“I tried that, sir. They don’t really listen.”

Scapegrace glowered. “Are there children out there?”

“Um, yes sir, they’re all children.”

“Run a few down.”

“Sir?”

“Drive over a few of the little brats. That’ll scare ’em off.”

“I… I don’t think I can do that, sir.”

“You’re not developing a conscience on me now, are you, Thrasher?”

“No sir!”

“You’re still an evil zombie, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes sir, evil to the core!”

“Then why can’t you drive over a few children?”

“I just don’t think we’re capable of going that fast, sir. With this traffic, plus the fact that they do seem to be an unusually spry bunch…”

“Fine,” Scapegrace said angrily. “I’ll take care of it.”

He pushed the lid all the way open and repositioned himself, then reached up and opened the window. Voices flooded the van, and hands poked through, waving money. Scapegrace pulled a face before plunging his head out of the window, and all the little kids screamed in terror and ran off, hands waving in the air. Scapegrace broke down, laughing hysterically, and fell back into the freezer, clutching his sides.

Thrasher glanced back, and Scapegrace heard him force a laugh. “That’s very good, sir, very funny.”

An hour later, Scapegrace felt the van slow again, and eventually stop. A few moments passed, then Thrasher appeared over the freezer.

“We’re here,” he said, sliding open the lid. “At least I think we’re here. We’re definitely somewhere.”

Scapegrace clambered out, slapping Thrasher’s hands away when he went to help him. Once out, he went to the front of the van.

They were in Dublin’s docklands, outside an old warehouse. There was a girl out there with blue hair. She was looking at the warehouse door, same as Scapegrace, but hadn’t once turned round to look at the van with the giant penguin on top. Thrasher joined him.

“Who is she?” Thrasher asked.

“How am I supposed to know?” Scapegrace scowled. “All I can see is the back of her blue head.”

“Do you think she’s crazy?”

“Why would she be crazy?”

Thrasher shrugged.

Scapegrace got out of the van, Thrasher close behind him. They approached the crazy girl with the blue hair.

“The doctor isn’t here,” she said without looking at them. “The whole place is empty. It smells of disinfectant and oranges.”

“Nye? Is that who you’re talking about? Doctor Nye?”

The crazy girl nodded, and looked at him. His face had been burnt off by Valkyrie Cain, and being a zombie meant that it had never even tried to heal itself. The crazy girl didn’t even bat an eyelid. “My name’s Clarabelle,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“You don’t need to know his name,” Thrasher snarled. “You don’t need to know anything!”

“Cool.” The crazy girl didn’t appear too bothered.