Although Cat kept to herself most of the time, she had crossed paths with various groups since the city fell, survivors like her who had chosen to stay in London. She ran into another such group around Muswell Hill when she was out foraging, and although she was wary of them–London was a lawless place now, and some survivors were taking advantage of that, terrorizing the living as well as the undead–she stopped to talk. You could sometimes pick up useful survival tips from those who were tough and resourceful.
There were eight people in the group, although one of those was a child, a young boy called Declan, who clung tightly to his mother Emma and didn’t say a word while the others were speaking.
The leader was a guy called Shaun. He was from Australia originally, and had learned a lot about what it took to survive as a globe-trotting thrill seeker in the years before the zombies put an end to all such recreational activities.
“Don’t you think you’d be better off with a partner or a gang like us?” Shaun asked. “This is a hard place for loners. It’s good when you have someone to watch your back.”
“The trouble is, I’d keep expecting them to stab me in the back,” Cat said, and she was only half joking. Since she didn’t expect anyone to trust her–because she’d throw them to the zombies in the blink of an eye to save her own neck–she could hardly bring herself to trust anybody else.
They traded stories and tips, warning each other about areas where there were lots of zombies. Sometimes Cat fed misinformation to people like this, sending them into zombie hot spots, figuring a zombie with a full stomach was one less zombie she’d have to worry about for a while. But she liked Shaun–he was the sort of guy she would have picked for a boyfriend back in more innocent times–so she was straight with him.
At one point Shaun asked her if she’d heard the rumors about Stansted Airport. “A few people have told me that the army has reclaimed the terminal,” he said. “Apparently they’re running flights out of there, importing recruits and equipment to use in the war with the living dead.”
“That sounds like a wild fantasy to me,” Cat snorted.
“Probably,” Shaun agreed, “but I might go check it out if the rumors persist. I don’t want anything to do with soldiers on the defensive–I think we’ve got a better chance of surviving here than in an army-run compound–but I plan to be part of the offensive when it starts in London. I want to be around for payback.”
They parted soon after that. Cat was half tempted to go with the group, but if her feelings for Shaun deepened over time, she might one day stop to help him if they ran into trouble, rather than make a swift getaway. Shaun might be a good-looking, charming guy, but boyfriends were more trouble than they were worth these days. Cat chuckled—maybe they always had been!
Cat wasn’t interested in payback–the zombies had set her free of the shackles of school and her old way of life, so she had nothing personal against them–but the rumors about Stansted and the army intrigued her. She found it hard to credit the stories, especially since she heard nothing about such a maneuver on the official radio station over the next few days, but her curiosity had been stimulated. If the rumors were true, she might be able to cut a deal with the soldiers, do some work for them and earn a flight out to a zombie-free island.
Cat had thought about leaving London and hooking up with people in one of the army-run compounds in the countryside–not least because it would allow her to search afresh for Jules, Paul and George–but she didn’t like the idea of walling herself in. An island with no zombies was a different proposition. She could envision herself settling back with a cocktail at sunset. It would be nicer than holing up in silence for the night.
So, even though it was a long shot, Cat headed east the next day, towards Tottenham Hale. It was a trek from Muswell Hill, at least a couple of hours if she moved as cautiously as she normally did, but she could get there and back easily before dark fell.
She’d chosen Tottenham Hale because she knew that the railway line from central London to Stansted ran through the train station there. If she based herself in that part of the city, she could keep watch on the line—if the airport was functional, the army might be using the line to move troops and supplies to and from it.
If Cat spotted soldiers on the line, she’d approach them and try to earn their trust. Failing that, she could hike all the way out to the airport. It would be long–probably a couple of days–and dangerous, but after all this time on the streets, she liked her chances.
But that was a job for another time. All she wanted to do right now was scout as far as the train station, see what shape that part of London was in. If she found it overrun with zombies, she’d withdraw to consider alternate routes. If, on the other hand, it looked quiet, she’d search for a suitable place to base herself, before moving her gear across over the coming days, so that she could start keeping watch on the line.
Cat wound her way east slowly and carefully. Some survivors kept to the main roads when they wandered, clear of the buildings. Many of them tried to mimic the movements of the undead, hoping to be mistaken for zombies if they were spotted by brain munchers.
It wasn’t a bad method but it wasn’t Cat’s way. She preferred to hug the buildings, creeping along in the shadows, ducking and sometimes even crawling past windows, darting past open doorways. The way she figured it, if you were in the middle of a road, there was a chance you might be spotted by several zombies in different places at the same time, and if a group came lumbering after you from various directions, it spelled trouble. Her way, you weren’t spotted as often, and you usually only had to worry about an assault from a single source when you were.
Cat hadn’t had to fight with the undead many times, but was prepared for war if it found her. She carried a sword and a variety of long knives, two axes and a short spear that was strapped to her back. She wore gloves and a mask, to protect her from spraying zombie blood, which was as infectious as a bite or a scratch.
Cat had a gun too, which she’d picked up a long time ago, but she’d never fired it. The noise of a gun would probably bring loads of zombies running. She’d only use that in an emergency, as a last resort, or maybe turn it on herself if she was trapped with no way out.
Cat frowned at that thought and quickly pushed it away. She didn’t like to contemplate worst-case scenarios. A survivor should focus on the positives, not the negatives. Let losers like those she’d thrown to the zombies worry about stuff like that. Cat had more important things to think about—like what cocktail she’d choose first if (when) she made it to her paradise island!
Smiling at that image, Cat paused to spray on more perfume–the undead responded to the scent of sweat, so she masked it as much as she could–then calmly pushed ahead, ready for whatever the city had to throw at her.