“It was Sam,” said Maxie. “Small Sam.”

“Poor little bugger,” said Arran. “This hasn’t been a good day.”

“No. There’s been grown-ups hanging around since you left. I keep expecting them to attack again.”

“They won’t attack Waitrose,” said Arran, taking his club over to the rack where they kept their weapons. “They never have.”

“They might,” said Achilleus, who was already at the rack with Freak and Ollie. “They’re changing. It’s getting tough, man.”

“It’s all over for us,” said Freak, looking utterly miserable and defeated.

Achilleus grabbed him and slammed him into the rack, spilling weapons onto the floor.

“That was your bright idea, Freak,” he snarled. “None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for you. Don’t never forget that. Deke’s blood is on your hands, man.”

Arran pulled him off.

“Don’t be an ass, Akkie,” he said.

Achilleus turned away and let his breath out in a dismissive huff, before sinking into sullen blankness.

“We’re not going to start blaming each other,” said Arran. “It won’t get us anywhere. We’re all in this together. If we start fighting among ourselves it really is all over. Okay?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Achilleus wandered off.

Arran put a hand on Freak’s shoulder.

“You all right?”

Freak looked at his hands. Stained red. He wiped them on his shirt and shrugged.

Ollie took the dead dog off Arran, who seemed to have forgotten he was still carrying it.

“Come on, Freak,” he said. “Let’s see what we can do with this.”

In a moment Maxie was alone with Arran. She was desperate to explain herself.

“They came into the parking lot,” she said. “We’d told the little kids not to go out there.”

“Not your fault,” said Arran.

“I thought you were going to be so mad at me,” said Maxie quietly.

“Not your fault,” Arran repeated.

“I know, but ...”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Maxie, I didn’t do so good either.”

Maxie almost burst into tears.

“We can’t go on like this, Arran.”

“Yeah?” Arran stared at her, that bleak look still in his eyes. “So what are we supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know, do I?” said Maxie, trying to control her voice.

Arran sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s been a tough day. I’m the leader. I’m supposed to know what to do, aren’t I?”

“You can’t know everything. You can’t always be expected to know the best way to . . .” Maxie stopped herself. It wasn’t helping. “We should call a meeting. Talk about it.”

“Later,” said Arran. “I’m tired.” He closed his eyes for a moment. Maxie took the opportunity to study his wound. It looked nasty, a row of weeping black holes surrounded by yellow and purple bruising. She touched him gently with her fingertips.

“Does that hurt?”

Arran winced, then nodded.

“You need to have it looked at,” said Maxie. “Come on.”

They went upstairs. The floor above the shop was mostly a storage area, but there were offices here, the canteen, and access to the roof terrace. One of the offices had been turned into a sick bay, and they kept a basic medical kit there. Antiseptic, painkillers, and bandages. They found Maeve sitting at a desk, staring out of the window. Maeve acted as nurse and doctor. Her parents had both been doctors and she’d picked up bits and pieces from them. She knew more than any of the other kids, so in their world she was an expert.