‘Paul?’ Cameron sniffed again, rolled his neck, which was obviously hurting him. ‘Never really thought about him that much. He was quite quiet. Pretty smart, I think, always reading. He was well into all the stuff here, you know, the animals and the exhibits and that. I never had much to do with him, as it goes. And then he got sick. I don’t know, I guess it was flu or something. You know when you get a fever and you start acting all weird? He was like that. Got quite edgy and aggressive. Lost it big time when his little sister got killed by a sicko. Went absolutely berserk. Started accusing us all of not caring. As if it was our fault somehow. It was quite funny really.’

‘Funny? His sister had died.’

‘Yeah.’ Cameron looked down, gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Not really funny, I suppose, as such. But you know what it’s like when a quiet kid suddenly loses it? A wimpy kid? That was the first time anyone really noticed him, when he started trying to attack everyone.’

‘Was it serious? Like a problem?’

‘Not really.’

‘So he’s not that big? Not a fighter?’

‘Paul? No way. I mean, he was big, but, you know, like, tall. Tall and skinny, not muscly. Never saw him fight. Must have done something early on, to survive long enough to get in here and stay safe. But most of us, once we got in here, we never had anything to do with sickos. Until the other night. When they got in.’

‘So if he did pop up somewhere you guys could deal with him fairly easily?’

‘Of course. I mean, no offence, but Samira was just a girl. Paul wouldn’t never have stood a chance against one of us boys.’

‘And me?’ said Maxie. ‘I’m a girl.’

‘Yeah …’ Cameron grinned at her. ‘But don’t worry. I’m here to protect you, babe.’

Chapter 70

70

It was drizzling and thin clouds covered the moon, so that the area around the warehouse was washed with a thin, watery-grey light. Just enough to show that there were people down there. Grown-ups – too many to count. They were hard to see in the gloom, but definitely there. The warehouse was surrounded. Blue and Skinner were huddled together on the roof under an umbrella that Skinner had produced. It was green with a white Promithios logo on it. Achilleus was too cool to take shelter under a brolly. He stood out in the open. Getting wet.

‘They come every night,’ said Skinner. He was holding the cat inside his jacket. It peered out nervously at the rain. ‘We go round every few days to repair the fences, but they always get back in again.’

‘They ever get in the building?’

‘Sometimes. One or two. We deal with them pretty quick.’

‘How?’

‘Oh, you know. We have our ways. It’s always the cleverest get in, the least diseased.’