“Some call him jerk,” said Achilleus, and there was a fresh round of laughter.

Jester nodded. “Yeah, some might call me that. I’ve been called worse. You can laugh at me if you want, or you can listen.”

“We’d need proof before we left this place and went marching off across London,” said Ollie.

“I’ve got proof.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got pictures.”

“What sort of pictures?”

“From an old Polaroid camera. Photographs.”

“Show us.”

Jester took his satchel off his shoulder and opened it. He rummaged around, then produced a cardboard folder. From inside it he took out a handful of square, glossy photos. He passed them to Ollie, who flicked through them, a smile slowly spreading across his face. He brought them over to Arran, who had to lean forward into the light to see them properly.

They weren’t faked. You couldn’t fake a Polaroid. It wasn’t like the old days when you could use a computer to do anything you liked. There was no Photoshop anymore, not without electricity to power the computers. Photoshop was just one more thing that had seemed really important at the time, but now was completely irrelevant. Useless.

These pictures were the real thing. They showed Buckingham Palace and a group of happy, healthy-looking kids— posing at the front in the parade ground, inside eating lunch around a big grand table, working in the gardens, swimming in the lake, playing soccer. It looked like an impossible paradise. A glimpse into another world.

Arran felt a lump in his throat. His hands were shaking. He gave the photos back to Ollie, who gave them in turn to Blue. Soon they were being passed from one excited kid to another, all grinning and shaking their heads and starting up a happy murmur of approval. The only one of them who scoffed was Callum. He looked at the pictures in disgust and sneered at the people in them.

Arran’s eyes were misting up. What he had been shown was Unimaginable. It was hope. If what this guy was saying was true, then maybe things would be different in the future. Maybe he and Maxie would have a chance. Earlier it had seemed that there was no way out, that they would all slowly die here in this miserable empty supermarket. Picked off one by one, killed by disease, grown-ups or dogs, or each other.

Was there really a way out?

He barely listened as Ollie questioned Jester further, getting more details.

He was remembering what life had been like before. In his parents’ big house in Dartmouth Park. Playing on the Heath with his mates. Going into Camden to walk around the market. Hanging out on the streets, chatting. Eating Sunday lunch with his mom and dad.

His mom and dad ...

He couldn’t picture exactly what his dad had looked like. He had been a busy man and was hardly ever at home. But Mom ...

He could never forget her face.

It was the face he had seen at the pool.