‘Friends of ours,’ Vic said. He didn’t think explaining would be for the best. We made a hole into another reality and the zombie plague came through and I let it out and now it’s spread everywhere and . . .
‘Glad they’re safe,’ Sean said.
‘Me too.’
Marc was talking to Gary, headphones pulled back so they could communicate directly. Gary was shaking his head slowly, tapping a couple of dials on the control display before him. Marc became more animated, glancing back into the cabin. He was looking at where Jayne and Sean sat with their backs to him, and Vic knew what was being discussed even before Marc addressed them.
‘Change of plan,’ Marc said.
‘We’re going to Coldbrook,’ Vic said. ‘Good idea.’
‘Hope so.’ Marc gave him a piercing glare, then turned around again.
‘Why are we going back there?’ Lucy asked. ‘I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to see.’
‘Not Danton Rock,’ Vic said. ‘Straight to Coldbrook.’ He didn’t want to see what had become of their home town either.
He realised that Marc had kept his satphone, but he couldn’t really blame him.
Gary turned the helicopter and the angle of sunlight across the cabin changed. Back to Coldbrook. Scene of the crime.
Lucy leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder, and Vic found himself looking at Sean. They exchanged a smile. It did nothing to fill Vic’s hollow heart.
2
We’re the different sides of the same coin, Jonah thought, but even that idea felt wrong. As he watched Drake sitting upright at Coldbrook’s library table, nervous and proud, gaze constantly flickering to the wall of books that gave the room depth and warmth, the truth was much more miraculous. They were more than like-minded.
‘It’s not the best,’ Jonah said. ‘I smashed my last bottle of Irish. This is a nasty blended make. Cheap. Harsh. But we’ll just have to make do.’ He poured two fingers into each of the four glasses, and felt everyone’s stare upon him.
‘Jameson’s was my father’s favourite,’ Drake said. ‘But I’ve never tried it. Someone from our Coldbrook once found a bottle of Knob Creek.’ He took the glass that Jonah offered him, smiling his thanks. ‘For days after I couldn’t see straight.’
‘That’s some rough stuff,’ Jonah agreed, lifting his own glass. Holly took her drink, still shaken. She was sitting very close to Jonah, and he could feel the fear coming off her in waves. Beside Drake was a woman who’d introduced herself as Moira. A lovely Welsh name, Jonah had said, but the woman had not reacted.
‘We should drink a toast,’ Jonah said. Drake and Moira startled him by standing, and he and Holly followed suit.
Drake stared unflinchingly at Jonah. There was an ease between them that was almost friendship. It felt good, but Jonah could not yet bring himself to trust it, not after what Holly had told him. Everything was so strange.
‘Five days ago I drank to success,’ Jonah said.
‘Huh. Well, then, how about to survival?’ Holly raised her glass to Drake. ‘You’ve managed it for forty years. We’ve only just begun.’ Before anyone else could echo her toast she drank the whisky, grimacing slightly as she sat down and placed the glass on the table.
‘Survival,’ Jonah said, and Drake and Moira agreed. They drank, Jonah refilled everyone’s glass, and they made themselves comfortable again.