feel like? Would it start gradually or grab him all at once?

He realised his hand had stilled and gave himself a little shake. There was nothing to think about, he told himself, but the drawing.

‘Do you mean it?’ he said, finishing the outline, and blowing graphite across the page. ‘You won’t leave?’

‘Till the bitter end,’ replied Ghost, his voice tight. ‘I’ll see you on the other side. I promise.’

Johnny wasn’t sure how long he sat there sketching, Ghost sitting unmoving for him. He paused as he got to his eyes.

‘Anyone ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are, sir?’ he said, adding a little glint of light in each one.

‘Only you,’ said Ghost.

‘I’m glad I found you,’ said Johnny, and he didn’t just mean the walk to Birmingham. He meant all of it.

He glanced up at Ghost, who nodded.

‘Me too,’ he said gently.

There was more to say, years of it, but Johnny started to cry again, silently weeping, open mouthed like a child. He set the sketchbook aside and Ghost moved over to him, wrapping him in his arms. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. He didn’t know how long he sobbed into Ghost’s chest but eventually sleep came like a creeping black cloud, and he was glad of it.

 

Johnny lingered before the metal door to the lower service tunnel. The lighting here was dim, barely illuminating the soot covered pipes.

‘Soap,’ Ghost nodded at him as he took up position alongside.

‘Ghost.’ Johnny’s voice was tart. He checked and rechecked his gear.

With a glance at the milling officers behind them Ghost edged closer, one hand tugging up his mask. Johnny could see a muscle ticking in his stubbled jaw.

‘Are you still pissed off at me?’ he said in a low voice.

‘No,’ replied Johnny. He moved down the tunnel, away from the light.

Ghost leaned in and Johnny caught his lunge with a hand on his chest.

‘Not very professional of you LT.’

‘Fuck being professional,’ muttered Ghost and wrenched his arm out the way. He caught the other in a hard grip, bodily shoving Johnny back against the curved brickwork of the tunnel. He leaned in again, holding him in place, and although Johnny could have struggled he let him.

Ghost licked over his mouth before dipping his tongue inside. Their lip met, hot, hard, desperate. Johnny forgot why he was angry. He dissolved, his only thoughts the press of Ghost’s mouth on his and how good it felt to be claimed. If Ghost hadn’t been holding him in place his legs might have buckled. Ghost dropped his arm and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the short strands. Then he backed away, frowning.

‘Where’s your helmet?’ he asked.

‘It’s fine,’ said Johnny, wishing he hadn’t stopped, his jaw aching. ‘Forgot to grab one in the scramble.’

Ghost looked like he might say something else but Price’s voice rang down the brief passageway.

‘Soap, you come with me. Ghost, you’re with the officers. Let’s get this bastard.’

‘Aye sir,’ said Johnny. He was about to follow Price but was stopped short by Ghost grabbing the back of his tac vest.

‘When this is over, we’ll talk okay? Really talk. I promise.’ His voice was low in his ear. ‘See you on the other side, Johnny.’

‘You know it LT,’ replied Johnny. He nodded, and headed down the passageway.

 

Johnny sat up, gasping, a hand on his chest, feeling his t-shirt sticking to sweaty skin. Ghost was up in the next second, a knife pressed against his neck.

‘Wait,’ gasped Johnny. ‘It’s me. I’m still me. I’m not-‘ he sucked in a gasping breath. ‘Fuck. How long has it been?’

‘Too long,’ said Ghost and kissed him. He pulled back, his dark eyes glistening. ‘Fucking hell. You’re still here. Fucking bloody hell.’ He kissed him again, and again, hard insistent pushes of his lips, before burying his face in the crook of his neck and mouthing his pulse, tongue tracing his artery. ‘You’re alive.’

He grabbed Johnny and squeezed him, so hard Johnny couldn’t breathe. He wheezed and Ghost squeezed him all the tighter. His shoulders were shaking. He was crying, sobbing wet against his neck. He’d been holding it together, Johnny finally grasped, and now he’d broken.

Ghost pulled back, eyes shining, tears running clean tracks through the gore dashed across his face.

‘We’ll find the boat for you,’ he gasped. ‘You can escape. You can live, you can really live.’ When Johnny didn’t respond he shook him, so hard he felt his teeth rattle. ‘Johnny. You’re fucking immune.’

Johnny kissed him and he moaned into his mouth, kissing him back harder, the two of them sinking to the floor. Ghost tore off his t-shirt, kissing down his chest, his other hand undoing his trousers.

‘Sweetheart,’ muttered Ghost against his skin. ‘You’re gonna get out of here. You’re gonna-‘

Johnny grabbed hold of a handful of filthy hair, jerking his head back up.

‘I love you,’ he panted. ‘I’ve always loved you, since that first fucking mission when we took down Makarov and you kicked me awake on the helicopter. I thought about you for years, and then, there you were, on that fucking cold, wet airfield, this big tall bastard striding towards me. No’ even a fucking hello for me you rude cunt. But I still saved you a seat.’

Ghost grinned. ‘Johnny,’ he breathed.

‘Yeah?’

‘You fucking remembered.’

Johnny started to laugh, like a maniac. ‘I did, didn’t I,’ he said, delighted. There came a sharp intake of breath as Ghost’s mouth drifted over his cock. He hadn’t even noticed he’d pulled down his trousers.

Ghost swallowed his cock like a starving man, spit sliding down his length, his cockhead hitting the back of his throat. His hands dug into Johnny’s hipbones. He took the entire length of him, gulping, his throat convulsing.

‘Fuck Simon, you’re gonna make me come,’ gasped Johnny, and in the next second felt a climax rip through him, his thighs shaking.

He heard Ghost swallowing before he came up for air.

‘Fucking hell,’ said Johnny.

‘Not yet,’ said Ghost. He sat back on his haunches, dragging his t-shirt over his head, and pulling down his jeans. ‘Hang on. Picked up something you might like.’

He leaned over Johnny, who was treated to his immense chest being pressed into his face. He teasingly licked over a nipple and Ghost swatted at him.

‘Oi,’ he remonstrated, sitting back. He was proudly holding up a jar of coconut oil.

‘I suppose it’ll do,’ said Johnny. ‘But if you make that fucking joke about the coconut water again-‘

The rest of his words were lost to the press of Ghost’s lips. One hand unscrewed the jar and dipped inside. He pulled one of Johnny’s legs against his chest. Johnny moaned as two oil wet fingers nudged at his hole. Ghost felt for his prostate, and Johnny saw stars.

He thought Ghost would devour him, the way he’d sucked down his cock, but he was gentle as he eased inside, kissing the shrapnel scar on his knee, his other hand stroking over Johnny’s chest. He stared at him the entire time, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Reaching for him Johnny caught sight of the bite mark on his arm. So did Ghost. He frowned. Letting go of his thigh he leaned in, his cock sliding over nerves and making Johnny whine.

Ghost grabbed for his arm and kissed the bite mark. ‘Not right,’ he muttered. ‘Someone else having you.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Johnny, looking up at him, cock drunk and half dazed, his back arching as Ghost plunged into him.

Eyes still locked on his, Ghost bit down, teeth sliding into his skin, overlapping the tooth marks with his own. Johnny yelled, and smacked the side of his head.

‘Ghost! Fuck! Simon, stop!’

Ghost finally let go, breathing heavily. He grinned, gums smeared red.

‘Better,’ he rumbled. ‘Love,’ he continued, voice dropping to a murmur, leaning in and kissing up his neck, and hitched one of his thighs so he could slide deeper. ‘Sweetheart. Love you.’ He was practically crooning, his hips rocking back and forth, his cock buried in him to the hilt.

Johnny’s cock pulsed in time to the pain in his arm. He moaned, his head drifting back. His prick dragged against Ghost’s belly, throbbing with pleasure. His orgasm came in a wave, cresting over him, Ghost kissing away his whimpers. He followed him over the edge with a deep groan, and collapsed onto his chest.

Johnny thumped him in the back. ‘You’re a fucking freak,’ he growled.

‘Yeah,’ said Ghost agreeably. ‘You gonna break up with me?’

Johnny snorted. Ghost sat up, pulling out and slapping him with his wet cock. The small room smelt like sex and coconut oil. And blood, Johnny surmised. It wasn’t particularly pleasant.

‘All that fuss about antibiotics and you bit me anyway,’ he muttered, reaching for his pack and dragging it across the room. ‘Probably gonna die anyway of fucking tetanus or something.’

‘Nah. You’re not gonna die,’ said Ghost, and smacked his arse. ‘Won’t let you.’

‘Glad you’re so confident about it,’ replied Johnny, and for the second time in two days, started to bandage his arm.

 

‘Look, there’s the Liver building,’ said Johnny, pointing. ‘Docks should be just down there.’

He stopped to stare at the grand, imposing building as they passed by. He fumbled with his backpack, tilting his head back to look at the copper bird statues perched on the roof.

‘D’ya mind if I take a minute to draw it?’

Ghost sat down on one of the benches, stretching out his legs. ‘Take all the time you need.’

The early morning sun crept out from behind the clouds, illuminating him in an orange spotlight. His hair glowed. He’d managed to get most of the blood off with coconut oil. Johnny tugged at the collar of his t-shirt where it was rubbing at him. Beneath his clothing he was horribly greasy. He looked up at the building and started to draw.

 

They stood at the edge of the docks together, looking out at the swelling Irish sea. Ghost hmm’d under his breath, then he shrugged.

‘No aircraft carrier then.’ He frowned, looking left and right. ‘You see Grave’s boat?’

Johnny shielded his eyes with his hand, staring.

‘There’s a boat down there,’ he said, pointing, catching sight of a white hull.

‘Good spot,’ replied Ghost.

They made their way towards it, boots ringing on the wooden dock.

‘What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get back to civilisation?’ said Ghost.

‘Shower,’ replied Johnny immediately.

‘Pity,’ said Ghost.

They stopped several lengths away, eyes on the boat, rocking slightly on the lapping water.

‘Looks empty,’ remarked Johnny. ‘No guard?’

‘Maybe Graves didn’t leave anyone,’ replied Ghost. ‘On me.’

 

There was no gangway but the boat was tethered. Ghost looked up at the guard railing.

‘Wait here,’ he said. He jumped, and swung up and into the boat.

Johnny jigged from foot to foot, waiting anxiously. Several minutes later Ghost’s face appeared.

‘Looks like we missed the party,’ he said. ‘Need a hand?’

‘Nah I’m good,’ replied Johnny. He stepped back on the dock to take a run up and leapt, boots ringing against the hull. Ghost grabbed his body armour and pulled him up and over.

The wooden deck was stained with old blood. There was an upturned table and chair. They moved below. There was more blood here, up the walls and staining the varnished floor, but the brief kitchen and the bedrooms were empty. They found the engine room at the end.

‘Guess something already took care of the Shadows,’ said Ghost, leaning over a control panel. ‘You know how to drive a boat?’

‘Nah but I’m sure I can learn,’ replied Johnny.

‘Get comfortable then,’ said Ghost, nodding at his gear. ‘It’s gonna be a long voyage.’

Johnny set down his rifle and let his pack thud to the floor. He eased at his shoulders. ‘Don’t you think we should check the supplies first?’

‘Already did,’ said Ghost, pressing several buttons. ‘Plenty of water and food. You’ll be set.’

Beneath his feet the floor started to hum as the engines switched on with a flood and a roar.

‘Seems to be in working order,’ said Ghost, continuing to press at the controls. He tapped at a vial before he stopped, leaning over the console and staring out the prow window at the swelling sea beyond. He glanced at Johnny. He cleared his throat.

‘I want you to know that I am sorry. For everything. I should have told everyone about us. It should have been real. You deserved better.’

‘Ghost,’ began Johnny and then stopped.

Because Ghost had gone very still, like an animal before it pounced.

‘Ghost?’ he said again.

‘I am sorry,’ said Ghost, so quietly Johnny barely heard.

He jumped back as Ghost lunged for him.

‘Ghost? Simon? What the fuck are you-‘

The slug to his gut made him double over, even through the layer of Kevlar. His boots skidded on the wooden floor as he struggled to stay upright. He slipped the second punch, but not the third, and not the hand grasping the back of his neck. Ghost threw his other arm forward and laced both around Johnny’s neck. They slowly sunk to the floor together.

‘You’re gonna go out there and you’re gonna live,’ he muttered into his ear.

Johnny struggled, thrashing, his hands slapping uselessly at Ghost’s arms. The edges of his vision bled black. Consciousness was ripped from him.

 

He came to, gasping, what felt like two minutes later. He’d been laid gently in the recovery position, a pillow cradled beneath his head. The floor beneath him was vibrating.

‘Shit!’ Johnny immediately got up, stumbling to the prow window, and saw Liverpool receding in the distance. ‘No. No no no!’

He ran to the controls, slapping switches at random. The boat shuddered, something below grinding, but it didn’t stop. There was no time to figure out how to make it stop. Seizing his pack he lurched from the room, running down the length of the boat and staggering out and onto the deck.

He paused, staring down at the white edged sea. His gaze flicked back to the empty docks. Squinting he was sure he could see a dark figure standing motionless on the edge of the wharf, silhouetted against the sea wall.

‘Ghost!’ he screamed.

Was it his imagination or did the figure look up? He looked back at the surging water. He hefted off his heavy pack, and rifled inside for his sketchbook. It wasn’t there. Without his sketchbook, stripped of his name, without the echoes of his past sketched in grey, was he still John MacTavish?

Staring down at the sea, he steeled himself. He was still Johnny, he thought. That had to count for something. He jumped.

He plummeted into the water, driving the air from his lungs and momentarily went under, before kicking hard and bobbing back up. He gasped, floundering. His clothing dragged at him. The waves that had seemed nothing more than gentle humps from the boat now loomed over him like mountains, the undercurrent sucking greedily at his boots. He was tossed head over arse and momentarily sunk, seeing nothing but rushing foam. He surfaced, spluttering, and saw a bird in the distance. The liver bird. Spitting water he started to swim towards it.

Ghost had already waded knee deep as he drew closer to the shore. He grabbed for him, hooking his hands in his vest and dragged him up and onto the shingled shore.

For long minutes all Johnny could do was breathe. He coughed, tasting brine. His limbs were shaking.

Ghost stepped back, watching him. Finally, he held out a hand, and helped him to his feet. Johnny swung at him, almost overbalancing. His punch bounced off his chest.

‘You arsehole!’ he spat.

‘Johnny I’m sorry,’ said Ghost, in a small voice, his shoulders hunched. ‘I just wanted what was best for yo-‘

‘No!’ growled Johnny. ‘You don’t get to make my fucking decisions for me, you glaikit bastard. You’re no’ my CO anymore! What happened to staying wi’ me to the end?! You lying cunt!’ He shoved Ghost in the chest, making him take a step back, boots crunching on the wet gravel.

Ghost’s eyes filled with tears, brimming over, although he tried to conceal them, looking away and rapidly blinking. He looked horribly exposed without his mask.

‘I didn’t-I don’t-‘ he tried, voice quavering. ‘I wanted to give you a chance, to be normal. You can’t do that with me.’

‘Fuck normal,’ snapped Johnny, glaring. ‘Normal fucked off a long time ago. This is it now. This is what we have. Just this. Just us.’

Ghost grabbed for him and Johnny raised his fists but he was grabbing for his arms, and slowly slid down the length of his body, dropping to his knees on the wet shoreline.

‘Johnny I’m sorry,’ he gulped, dark eyes big and wet. ‘I just-I can’t lose you again.’

Johnny looked down at him, and smoothed a hand over his red-gold hair. He let out a long sigh. Behind him the sea lashed greedily against the shoreline.

‘Then stop pushing me away,’ he finally said. ‘Just…be with me.’

Ghost nodded, his hands still clutching at him.

‘I’m here,’ said Johnny, a little softer now, his hand still stroking his hair. ‘I’m still here.’

‘So am I,’ said Ghost. ‘For as long as you need me.’

‘Oh get up you big eejit,’ sighed Johnny.

Ghost scrambled to his feet. He pulled Johnny into a tight, wet hug.

‘What now?’ he asked, mumbling into his hair. He pressed a kiss against the star shaped scar.

‘Now?’ said Johnny, enjoying the hard press of his body, a lifeline, an anchor. ‘Now we enjoy the end of the world. Together.’

 

Seven months later

 

Johnny woke up when he rolled over and felt cool sheets and not the solid mass of his boyfriend pressed next to him. He sat up.

‘Simon?’ he called.

His bare feet met the cold floor and he winced. He really needed to finish making that rug. He padded through the small cottage. The fireplace was still faintly smouldering, giving out just enough light for Johnny to stuff his feet into boots and grab his jacket from the hook next to the door.

He crunched over the gravelled yard, making for the spill of amber light he could see filtering through the barn doors. The doors creaked as he pushed them open.

In a straw filled pen Simon was crouched next to one of the ewes.

‘She’s lambing early,’ he said, by way of greeting. ‘Good job we brought them down the other day.’

‘Aye is she,’ said Johnny, trying desperately to remember what he had read in the sheep husbandry book.

The ewe gave a little bleat and blood and fluid trickled from between her hind legs.

‘Does she need help?’ said Johnny anxiously, leaning against the fence.

Simon got up, joining him, the warm light from the spirit lamp making his hair look especially golden.

‘Nah I think she’s got it.’ He glanced at him. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’

‘Missed you,’ said Johnny.

‘I’m right here,’ said Simon, meeting his eyes.

‘Mm I know,’ replied Johnny but was momentarily distracted as the blunt nose of a lamb appeared with another dribble of blood. It plopped onto the straw.

The ewe heaved herself to her feet and slowly began to lick it.

‘There, see,’ said Simon, smiling. ‘She knows what she’s doing.’ He looked over the rest of the sheep, some of them wandering over to inspect the new arrival. ‘I think they’ll be alright for now.’ He swung one long leg over the fence. ‘Let’s go back inside.’

 

On the way back to the cottage Johnny lingered, looking out over the valley. Beyond the fields was a grey expanse of sea, glimmering in the light of the fat winter moon. Wind swept over the exposed hill, blowing right through his jacket, and he shivered. Simon wrapped an arm around him.

He felt something cold brush against his cheek and looked up. It was snowing. They stood silently, watching the flakes slowly drifting down, the moon disappearing behind a bank of snow heavy cloud.

‘How do you think they’re doing out there?’ said Johnny at length.

‘Who?’ replied Simon.

‘Everyone,’ said Johnny, watching his breath puffing in the frigid air. ‘The world.’

Simon turned and smiled at him, sweet and soft, even with serrated teeth.

‘This is all the world I need,’ he said, and his lips met his.

 

END

Notes:

And that's the end 🥲

Everyone that guessed Johnny would be immune gets a cookie 🍪 (and yes it was because of what you think 🤣)

There is a little clue as to how Ghost isn't affected by the virus the same way, let me know if you caught it.

Thanks everyone that took the time to comment, I wasn't expecting it and I really appreciate it. I do have another GhostSoap AU planned with some different horror elements.

You can follow me on Tumblr if you like, it's the same name as on here.

Thanks for reading 💀🧼