Free Disintegration by David Moody Page A

to her. “I don’t know how or why, but they are getting smarter, aren’t they?”
    “What’s she talking about?” Gordon asked nervously. He turned around and repeated his question directly to her. “What are you talking about?”
    “If you’d actually come outside with us and done something useful you’d know exactly what I was talking about.”
    “My hip…” he began, immediately making excuses.
    “Fuck you and your hip,” Webb said angrily. “Fucking waster.”
    Gordon looked down and shuffled his cards again. He couldn’t handle confrontation.
    “Is that right?” Caron asked, her voice suddenly tight and unsure. “Are they really getting smarter?”
    “Not all of them,” Harte answered, “but some seem to be.”
    “And did it really bite him?”
    Hollis made eye contact with her and shook his head, the movement subtle enough for Webb not to see.
    “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Lorna continued. “Doesn’t matter how hard or fast they come at you, they’re still falling apart. It’ll still take a shitload of them to cause you any problems.”
    “What—a shitload like the fifty thousand or so we’ve got camped out at the bottom of the hill?” Stokes grumbled unhelpfully.
    “You know what I mean.”
    “But what if they get up here?” Gordon asked anxiously.
    “They’re not going to get up here,” Harte answered quickly.
    “Who says?” Webb snapped. Driver fully removed the paper from over his face and sat up in his seat. Gordon put down his cards. Caron moved farther into the room.
    “Shut up, Webb,” Hollis said. “You’re winding everybody up. For the last time, that thing didn’t bite you, and none of them are going to get up here, okay?”
    “One of them did last night.”
    “What?”
    “While I was out in the car,” he explained, “one of them managed to get almost all the way up here.”
    “Must have just got lucky.”
    “What happened to it?” wondered Ellie, looking nervously out of the window.
    “I beat the shit out of it, that’s what happened,” he replied.
    “So one of them managed to get over the barrier,” said Hollis. “So what? The rest of them haven’t. They’re still stuck down there.”
    “At the moment,” Stokes said. Hollis looked up at the ceiling in despair.
    “For crying out loud, will you please stop trying to wind everyone up? We’re safe here. Nothing’s changed.”
    “You reckon?”
    “Yes.”
    “Hollis is right,” Lorna agreed. “We just need to keep a close watch on things. If something does happen then we’ll deal with it straightaway.”
    “I’m ready,” Webb said purposefully, a mask of machismo hiding the mounting fear he was feeling. “I’ll fucking deal with them.”
    “I know you will,” Lorna said quietly. “And that scares me more than the bodies do.”

 
     
    11
     
    “Pass it!” Harte screamed at Webb. Webb looked up and kicked the ball wide to Jas, who made a diving run forward and booted it at Stokes in goal. The ball hit his belly with a loud slap and bounced away. He ran toward it and kicked it back across the car park. Harte scuttled after it.
    “You won’t get anything past me,” Stokes boasted.
    “That’s because you fill the fucking goal,” Webb laughed.
    “Cheeky bastard!”
    Harte reappeared and curled the ball to Jas on the wing. Jas dummied and swerved around Webb, who ran at him at speed.
    “That’s out!” Webb screamed. “You’re off the pitch. We said the line was level with the front of the van.”
    “Piss off, Webb,” Jas gasped as he sprinted toward the goal. Stokes readied himself for the shot. Did he shoot high or aim low? Try and swerve it around the side or just kick it straight at him? Jas lined himself up for the shot, only for Webb to slide along the tarmac and take his legs out from under him. The ball rolled away, Webb chasing after it furiously.
    “Go on, Webb,” Harte yelled. “Shoot!”
    “You little bastard,” Jas seethed, running