“Cool,” said Freak.

“Yes it is,” said Deke, who loved destroying things. In the early days, just after the disaster had happened, and before he understood the dangers, Deke had wandered the streets in delight—breaking, burning, smashing—hardly able to believe that there was nobody around to stop him, and that he could do whatever he wanted.

That crazy, joyous freedom had been cut short when he’d discovered that not all the adults had died. And those who had survived would treat you far worse than any parent, teacher, or policeman, if they ever caught you. A parent might have grounded you, a teacher might have kept you in after school, and the police might have arrested you, but none of them would have tried to eat you, like the grown-ups who wandered the streets these days.

He still got a kick out of destroying things, though, when he got the chance, which was why he often volunteered to join a scavenging party.

He stood back from the shattered door to let Achilleus see inside.

Achilleus leaned in and looked around.

“We’ll need the flashlights.”

They all carried hand-powered LED dynamo flashlights that didn’t need batteries. They quickly fired them up by pumping the triggers that spun the flywheels inside. After thirty seconds the flashlights were charged enough to give a good three minutes of light.

They stepped into the entrance lobby and shone their beams across the dirty floor and walls. Ahead of them was the reception desk. To the right, past a turnstile and low barrier, was a small seating area that opened out on to the pool. A wide passage led the other way to the changing rooms.

The reception desk was covered with cobwebs, and the faded, peeling posters on the walls were from a different world. They showed smiling, happy children and talked of health and fitness and community activities. There were a few animal trails in the dust, and debris on the floor, but no sign of any recent human activity.

“Vending machines used to be through there,” said Freak, nodding toward the fixed tables and chairs in the seating area.

“We’ll take a quick look,” said Arran, and without having to be told, Achilleus led the way. He climbed over the turnstile and dropped into a crouch on the other side, spear at the ready.

“All clear.”

One by one the others followed, Ollie bringing up the rear, flashlight in one hand, slingshot in the other.

They walked cautiously forward. As they moved closer to the pool, they noticed a smell. The choking, rotten stink of stagnant water.

“Aw, who farted?” said Deke, holding his nose. Freak sniggered, but nobody else laughed. The pair of them liked to joke around to keep the fear away, but the others had their own ways of dealing with their nerves.

Achilleus was tensed and alert, ready for action, almost willing a grown-up to jump out at him. Arran tried to stand tall and appear unafraid, imagining he was casting a protective shield around his little group. Ollie kept glancing back over his shoulder. He was so used to watching the rear that he almost found it easier walking backward.