Sleeper(s)

    prologueSuzie had a recurring dream. In it she was a little girl, no more than about eight. Her parents had taken her to a country park somewhere, all trees, rolling hills and looking-glass lakes. They were having a picnic by one of those lakes, the chequered blanket spread out on the grass, and Suzie was basking in the warmth of the late August sun. Her mum and dad were smiling, laughing. It was a good time, a good dream. Suzie ate and ate until she thought she might burst: sandwiches, sausage rolls (her absolute favourite), crisps; and then ice cream, chocolates, fancy buns with icing on them her mother had made. There were birds singing, and Suzie looked up at the sky to see some of them flapping overhead—a V-like formation, like the Red Arrows had flown in at that air display her folks had taken her to. Closer to the ground, a butterfly flew past, the oranges and blacks so rich it looked like it had just been painted into

    chapter two‘It’s time. Come, quickly... I need you!’The words followed him, up out of unconsciousness as he was roused from his precious sleep. Precious, for him especially as an insomniac. The time he spent in a dream state—especially these days—was few and far between, and he resented anything that interrupted it.Andrew Strauss groaned as he lifted his sore head off the pillow. Had it really been worth all that booze last night to put him under? Yes, definitely, always, if it meant he spent a few hours asleep. The incessant ringing of the phone on the bedside table—not his mobile, because that was switched off—seemed to be accompanying the booms he was hearing between his ears. A symphony for the hung-over in A-Minor. He needed pills... but painkillers this time; not the sleeping ones he seemed to be increasingly immune to these days. Alcohol didn’t usually have much of an effect, so he must have really tied one on the previous evening. Mos

    chapter fourThe “something” that was rustled up turned out to be an old army bus, which had already had the seats ripped out so that it could be used for cargo transportation purposes. All they needed to do was put in a couple of cots near the back, and a table along the side, bolting everything to the floor of the bus for when they were moving—not that they were intending to break any speed records. Strauss watched as a stream of men loaded everything they needed on board. ‘Wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,’ he said to his assistant, ‘but it’ll do till we can get something better here. All our resources...’ He flapped his hand. ‘I don’t know, remind me again why I’m doing this.’‘You know why,’ she said coolly. He turned to face her. They hadn’t really had much of a chance to talk since the hotel—for one thing they hadn’t been alone, for another it had taken his hangover a while to subside—but, until now, he’d been glad of the fa

    chapter sixBridget had to admit she was taken aback when the first of the virus victims woke up. To begin with she thought they might not be needed here after all. Perhaps the effects of whatever this was had worn off, just like she’d said back on the bus. That because the disease was non-fatal—had actually been keeping these people alive, albeit in a hibernation-like state—it might have run its course and they’d simply recover, as you do when you get over the common cold. The violent shaking had simply been them shrugging off the last remnants of this illness.  Except the person she was looking at wasn’t awake, was he. That is to say, sure, he was sitting up, but his eyes were still healed over, the secretions still attached to him like candyfloss to a stick. He was staring right at her, but not really seeing. How could he, with his eyes welded shut like that? She had to go to him, help him. But damn, it was so eerie the way he was

    chapter eight‘He’s awake! Oh, thank God,’ said Bridget. ‘Keep it fucking down.’ That voice was gruffer. The man who’d refused to load the boy on the bus—and had probably been right not to do so... Andrew suspected that was to blame for the explosion. Timms, the soldier had been called. ‘We don’t want those bastards to find us again.’Andrew was on the floor, lying down. It was dark, but only because there were no lights on, nothing to give away their position. Bridget helped him sit up. ‘Are you okay, Andy?’ she asked in hushed tones. ‘You took quite a knock to the back of the head.’He nodded, wished he hadn’t. If he could have touched his skull there he would’ve felt a lump, Andrew was certain of it. Bridget went on to explain what had happened since the bus. They’d managed to escape the Sleepers at the car park, making their way through the backstreets. ‘The strange thing was none of the Sleepers we came across th