There was a mob of grown-ups outside the reception area now, growing bigger by the minute. Pressing themselves against the glass walls, pawing at the doors, smearing the windows with their pus and snot and dribble and blood. The dirty bastards. It was disgusting what could come out of a human body. This was one badly diseased bunch of meat-bags. Some looked barely human, just a mess of growths and swellings and open, gaping wounds, like extra mouths. And they were falling apart. There wasn’t one of them that didn’t have some part missing – eyes, ears, noses, lips, arms, legs. One mother’s arm was hanging half off and she was holding it with her other arm. The father next to her looked like he’d been skinned alive. Something from a medical exhibition. Just raw muscle and flesh. Wet. Dripping. Sick …

‘They’re gonna get in,’ said Kamahl. ‘I know it, they’re gonna get in and there’s nothing we can do about it.’

He was sitting on one of the benches, side on to the doors. Not wanting to look. Holding his spear between his knees, his head hanging down.

‘Well, they’re not in yet.’ Brandon was standing near the doors, looking at the stinking wall of flesh outside. He had Kyle’s club in his hands. Ready and waiting. If the grown-ups did manage to burst in he was going to take down as many of them as he could.

Yeah, right.

He knew full well that if the adults did get in then he and Kamahl were dead meat. He’d seen what had happened to Mick and Jake outside. Jake dragged off, Mick wounded, limping after him. Brandon had to accept that they’d probably seen the last of them. Seemed impossible. Not Jake – that had always been on the cards. He’d always been a bit reckless, wading into fights he couldn’t win. Brandon was amazed he’d got this far, coasting on luck, scraping by. But Mick – Mick was different. Mick had been so big, so tough, so unafraid. He’d been such a good fighter. The best in their crew. And now he was gone. While Brandon had stayed inside. Done nothing. Told himself they were trapped. No way of helping Mick with all the grown-ups round the door …

‘Maybe we should go and find Blue,’ said Kamahl quietly, sounding miserable, his voice small.

‘And tell him what?’ said Brandon, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

‘Tell him what happened.’

‘That we sat here and let them get killed?’

‘There was nothing we could do.’

‘Yeah, we stick to that story.’

‘Shall we go then?’ Kamahl sounded a little brighter, perking up with the thought of getting away.

‘I don’t know,’ said Brandon. ‘We’re supposed to be guarding this entrance. So we’ve got a way to get out of here.’