"He's going to hit the crossroads at the same time as those walkers," said Eddie.

Andrew pulled his rifle from his shoulder, chambered a round, leant on the parapet of the viaduct for support and drew a bead on the walkers below.

"Andrew, what are you doing?" Merryn placed a cautionary hand on his arm.

"I'm not doing anything yet, but I want to make sure our options are covered."

"Stan is a walker," said Tom.

"Is he?" Andrew glanced away from the gun sight and looked at him. "We've given him a name. We know he is different."

Below them, the walkers had reached the junction. As had Stan. A collective moan went up from below and the deadheads staggered towards Stan.

"We have to help him," insisted Andrew.

"Why?" said Tom.

"They're fighting him like he's an enemy, not one of them. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Merryn swore and reached for her own rifle. Andrew took aim at the walker furthest away from Stan and fired, the shot slamming the zombie to the ground. As he reloaded, Merryn fired from his right, another deadhead tumbling to the tarmac.

Stan swung what looked like a baulk of timber at the walker closest to him, the large beam crushing the head of his opponent. Andrew fired again and a third walker joined the other two still moaning on the ground.

"Cease fire. Everyone down!" said Merryn. She waited a few seconds, then lifted her head a little above the parapet of the viaduct so she could see what was going on. Stan dispatched his downed opponents with massive blows to the head with his improvised club, then stopped. He looked around him, up to the viaduct, and walked into the shop.

"Go," commanded Merryn. "Go, go, go."

The group jogged away from the town at a trot, heading into the woods along the edge of the moor.

~

Tom took the first watch, leaving the rest of them to cluster around the open fire in the old pub. The place had been ransacked by others, but it was dry, secure, and secluded. A large pot of stew bubbled away on one side of the fire, spoils from the outdoor shop in the town earlier that day.

Eddie cleared her throat and addressed the elephant in the room as Merryn finished stirring the stew and sat back with a sigh. "What is Stan?"

"I don't know," said Merryn. "He's not human anymore, but he's also not your typical walker. The fact he and the walkers fought and that he used a weapon proves that. Andrew was right to help him. I hope we can find out more about him. I don't like unanswered questions."

"He looked into my eyes," said Andrew. "Back at the dock when we launched the boat. There's something there, some level of consciousness."

"But how can that happen?" asked Eddie.

"In the same way you and I can happen," said Hope. "The same way Merryn and I are different now too. Viruses evolve, some people react in a different way to things, and sometimes nature takes things in an unusual direction. We're a year or so down the road from the initial outbreak now, so there will be variants and evolutionary changes. We saw the same thing in the Covid outbreak back in 2019 and in the years after. That virus killed a great many people, but it also changed over time. This virus will do the same. The difference now of course is we do not have as many people to work on a cure or maybe even those with the know-how of how to affect one."

"Should we try talking to him?" asked Eddie.

"Well," said Merryn. "He waved at us. That doesn't seem like an aggressive act to me. So yes, I hope at some point we can try to make contact. I hope he will realise Andrew helped him out. The next few days are going to be interesting."

~

Dawn saw them on the move again. Merryn smiled as the old metal viaduct that had formed part of her old school cross-country run hove into view and moved them off the old railway route up onto the hill, the grass giving way to the gorse, bracken, and low scrub of the moorland. At the top of the hill, she pulled her binoculars out of her pack and scanned the terrain ahead.

"Ah, there it is," said Merryn, pointing off to her right. "There's an old army shooting range by the tor there. We'll work our way around the granite tor, then pick up an old army track on the other side that'll lead us to the army camp. It's a couple of miles, so we're almost there. The country is open, but hopefully, the worst thing we'll come across is peat bogs, ponies, and the occasional grumpy sheep."

"Why are they grumpy?" asked Andrew.

"Wouldn't you be grumpy if you had to live up here in winter?"

"That's a fair point." He grinned. "How do you spot a peat bog?"

"Usually by sinking rather than moving forwards. Stick to the animal trails, they're far more knowledgeable than we are."

Merryn moved off, the others trailing in single file behind her as they made their way towards the granite outcrop.

A mile later they crested the top of the tor, the rough weatherbeaten stones shining with crystalline vigour in the morning sun.

"Batholith," said Andrew, breaking the silence.

"Bless you," said Hope.

"Geek," muttered Eddie.

Tom threw him a confused look.

"Dartmoor is a granite batholith. It's a great chunk of volcanic rock," he paused. "No one's interested are they?"

"Nope," said Tom, lifting his own pair of binoculars and walking past him.

"Heathens," muttered Andrew, dumping his pack and sitting on a slab of rock. "Seriously, look at the feldspar crystals in this, they're massive."

Tom cut across his muttering. "Merryn, is that the barracks over there?" He pointed and as he did, the wind changed and the distant sound of gunfire drifted to them.

"That doesn't sound good," said Andrew and grabbed his pack.

"Come on, let's go," said Merryn, and they hustled forwards.

Ten minutes of jogging brought them in range of the camp, and Merryn brought up her hand to stop the group as they approached a low rise in the terrain its summit a ridge of protruding granite. She rested a finger on her lips and moved forward at a crouch to the top of the low hill, crawling the last few yards across the bare rock on her stomach. She whistled in awe as the others joined her, all lying prone on the rock so as not to be visible.

The old army camp was a fenced barracks, low buildings surrounded by ranks of high razorwire and several deep ditches. Inside the fences, someone had built some raised beds in which various things had been planted, and a series of solar panels covered the roofs of the buildings. On one corner of the camp, there was a lookout tower, and it was from there that the rapid staccato of a machine gun sounded.

Tom already had binoculars glued to his eyes. "It's a lone gunman, and he's shooting at..." he trailed off and handed the binoculars to Merryn.

"What the hell?" she muttered. "They're working like ants, pushing forward at the same spot, climbing over each other to get over the obstacle."

"How many?" said Andrew. "Can we help?"

"We can try," said Merryn. "There's about fifty of them and whoever's in there hasn't got long left before they breach. And who knows how many bullets they have left? They're using up a lot of them."

"We approach from the side. That way we won't get caught in the crossfire from the nutter in the tower with the gun. There," she pointed at another low rise in the terrain nearer the fences. "That granite outcrop a hundred yards from the camp. It's close enough to allow us to shoot, and we can retreat into the camp if the swarm breaks towards us."

"Swarm," said Eddie. "Is that what it is? That's a new behaviour."

"We'll worry about that later, Eddie. You all have rifles, now's the time to use them. Hope, you guard our backs please, the rest of us will try and help the person in that tower. Let's go."

The group shouldered their guns, chambered rounds, and made their way to the granite outcrop Merryn had pointed out as quickly as the terrain would allow. While Hope watched their rear, Merryn, Tom, Eddie, and Andrew lay down on the weathered, time-roughened rock and sighted on the growing mound of walkers by the fence.

"In your own time folks, choose your targets, fire at will."

The first volley picked off two of the walkers at the top of the pile, tumbling them back to the tightly cropped grass below. The machine-gun fire stopped, and a head popped up above the fortifications. Someone waved, and Hope waved back as the rest of them continued firing.

"Group of three coming towards us from the fence," shouted Hope. "Clear to the rear."

"Can you take them, Hope?" shouted Merryn.

"Yes," she said confidently. "They're mine."

Machine gun fire started up again from the tower, this time in a more measured fashion, their shots placed with care. More and more walkers tumbled to the ground, some still twitching and moaning, others lying still.

After many minutes of concentrated gunfire from both directions, Andrew shouted for a cease-fire.

Hope scanned the terrain. "All clear behind us," she said into the sudden cessation of noise.

Tom stood and shouldered his rifle. "We'll need to check the pile by the fence, but we're done for now."

Merryn breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, I hope whoever's in there has a brew on. I'm dying for a cup of tea."

They made their rifles safe, lifted their packs, and walked towards the main gate of the barracks, arms raised. A single figure climbed down the steps of the observation tower and walked towards the gate.

"Holy heck," muttered Eddie. "She must be eighty if she's a day."

"Never underestimate old ladies," said Merryn, a grin on her face. "My gran was one of the toughest people I knew. This lady appears to be of the same ilk."

She turned her attention back to the woman and called out. "Good morning!"

"Well you're a sight for sore eyes," said the older lady. She was dressed in combat gear, sported a handgun strapped to her waist, and looked them up and down through dark eyes.

"If you kids are up for it, I have some bilberry jam inside. I've made some bread and I can put a kettle on."

"I like her already," whispered Eddie to Hope, who nodded, a grin on her face.

The old woman unbolted a side gate that rode open on well-oiled hinges. "My name's Marcia."