THE STORY

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I tuck my laptop under my arm and follow Alyssa out into the sunlight. We’re at the back of the house, and it’s clear that the zombies have been busy here overnight. The bins are overturned, the fence has half-collapsed, and there’s a trail of blood leading from the back door to the rear gate.
‘This way,’ Alyssa says, following the trail.
‘We’re not going after it,’ I say, half questioning, half accusing.
‘It’s the only way out. Or did you want to stay in the dark where they can find you?’
I fall in line, though I have to walk a few steps behind her because she has the oar slung back over her shoulder. The thing is immense, about three metres long. She chose her weapon well. It’ll be good for keeping zombies at bay.
‘You called them Weepers?’ I ask as we go through the back gate. It leads a small park. Empty swings creak forlornly in the breeze.
‘It’s what we call them.’ She doesn’t look back at me as she talks. Her head is tracking from side to side, scanning the empty grass. ‘Quiet now.’
‘But–’
‘Shh!’
I do as she says. I’m not normally the obedient type, but she seems to know what she’s doing and I don’t have a bloody clue. I decide to trust her now and ask questions later.
We skirt the side of the park, keeping to the tarmac, then follow it to a dead-end barred by a wide metal gate. Beyond is the woodland that lines the sides of the river Isis, shaded and secluded. I want to stop and turn around, because didn’t she say we needed to stay in the sunshine? But I follow her into the high grasses and under the tree canopy.
When the hands close around my laptop from behind, it feels like this was inevitable.