‘You two okay? he asked. A pointless question, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Annie smiled for the briefest of moments and nodded, trying hard to put on a brave face. She nonchalantly wiped away a single tear which trickled quickly down her wrinkled cheek.

‘We’re all right, thank you,’ she replied, her voice light and fragile.

‘Can I get you anything?’

Annie shook her head.

‘No, we’re fine,’ she said. ‘I think we’ll try and get some sleep now.’

Michael smiled and rested his hand on hers. He tried not to let his worry show, but her hand felt disconcertingly cold and fragile. He really did feel so sorry for these two. He had noticed that they had been inseparable since arriving at the hall. Jessica, he had learned from Emma, was a well-to-do widow who had lived in a large house in one of the most exclusive suburbs of Northwich. Annie, on the other hand, had told him yesterday that she’d lived in the same two bedroom Victorian terraced house all her life. She’d been born there and, as she’d wasted no time in telling him, she intended to see out the rest of her days there too. When things settled down again, she’d explained naively, she was going to go straight back home. She had even invited Jessica over for tea one afternoon.

Michael patted the old lady’s hand again and stood up and walked away. He glanced back over his shoulder and watched as the two pensioners huddled closer together and talked in frightened, hushed whispers. Clearly from opposite ends of the social spectrum, they seemed to be drawn to each other for no other reason than their similar ages. Money, position, possessions, friends and connections didn’t count for anything anymore.

Emma was still sitting on the floor two hours later. As half-past two approached she cursed herself for being so bloody selfless. There she was, cold and uncomfortable, still cradling Jenny Hall in her arms. What made matters worse was the Jenny had herself been asleep for the best part of an hour. Why am I always the one who ends up doing this, she thought? Christ, no-one ever bothers to hold me and rock me to sleep. Why am I always the one giving out? Emma didn’t really need any help or support, but it pissed her off that no-one ever seemed to offer.

The hall was silent but for a muffled conversation taking place in one of the dark rooms off the main hall. Emma carefully eased herself out from underneath Jenny and lay her down on the floor and covered her with a sheet. In the still silence every sound she made, no matter how slight, seemed deafening. As she moved Jenny’s body she listened carefully and tried to locate the precise source of the conversation. She was desperate for some calm and rational adult company.

The voices seemed to be coming from a little room that she hadn’t been into before. Cautiously she pushed the door open and peered inside. It was pitch black, and the voices stopped immediately.

‘Who’s that?’ a man asked.

‘Emma,’ she whispered. ‘Emma Mitchell.’

As her eyes slowly became accustomed to the darkness of the room (which was, surprisingly, even darker and gloomier than the main hall) she saw that there were two men sitting with their backs against the far wall. It was Michael and Carl. They were drinking water from a plastic bottle which they passed between themselves.

‘You okay?’ Michael asked.

‘I’m fine,’ Emma replied. ‘Mind if I come in?’

‘Not at all,’ said Carl. ‘Everything calmed down out there?’

She stepped into the room, tripping over his outstretched legs and feeling for the nearest wall in the darkness. She sat down carefully.

‘It’s all quiet,’ she said. ‘I just had to get away, know what I mean?’

‘Why do you think we’re sitting in here?’ Michael asked rhetorically.

After a short silence Emma spoke again.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said apologetically. ‘Have I interrupted something? Did you two want me to go so you can…?’

‘Stay here as long as you like,’ Michael answered. Emma’s eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the darkness and she could now just about make out the details of the two men’s faces.

‘I think everyone’s asleep out there. At least if they’re not asleep then they’re being very quiet. I guess they’re all thinking about what happened today. I’ve just sat and listened to Jenny talking about…’ Emma realised she was talking for the sake of talking and let her words trail away into silence. Both Michael and Carl were staring at her. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, suddenly self-conscious. ‘What’s wrong?’

Michael shook his head.

‘Bloody hell,’ he sighed, ‘have you been out there with Jenny all this time?’

She nodded.

‘Yes, why?’

He shrugged his shoulders.

‘Nothing, I just don’t know why you bother, that’s all.’

‘Someone’s got to do it, haven’t they?’ she replied nonchalantly as she accepted a drink from the bottle of water that Carl passed to her.

‘So why does it have to be you? Christ, who’s going to sit up with you for hours when you’re…’

‘Like I said,’ she interrupted, ‘someone’s got to do it. If we all shut ourselves away in rooms like this when things aren’t going well then we haven’t got much of a future here, have we?’

Emma was immediately defensive of her own actions, despite the fact that she’d silently criticised herself for exactly the same thing just a few minutes earlier.

‘So do you think we’ve got a future here then?’ asked Carl. Now Emma really was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t come in here to be picked on.

‘Of course we’ve got a future,’ she snapped.

‘We’ve got millions of people lying dead in the streets around us and we’ve got people threatening to kill each other because someone doesn’t like soup. Doesn’t bode well really, does it?’ Michael mused.

Another silence.

‘So what do you think?’ Emma asked. ‘You seem to have an opinion about everything. Do you reckon we’ve got any chance, or do you think we should just curl up in the corner and give up?’

‘I think we’ve got a damn good chance, but not necessarily here.’

‘Where then?’ she wondered.

‘Well what have we got here?’ Michael began. ‘We’ve got shelter of sorts, we’ve got limited supplies and we’ve got access to what’s left of the city. We’ve also got an unlimited supply of dead bodies – some of them mobile – which are going to rot. Agree?’

The other two thought for a moment and then nodded.

‘And I suppose,’ he continued, ‘there’s also the flip-side of the coin. As good a shelter as this is, it’s fast becoming a prison. We’ve got no idea what’s around us. We don’t even know what’s in the buildings on the other side of the street.’

‘But it’s going to be the same wherever we go…’ Emma remarked.

‘Possibly. Carl and I were talking about heading out to the countryside earlier, and the more I think about it the more it seems to make sense.’

‘Why?’

Carl explained, remembering the conversation he’d had with Michael a few hours ago.

‘The population’s concentrated in cities, isn’t it? There will be less bodies out in the sticks. And less bodies equals less problems…’

‘Hopefully,’ Michael added cautiously.

‘So what’s stopping us?’ Emma asked.

‘Nothing,’ Michael replied.

‘Are you sure that you want to go?’

‘Positive.’

‘And what if no-one else does?’

‘Tough. I’ll go on my own.’

‘And when are you going to go?’

‘As soon as I can. I’d go tomorrow if I could.’

Emma had to admit that, arrogant and superior as he tended to sound, Michael’s logic and reasoning made sense. The more she listened to and thought about his proposals, the more hopeful she became. Fired up with a new found enthusiasm and purpose, the three survivors talked through the first few long, dragging hours of the new day. By four o’clock that morning their plans were made.