Free The End by Charlie Higson Page A

air.
    ‘What about David?’ Jester askedafter a couple of minutes. He’d obviously been thinking about what Shadowman had said.
    ‘What about him?’ said Shadowman.
    ‘He’s gonna want to be in charge.’
    ‘That jerk?’ Shadowman laughed. ‘He knows sod all about war. He lucked out getting into the palace before anyone else. Took control by lying and cheating and dumping on other kids. What would he know about takingon an army like that?’
    ‘That’s what I meant,’ said Jester. ‘He won’t go along with it. Won’t want anyone else telling him what to do.’
    ‘Then maybe I’ll sneak into Buckingham Palace and slit his chicken throat one night.’
    ‘You wouldn’t …’
    ‘Wouldn’t I? You’ll need to watch your back, Jester. Sleep lightly. This isn’t over.’
    Jester stopped walking. ‘Leave it out, Shadow,’he said. ‘I know you’re kidding.’
    ‘Do you?’ Shadowman raised his crossbow.
    Jester sighed. Blew his breath out from between puffed cheeks. He’d had enough.
    ‘Let’s go back now, yeah?’ he pleaded.
    ‘Nope. We’ve one more thing to do today.’
    ‘I am done ,’ said Jester wearily.
    Shadowman spotted something over Jester’s shoulder and walked close to him, put his face rightin the boy’s face.
    ‘This isn’t about you,’ he hissed.
    ‘No? I thought this was national kick Jester’s arse day. What is it about then?’
    ‘That.’ Shadowman pointed back down the road and Jester turned to look.
    A group of strangers was walking towards them, their stink filling the street, thick and almost physical. Jester swallowed, looked like he wanted to puke.
    ‘We need to run,’ he said.
    ‘Uh-uh.’ Shadowman held him in place. ‘Look at them. They’re rubbish. They don’t want to eat. They’re catatonic. Zombies.’
    ‘Zombies …’
    ‘Harmless ones.’
    The strangers seemed to be wandering aimlessly. Shadowman stood his ground. Testing them. Testing Jester. He wanted to rub his face in it. Make him understand – This was it. This was this.
    The strangers, a mix of mothers, fathers and older teenagers, were filthy, black with grease and dirt. Most of them were bald. One or two had clumps of hair that was long and matted. All were diseased, bits missing, skin made inhuman by boils and growths and sores – eaten away by open, weeping wounds. How they were still alive at all was a mystery. Some sort of invisible puppet stringswere keeping them upright as they came shuffling on.
    ‘OK,’ said Jester, and he was trembling, his face covered in sweat. ‘You’ve made your point. This is crazy. We need to fight or we need to run. Let’s run, yeah? Let’s go home.’
    Shadowman held him still until the strangers were right upon them. They parted as they came close and then brushed past. Not interested.
    ‘We’regoing,’ said Shadowman. ‘But we’re not going home.’
    ‘Where then?’ The relief on Jester’s face when the strangers had simply walked past was comical.
    ‘We’re going shopping,’ said Shadowman.
    ‘Shopping? Where?’
    ‘IKEA.’

11
    Ollie was in the library at the museum, sitting on the floor reading a book, or at least trying to read a book. Actually he was doing no more than pretending to read a book. He was listening to what was going on at the big central table. The boy in charge here, Chris Marker, who was dressed a bit like a monk, was quizzing Small Sam.
    ‘I’m trying to get your story down,’he was saying, a hint of exasperation in his voice. ‘It’s important we collect everybody’s story. We have to keep a record for the future. But I’m finding it hard to believe a single word of what you’re telling me. You mustn’t make stories up.’
    ‘It’s the God’s own truth,’ said Sam’s peculiar friend, The Kid. ‘The God’s own, boy’s own, frogspawn truth. Straight from the horse’sarse and smelling of roses. This boy couldn’t lie if you paid him. He is a truth machine.’
    Ollie grinned to himself. He liked