Caroline rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up.
"What?" she mumbled.
"There's a man," said the young boy who had just shaken her awake.
"What kind of man?" she asked, reaching for her jumper.
"Soldier," said the boy.
Caroline was instantly awake. She pulled the jumper over her head, grabbed her jeans and got to her feet.
"Where?"
"He was at the market just now."
"Just now? What time is it?"
"I dunno," shrugged the boy. "Sun's up."
"You know the rules about going to the market on your own," she scolded.
"Didn't go on my own," he pouted. "Went with Jimmy and Emma."
"Who are how old?" she asked, rhetorically. But the boy had stuck out his lower lip and refused to make eye contact.
Caroline shook her head wearily, wondering when she ended up a mother.
"Okay," she said. "So this soldier, why come tell me?"
The boy sulked a little bit more then finally muttered, petulantly: "He was asking about us."
"Did anyone tell him anything?"
The boy shook his head.
Caroline reached down and began secreting her arsenal of knives about her person, then she grabbed her shotgun and ran for the door.
The man was not very subtle.
It was not uncommon to see people dressed in combat gear, especially these days. But something about the way he wore it told you that it was more than just an affectation. This man was a soldier born and bred; his bearing and body language proclaimed it like a loudhailer. It was something about the way he looked at things. You could see him scanning the environment, calculating routes of ingress and egress, assessing the potential threat of everyone who passed his eye line, turning his body every now and then to make sure his awareness was 360 degrees. He was armed, too, with a machine gun strapped across his chest; his hand was always on it, ready for action.
This man was alert and dangerous.
And looking for her.
She thanked Tom, the potato seller, for allowing her to shelter under his awning as she observed the man, then stepped out into the open square.
The man clocked her instantly, as she'd expected he would. She stood there and deliberately met his gaze, then nodded right, indicating a side street down which she then walked. He followed her a moment later.
They met in the quiet street, surrounded by burned out cars and looted shops. She had the shotgun raised and ready to fire as he stepped into view.
"Hands down," Caroline said.
He let go of his gun and let his hands fall to his side. Caroline considered shooting him there and then. Even talking to this man was a risk, but after a long moment she decided to let him speak.
"Who are you and why are you looking for me?" she asked.
"My name's John. I heard there was an army of kids here, fighting the snatchers. Is that you?"
He had a Midlands accent, and something about his tone of voice made Caroline feel that perhaps he wasn't the villain she'd been expecting.
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"I'll take that as a yes. Good. I have news for you. And an offer."
"I'm listening."
"At dawn tomorrow you are going to be attacked by the church. They know where you are and they've decided to finish you off."
"How the fuck do you know that?"
"My friends and I captured a bunch of them two days ago. One of them was very talkative."
Caroline digested this information for a moment, then asked: "Offer?"
"I want to help."
"How?"
"I've got a lot of experience of fighting in urban environments. I can help you, teach you how to give them a very memorable welcome."
"My mum always warned me to be careful of things that seem to good to be true," said Caroline. "Why would you do this?"
He shrugged. "Because it's the right thing to do."
Caroline snorted derisively.
"I represent a place, a safe place," said the man, undeterred. "A school actually, where a bunch of us look after kids."
Caroline sneered. "Right," she said. "And that doesn't sound at all creepy." She stared hard at this man, trying to work out if he was telling the truth. Despite her sarcasm, she was surprised to find that her initial instinct was to trust him.
"This school have a name?" she asked.
"St Mark's."
Caroline suddenly felt sick. First Matron and now this guy? This was too much of a coincidence. Matron had gone looking for Spider only yesterday. They must have captured her and tortured her until she told them where Caroline and her kids were hiding.
This guy, Caroline realised, was a church infiltrator.
And she knew how to deal with infiltrators.
"You don't say," said Caroline. "And you run this school, do you?"
"Me and some others."
"What's the name of your Matron?" she asked.
He narrowed his eyes, curious at this unexpected question. "Jane," he said eventually. "Jane Crowther."
"And you are?"
"I told you, I'm John."
"John Keegan?"
The man's face betrayed his surprise and he nodded. Caroline walked forward, 'til the barrel of her shotgun was less than an inch from the soldier's chest.
"Where is she?" she asked.
"What?"
"Where are you holding her?"
"I'm sorry, I don't…"
"Guys!"
Ten teenaged boys stepped out of doorways and from behind cars, carrying their weapons in plain sight, encircling Caroline and the man.
"Take the gun off," she barked.
"Listen, lets rewind a bit, I don't think we…"
"Take. It. OFF!"
He did so, letting it clatter to the tarmac from where it was retrieved by one of the boys, who gripped it excitedly. Caroline saw the realisation flash across the man's face — that he had miscalculated, was outnumbered and surrounded. She followed his eyes as they darted left and right, assessing which of the boys he should go for and which route of escape he should take back to the market. She saw his posture change ever so slightly as he prepared to make a move.
So she stepped forward and brought her knee up hard into the man's bollocks, doubling him over with a whoosh of escaping breath. 'Let's see you make a run for it now,' she thought smugly.
"Jane left here yesterday, heading straight for you bastards," she said.
"No, wait…"
"She told you where we were, didn't she? Jesus, I don't know what you did to her to make her give us up, but I know her. She'd have to be half dead before she told you anything that would lead you to me."
"You've got it wrong…" the man gasped through his pain.
A tall boy stepped forward and cracked the man hard across the head with a truncheon. He crumpled to the ground.
"Don't answer her back, fuckhead," the boy shouted.
"Luke," said Caroline, addressing the boy. "Get back to the others, tell them to pack up and move out. We're not waiting, we're going now."
The boy nodded and ran off down the street.
Caroline knelt down beside the man.
"What was the plan, eh?" she asked. "Infiltrate us, let us think you'd help us fight the church and then lead us into a trap? Box us up and ship us out, problem solved?"
The man looked up at her. "I'm telling you the truth, I just want to help," he said, his voice rough with pain. "How do you know Jane? When was she here?"
"I know her, you bastard, because she's my friend. And she tricked you. That's the best bit. She may have led you right to us, but she fucked you up at the same time."
"I don't…"
"John Keegan's dead, motherfucker. She told me herself." Caroline laughed, but there was no real humour in it. "She told you to pretend to be a dead man because she knew it would tip us off. So you lose, asshole. She was too clever for you."
"No, wait, I see what's happened here…"
Caroline stood up, levelled the shotgun at the man's head, and blew his brains all over the street even as he tried desperately to cling to the cover story she'd so easily seen through.
"Back home, now," she ordered, and the boys took off down the street.
Caroline stayed for a moment, looking at the corpse of the man who'd tried to win her trust. She had a moment's doubt. What if…?
But she shook her head. No.
"Joke's on you, churchman" she said, and then she ran after her friends.
John Keegan's body lay in the street until nightfall, when the foxes and the dogs fought over it.
The foxes won, and dragged it hungrily away.