And so we meet

I woke up late the day of the proposed meeting; everyone seemed to want me to get some rest. Jon and Toby had left early in the morning to scavenge from a few local shops. They didn't find much—a few tins—and that was about it. Considering that we have three more people than we planned on having, our supplies are holding out well, but soon we will have to travel further to scavenge for food. We have already made plans to head to a few garden stores to get seeds and anything else we could possibly grow, so we have a more reliable food supply.

I gave Sky some new homework—basic math. She started on it cheerfully; she seemed happy just to have me back, so she didn't complain. Ty, Jenna, and Lara were doing the washing up and various other laundry bits and pieces. I headed downstairs to see Jack.

Jack's room had now gone from looking like a garage to Q's lab—wiring, pieces of metal, and tools I had never seen before scattered everywhere. He looked up from what looked like a half-disassembled TV and laughed at the look on my face.

"Come in, come in. Morning. Careful where you step—I dropped some glass earlier, can't quite remember where it was though." CRUNCH. "Ah, there it is." I lifted up my shoe and saw the TV's screen below it.

"Do you sleep?" I asked.

"I can't sleep. When you found me the other day, I was—well, let's just say in a bad place. But now…" He waved his arms around. "Look, I have all this!"

I looked at the junk that had piled up remarkably quickly. "Er... yeah, it's certainly something," I said. Jack chuckled.

"Okay, Mr. Skeptical. Come see what I did to your stuff." He wandered over to one of the tables and picked up my boots. "Well, when I saw them yesterday, they were in pieces. The fact they're back together now is a large improvement—and you polished them!"

I laughed. "I've done more than that. I cut into the boots and reinforced them with thin pieces of metal, so they should be bite-proof."

I nodded my head. "Cool."

"You look disappointed."

Before I could respond, he picked the left boot up and tapped the back of the heel. A large steel spike shot out and stayed there for a few seconds before retracting back into the boot.

"Shit! That's what I'm talking about!" I was like a 12-year-old after the latest toy commercial.

"I call it the stiletto. Very simple to use—kick the heel, it pops out and impales what's on the other end. Should go through bone quite easily. Powering it was difficult. We don't have any compressed air, so I took an idea from self-powering watches. It uses it, and after a few steps, the clockwork built into the boot will store up tension, and it will be usable again after 20 steps or so. Just try not to impale your own foot."

"I'll do my best," I said, carefully putting on the boots and testing the boot spike.

I looked up at Jack eagerly, expecting more. He obliged. "Your baton, on the other hand, was more difficult. I haven't tested it yet. Would you like to try?"

"It's not going to blow up in my hand, is it?" I said.

"It shouldn't do here." He handed me the baton. It was heavier than I remembered, and the pole was now silver instead of black. On the handle was a small red button.

"Okay, come over here to the table," he said, leading me over to a small kitchen table propped up against a wall. "Now extend the baton."

I extended it. It seemed the same as before, but now there was a spike at the top, about half the size of the stiletto, but this one was hollow.

"Now, as I'm sure you know, these were designed to be non-lethal, so I made a new shaft of steel and attached a hollow spike at the end. Now jam the spike into the table and press the red button."

I rammed the spike into the table; it pierced easily, and I pressed the button. A dull POOF came from the baton, and I heard something embed itself in the wall. I pulled the table away and looked at the wall—what looked like a ball bearing had gone a good two inches through.

"Yes, I have given you an improvised gun, but I recommend you impale with the spike before pulling the trigger. At range, it can be unwieldy, and then, of course, there's the reloading." He held up what looked like an Allen key. "Reloading is simple but takes time—simply slide away the bottom of the baton, insert a new ball, then use the key to turn the clockwork to get it ready for another shot."

I nodded. "Awesome. So, one-shot deal for close encounters, and quiet. Should come in handy. But you do realize when Jon sees this, he will want something too," I joked.

"Already got something for him and Toby." Jack moved back to his workbench and picked up a mutilated cricket bat. "As you can see, these are already starting to show signs of wear and tear. Soon they will be unusable, so I have adapted them into these." He picked up two other bats, but these were different. The handle and the left side were still the original bat, but the wood looked like it had been reinforced with steel, and ball bearings were poking out of it, creating points for the impact to focus on. The other half was now a razor-sharp piece of metal.

"Blunt force on one side, a slicer on the other. Think they will like it?"

I took a few swings with it. "I think they will love it. Thanks, Jack."

"Oh, I have one more thing for you here." He passed me my gloves. "I have reinforced them as much as I can without constricting movement of the hand. Should hold up pretty well to a bite."

I nodded, thanked Jack again, and promised to send Sky down to keep him company, as long as they didn't blow the place up. I felt a bit better about what I had to do later; the new inventions made me feel safer.

6:30 PM

I said my goodbyes to everyone and checked my new equipment. I had been practicing with it since I got it. I looked in the mirror. Lara had cut my hair—it was now a number 3 all over, and I had spiked it up. I don't think anyone will be judging my appearance, but the new style will make it more difficult for me to be grabbed by the dead. I looked back at my reflection, and the person staring back was unfamiliar. I had a beard—not a full beard, but then I had never been able to grow a full one. Despite the rationed food, I had bulked up considerably, mainly due to the exercise regimes Jane had been subjecting us to. My arms now actually looked like they had muscle, not just matchsticks.

I kissed Sky on the cheek goodbye. She didn't seem to mind me going so much this time; she was going to hang around with Jack till I got back on the condition she would behave herself. Jon offered me one of the guns, but I turned it down, just in case this was a trick to attack while I was away. I exited the flats and started the five-minute jog up the road to the shopping center.

"Wait!"

I turned around—Jane was chasing after me.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you are not. Stay here, they will need you."

"Toby and Jon can look after the place. They don't need me. It does not matter what you say, I'm going to follow you anyway."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, but stay close to me. Are you armed?"

She shook her head. I passed her one of the crowbars, and we continued on our way.

The shopping center is set on three floors, the first being the food court, and the other two just various shops. It was small compared to other shopping centers, but I didn't like big cities. I hated London even before it became overrun by undead. This place was big enough for me.

We got to the food court entrance, and as the note said, it was unlocked. We opened the door and jammed a mop through the handles on the other side. This place seemed clear of the dead—we didn't want to worry about them as well as a possible maniac howling for our blood.

"Okay, go take cover behind one of the restaurant counters. If I need you, I will give you a signal."

"What's the signal?" Jane asked.

"How about 'Please help, I'm dying'?"

"Not funny."

"It was a little funny, and it gets the message across."

She rolled her eyes and hopped over the counter of one of the burger joints. The lights were on in the shopping center, but the escalators were not switched on. I couldn't see anyone down here, so I headed up to the first floor and wandered around past various shops. All the shutters were up, but no one was here. I helped myself to a few DVDs while I was at it.

I took the stairs to the top floor and was just outside the sports shop. I was weighing up the idea of grabbing a few things when I saw someone. He was sitting with his back to me in a cafe that was situated in the walkway between shops, a coffee in one hand and a packet of crisps in the other. He didn't seem to have noticed me.

I made my way over to him. He was not what I expected—he was wearing a grey suit with a white shirt, all ironed and clean, with immaculately groomed short brown hair, with wisps of grey coming through. Compared to me in my black coat, green long-sleeved t-shirt, and jeans, I felt like I was extremely underdressed.

When I was within 20 feet of him, without turning around, he said, "You're late." There was a clear hint of annoyance in his voice.

"I walked around the tables until I was in front of the man. The suit could not have been more of a contrast to the man's face—bruises, scrapes, and a nose that looked like it had been broken, reset, broken again, and then trodden on were unevenly spread all over his face. He had 'hard case' written all over him. I sat down opposite him, pulling out one of the cheap brown seats and taking off my satchel—I didn't want it impeding me if this turned nasty."

"Sorry, the end of the world delayed me," I responded sarcastically.

He did not rise to my comment; instead, he just sniffed. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Sure, a coffee—dark, four sugars, if you have it, please."

"Crisps?"

"Salt and vinegar, please."

He wandered off behind the counter and quickly returned with what I had requested.

"Thank you."

"Well, I'm glad to see the apocalypse hasn't destroyed your manners."

"Great British manners can survive anything," I joked. The man smiled.

"Introductions are in order. My name is Graham, and you are?"

"My name is Tom."

"I see, and I assume you speak for the group in the flats?"

"For now, you can. But if you wanted to talk, you didn't need to set fire to our building. We have a kid in there."

The man seemed unconcerned with this. "Yes, well, we wanted to make sure we had your attention, and the last time we showed up, you shot at some of our group and injured two of them. Poor Jeff has lost most of the rest of his teeth since meeting you."

"Well, he will have to rely on his sparkling personality instead, and I want you to know I am overflowing with sympathy for your injured men who set attack dogs on us."

"One of them was my son."

If he expected this to shut me up, he was wrong. I leaned closer to him. "And the people you attacked are my family and friends. If your son or Jeff comes back, they won't be leaving."

Graham's mouth twitched at the corner—he was struggling to keep calm. He wasn't used to people standing up to him.

"I would advise you against making threats. The people you've seen so far are a fraction of our numbers. There are over a hundred of us."

"So what do you want?" I spat, cutting him off.

"Your home. We need a more secure place to live."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Maybe you should let me finish before you start shouting obscenities. If the others had their way, we would be burning you out of there right now. What I'm offering you is the opportunity to pack up and leave without incident. I want the flats, and I want them now."