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The Ape is riding the back of a packed trolley and comes hurtling towards me. ‘Chicken!’ he booms.

‘So what’s the plan?’ I ask Johnson as he returns.

‘We need to try another town.’

We live in commuter belt heaven. We’re thirty-eight miles directly north of London and, with its famed Tuesday and Saturday market, this town is seen as desirable living. Mum and Dad had
plans to move out of our tiny flat into one of the sought-after tree-lined avenues but those plans went up in smoke after my dad upped and left us when I was four years old.

‘You think it’s just this town that’s empty?’ I say.

Johnson thinks for a moment, obviously weighing up whether to worry me unduly or not. ‘No. Not really,’ he says finally. ‘I phoned my cousin who lives in Scotland and no one
picked up there either.’

‘So why are we trying another town?’ I ask quietly.

‘Because I want to be wrong,’ he says, equally as quietly.

Billie walks back, looking calmer than earlier.

‘I laid another tablecloth on the man. D’you think it’s all right just to leave him?’

‘There’s not a lot else we can do,’ I tell her.

‘Still, doesn’t feel right. But we could maybe come back for him when we’ve found someone who knows what to do.’

‘I was thinking the same thing,’ Johnson replies.

Billie grins at this. ‘Great minds.’

We hear a loud crash and for a second my heart misses a beat, until I realise the Ape has fallen off the trolley and brought it down on top of him.

‘I broke my leg! Need morphine!’ he yells, but we ignore him.

‘Rev and I were thinking we should try another town, see if it’s the same,’ Johnson explains to Billie.

‘I need drugs!’ The Ape’s voice echoes around the supermarket.

‘How are we going to get there?’ Billie asks.

‘I was hoping one of you could drive,’ Johnson says.

‘You can’t drive?’ I’m a little surprised.

‘Motorbikes,’ he says and in the same breath blows smoke towards the floor.

‘I can drive.’ The Ape limps back towards us, with a chicken leg gripped in one hand. ‘I stole my first car when I was ten years old. And crashed it,’ he says
proudly.

‘Say we could get a car, where would we go?’ I look at the others.

‘The seaside!’ the Ape suggests.

‘We could drive to my house. I’m sure my dad wouldn’t have gone without leaving a message.’

‘Alton Towers!’ the Ape cries, but we continue to ignore him.

‘My dad would find a way to leave something. He’s always worrying about me.’

‘Was worrying,’ says the Ape.

‘What?’ Billie turns to him.

‘
Was.
He isn’t there now.’

His lack of tact angers Billie. ‘But his note might be,’ she insists angrily. ‘He’ll have left me a note and that will still be there.’

‘You fit enough to move?’ Johnson asks me.

‘Long as I take a ton of painkillers with me.’

‘Madame Tussauds! They’re people!’

‘They’re made of
wax
.’ How can one person be so annoying?

‘But they still look like people’.

‘Better find you something to wear,’ Johnson says to me.

I’d forgotten that half of my school uniform was burned or scorched. There’s a clothing section three aisles away and I’m ready to go with Johnson when Billie gets in
first.

‘Wait there, Rev. End of the world or not, you can’t keep a girl from the clothes rack.’

But you can
, I think,
because you just did
.

‘The zoo!’ the Ape shouts. ‘We could live with monkeys.’

I don’t have the energy to tell him to please stop.

We push a second trolley of food and drink out into the supermarket car park and the Ape stops to look around at a sea of parked vehicles. Even though it’s the second
week of July and summer is trying its best to look like it means it, dark clouds have gathered and turned the early evening into the beginnings of night. Back in the supermarket Billie and Johnson
raided the clothing section and found me a pair of jeans, a light cotton green top and a fake worn-look leather jacket that is a size too big. But as Johnson explained, it has deep pockets for
painkillers and bottles of water to wash them down with. Billie swapped her school uniform for a short white summer dress and a silvery cardigan but couldn’t find a jacket with sleeves long
enough for her elegant arms. Johnson then left an IOU for everything we had taken and said he’d pay it back somehow.

‘What colour car d’you want?’ the Ape says to us.

‘Is that really important?’ I ask.

‘What make then?’

‘What does it matter?’

‘Saloon or estate?’

‘Just find us a car!’ Billie flashes an angry look at the Ape that shows she is clearly not frightened of him. Lots of people at school are, but Billie is in no mood to give him an
inch.

‘One with a big enough boot for the food,’ Johnson reminds him.

As the Ape lumbers into the car park I realise he’s taken a heavy iron poker from the home and domestic aisle. I can’t figure out why until he uses it to smash the driver’s
window of the first car he comes to and then sticks his head inside.

‘No good,’ he says, as he pulls his head back out.

‘How come?’ asks Johnson.

‘It’s got gears. I can only drive an automatic.’

‘Couldn’t you see that from outside the car?’ Billie asks, and I can tell she’s beyond losing her patience with him.

Another window gets smashed and the Ape peers into another car.

‘Nope, no good either.’

Billie is beside herself. ‘I hate him! Why couldn’t he have disappeared with the rest of humanity! Not that he is human.’

Another loud smash. This time a car alarm goes off.

Johnson turns and heads back into the supermarket. ‘Be right back.’

Another smash. Another alarm joins the first one.

‘Come on!’ the Ape yells out in frustration.

Billie can’t bear to watch. ‘He’s just doing that because he likes smashing things,’ she says.

More glass shatters. A third alarm rings in our ears. ‘This is mental!’ he yells.

It is mental – he’s so right there.

More windows shatter. There are car alarms going off everywhere. It’s the loudest, shrillest cacophony of noise I have ever experienced.

Johnson reappears with about fifteen sets of car keys and starts dishing them out. ‘Got them from the staff room. They were in people’s coat pockets. Press them and see what cars
they unlock. Then look for an automatic.’

‘What does an automatic look like?’ I ask, wishing I didn’t have to, so that Johnson would think I’m cool and car savvy rather than an idiot.

‘It’s got two pedals instead of three.’

More alarms are sounding and Billie covers her ears. ‘That makes no sense at all. If he hasn’t got a key how’s he going to drive a car, even if he does find the right
one?’

‘I don’t think he thinks that far ahead,’ I tell her as we spread out into the loud flashing mass of disturbed metal.

I am so relieved that I’m the one who finds the automatic. It takes me three attempts to aim car keys around the car park before I hear a beep from a few metres away, and sitting there is
the smallest car I have ever seen. I think it’s a Fiat and when I reach it I see that it only has two pedals. I yell as loudly as I can. I have to because the Ape has set off practically
every alarm in the car park.

‘Got one!’

Johnson reaches me first and smiles. ‘Nice one, Rev.’

I smile back, but it’s awkward because as soon as he turned that smile on me my mind went blank and I couldn’t think of anything to say. Those damn painkillers.

Billie comes to a sudden stop when she sees the tiny car.

‘That’s it?’ Billie asks.

‘I didn’t choose it,’ I say defensively.

We can barely hear each other over the raging car alarms and don’t notice the Ape shoving past us and heading for the little Fiat.

‘I’ve got this,’ he says.

‘No!’ I scream at him. But it’s too late and he smashes the passenger window and sets off yet another alarm.

‘Rev’s got the key! It was already open!’ Billie screeches at the Ape. ‘You utter utter idiot!’

The Ape turns and looks at me in disgust. ‘You could’ve said.’ He holds out his hand and I dump the key in his giant paw. As I do he closes his meaty hand around mine and looks
directly into my eyes rather than at my chest for a change. ‘You’ll be glad of me,’ he says, before letting go of my hand.

Johnson wheels the packed shopping trolley over and starts filling the tiny boot of the car. I make to help him but Billie beats me to it and I have to look on as they work briskly in an easy
harmony. I can feel the Ape’s breath on the top of my head. He is standing literally two inches behind me and I realise I don’t even come up to his chin.

‘I’m hungry.’ He talks straight over my head.

‘Later. Let’s just get going,’ Johnson replies.

The Ape gives a low quiet burp above me. ‘I love chicken,’ he says to himself before turning back to the Fiat.

We pile into the car. Johnson sits in the front with the Ape, and Billie and I get into the back. To get comfortable in the driver’s seat the Ape pushes the chair all the way back as far
as it will go and nearly breaks my legs into the bargain.

‘Ow!’

‘I need leg room.’

‘And I need legs!’

Billie is squeezed up beside me in the back and Johnson is polite enough to endure some discomfort so she can at least ride in the car without becoming a paraplegic. He moves his seat forward
for her while bunching up his long legs.

‘Such a gent,’ Billie whispers to me, and I can tell from the way she quietly swoons that she really likes him.

‘Hang on,’ says the Ape, and extricates his bulk from the tiny car.

‘What’s he doing now?’ Billie looks totally sick and tired of the Ape.

Johnson glances back at me, sees how cramped I am and releases the catch under the driver’s seat to give me a few more inches of leg room.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘Got your water and pills and stuff?’ he asks.

‘Yeah. Right here.’ I pat the pockets of the oversized faux leather jacket that he chose for me. ‘Locked and loaded.’

‘Good.’ He smiles.

I swear his eyes linger on mine for a fraction of a second longer than they should. But I can’t tell for sure. Between the dying summer light and the painkillers it’s probably just
my imagination.

The Ape climbs back into the Fiat and shoves his homemade weapon my way.

‘What are you bringing
that
for?’ Billie asks.

‘Cos.’

‘Cos?’ Billie imitates his big deep dopey voice.

‘Someone’s going to be out there,’ says the Ape.

‘And the first thing you’re going to do is attack them?’ I ask, rubbing the blood back into my shins.

‘I didn’t say they’d be human,’ says the Ape looking at his weapon like he’s in love with it.

‘What else are they going to be?’ Billie is at a complete loss with the Ape.

‘Only things we’re going to meet from now on are monsters.’

We fall silent for a while. Johnson peers out into the setting sun and I wonder if he’s trying not to laugh.

‘Aliens, werewolves, vampires, that’s what’s out there,’ finishes the Ape.

‘And you know this because?’ Billie’s eyes are like narrow slits as she regards the back of the Ape’s huge block-like head.

‘Cos, that’s the way it always is.’

‘What – in the many situations like this that you’ve been in before? You are so deluded! All we’re going to meet are people. Everyday people like you and— Well, not
like
you
because you’re not actually a person,’ says Billie with true malice in her voice.

‘Let’s just drive,’ Johnson says gently.

‘You’ll be glad I’ve brought my weapon. You will. You’ll see.’ The Ape starts the tiny car and at last we head into the gathering night.

There are traffic lights at the top of the junction leading on to a short dual carriageway. They turn green and the Ape immediately slams on the brakes. We are thrown forward and back
inside.

‘What the hell are you doing? It’s green,’ barks Billie. ‘Green means go.’

The Ape falls silent, eyes fixed on the traffic lights.

Billie reaches across me and jabs the Ape’s shoulder. ‘C’mon, move it!’

The light cycles to amber and the Ape revs the engine.

‘Idiot!’ Billie looks ready to explode but the lights turn red and the Ape floors the accelerator. He drives clean through the red light and sounds the horn a few times.

‘Yowza!’ The Ape looks insanely proud of himself. ‘New world, new rules.’

He pumps the horn a few times and I wonder if he will ever truly grasp the horror of what we are going through right now.

The Ape drives way too fast and Billie and I cling on in the back as he takes corners almost on two wheels. Johnson seems determined not to be impressed, as if he knows that
appearing scared or worried will only make the Ape drive even faster.

We speed through the eerily empty town and quickly reach a roundabout that leads five different ways into the darkening countryside between this town and the nearest village. The Ape decides
that running red lights won’t be his only thrill today, so he takes the roundabout the wrong way. And at speed.