Free Crawlers by Sam Enthoven

yourself.’
    On all the screens except one, the scenes the cameras were looking at were empty: empty passageways; empty stairwells; empty rooms – no people at all. But on the screen showing the view in the passage outside . . .
    This was the first time Ben had seen what was waiting for them, guarding their only exit. These had been ordinary adults on a night out: they were now standing absolutely still, like mannequins.
    â€˜How many of them are out there?’ he asked, stifling a shudder.
    â€˜Twenty-seven of them that you can see there,’ said Hugo. ‘There are probably more behind, but I counted all the ones I could. Three times, actually.’
    â€˜Not much else to do in here, huh?’ said Ben.
    â€˜You’re not wrong,’ said Hugo drily.
    â€˜That’s not all of them out there, though, is it?’ asked Ben.
    â€˜How d’you mean?’
    â€˜You think all of the bitten people are out there in the passageway? What about the ones who went out to meet the police? Were they from out there?’
    â€˜Not that I saw,’ Hugo answered. ‘If they did come from the crowd outside, it wasn’t from the front row. No one’s twitched a muscle in that lot since they stopped trying to break the door down.’ He made a face. ‘It’s freaking me out, frankly.’
    â€˜So maybe,’ said Ben, ‘not everybody who’s been bitten is there.’
    Hugo shrugged. ‘Stands to reason, I guess.’
    â€˜Well, if they’re not out there,’ Ben wondered, looking at the empty screens, ‘where
are
they all?’
    â€˜Beats me,’ said Hugo. ‘I just work here.’
    Ben looked down at the desk at which Hugo was sitting. As well as the congealed remains of a mug of milky coffee and an impressive (and obviously long-lived) collection of emptysweet wrappers left by its usual occupants, the desk contained a black angled console covered in numbered, grey rubber buttons with, at its centre, a small joystick.
    â€˜This looks like it controls the cameras,’ said Ben, reaching for the buttons. ‘Why don’t we take a look?’
    â€˜Now hold on a second,’ said Hugo, turning on his chair and putting himself in between Ben and the console. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
    â€˜What? Why not?’
    Hugo pursed his lips. Ben could tell that he didn’t like being put in the position of having to stop him – but Ben didn’t care.
    â€˜Come on, Hugo,’ he said. ‘What’s the problem?’
    â€˜All right,’ said Hugo, ‘I’ll tell you: right now, we’ve got a good combination. There’ – he pointed – ‘are the two screens showing the main entrance, and we’ve got this camera showing us what’s happening out there in the passage. If we start pressing buttons, we might lose that picture. Then we’d have no idea what they’re up to. We’d be defenceless.’
    â€˜Cobblers,’ said Ben. ‘I’m sure it’s not complicated. If that happens we just keep pressing the buttons until the picture comes back.’
    â€˜But what if they attack again while we can’t see them?’
    â€˜They won’t! They’ve been standing out there doing nothing for, like, an hour. Besides, what difference would itmake? They’d still be out there and we’d still be stuck in here.’ Ben tried to reach past him, but—
    â€˜No, I’m sorry.’ Hugo shook his head. ‘There’s no way I’m letting you do it. It’s too risky.’
    â€˜But . . .’ Ben stared at him, amazed. ‘Isn’t it sort of worth the risk? I mean . . . those screens are the only advantage we’ve got. Apart from a couple of squashed crawlers, they’re the only thing that might give us an idea of what’s really going on in this place. And you’re seriously telling me you won’t even