The Enemy

Text copyright © 2009 by Charlie Higson

First published in the U.K. by Puffin

Al rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690.

Printed in the United States of America

First U.S. edition, 2010

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V567-9638-5-10060

Map il ustration by Kayley LeFaiver

Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data on file

ISBN 978-1-4231-4504-2

Reinforced binding

Visit www.hyperionteens.com

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For Sidney

S
mal Sam was playing in the parking lot behind the Waitrose supermarket when the grown-ups took him. He’d been with some of the little kids, having a battle with an odd assortment of action figures, when it happened. They weren’t supposed to play outside without a guard, but it was a lovely sunny day and the little kids got bored indoors. Sam wasn’t the youngest of the group, but he was the smal est. That’s why they cal ed him Smal Sam. There had original y been two other Sams, Big Sam and Curly Sam, who had curly hair. Big Sam had been kil ed a few months ago, but Smal Sam was stuck with the name.

It was probably because of his size that the grown-ups went for him. They were like that—they picked out the youngsters, the weaklings, the little ones. In the panic of the attack the rest of Sam’s gang got back safely inside, but Sam was cut off and the roving pack of grown-ups trapped him in a corner.

They had come over the side wal , led by a big mother in a tracksuit that might once have been pink but was now so filthy and greasy it looked like gray plastic. She had a fat, egglike body on top of long skinny legs. Her back was bent and she ran stooped over, but surprisingly fast, her arms held wide like a scorpion’s claws, her dirty blond hair hanging straight down. Her face blank and stupid. Breathing through her mouth.

Smal Sam was too scared even to scream or cal for help, and the grown-ups made no noise, so the whole scene was played out in horrible silence.

The mother blocked off the route back toward the building while two lanky fathers ran at him from either side. Sam dodged them for a few seconds, but he knew they’d get hold of him in the end. By the time help came from inside, the grown-ups had gone back over the wal , with Sam stuffed inside a sack.

Maxie led a group of bigger kids out into the parking lot. Even though they were armed with spears and clubs and good throwing rocks, they moved cautiously, not knowing exactly what to expect.

“We’re too late,” said Cal um, scanning the empty parking lot. “They’ve got him.”

“Shame,” said a stocky, dark-haired kid cal ed Josh. “I liked him. He was funny.”

“That’s the second attack this week,” said Maxie angrily. “What’s going on? Either the grown-ups are closing in on us, or they’re getting braver.”

“They ain’t brave,” said Josh, spitting on the ground. “If they was stil here I’d show them brave. I’d mash their ugly faces. Nothing scares me.”

“So why were they here?” asked Maxie.

“They’re just hungry,” said Josh.

“We’re al hungry,” said Cal um.

“We should have been here,” said Maxie. “We should have been watching over them.”

“We can’t be everywhere at once,” Cal um pointed out. “There’s not enough of us, not with Arran out with the scavs. Our job’s to keep a lookout from the roof. The little kids knew they weren’t supposed to be out here. Nobody should be out here. We should al stay inside.”

“We can’t stay inside al day,” scoffed Josh. “We’d go crazy.”

“It’s good inside,” said Cal um.

“You’re just scared to come outside,” said Josh with a smirk.

“No I ain’t,” said Cal um. “No more scared than you.”

“Nothing scares me,” said Josh.

“Then you’re just stupid,” said Cal um.

“Nah,” said Josh. “The thing about grown-ups is, some of them are strong, some of them can run fast, and some of them are clever, but the strong ones are slow, the fast ones are stupid, and the smart ones are weak.”

“Tel that to Smal Sam,” said Maxie angrily, “and to Big Sam and Johnno, and Eve and Mohammed and al the other kids we’ve lost.”

“Grown-ups won’t get me,” said Josh.

“What?” said Cal um. “So it was their fault they got taken? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Josh.

“Shut up,” Maxie snapped at the two of them. Then she said the thing that nobody wanted to admit. “We can’t go on like this.” Her voice was heavy with bitterness. “Soon we’re al going to be dead. I can’t stand it anymore.”

She threw down the spear she had been carrying and sat on the ground, resting her head in her hands.

It was her fault. That was al she could think. It was al her fault.

When Arran was away she was supposed to be in charge. She couldn’t remember when it had been decided—Arran was the leader, she was second in command—it must have happened early on, when most of the kids had been too frightened and confused to do anything for themselves. Arran and Maxie had just got on with it, organizing everyone, keeping their spirits up. Arran was clever and likeable. Right from the start he’d kept his head and not panicked. He’d been captain of the soccer team at Wil iam El is School, and nothing ever seemed to freak him out. The two of them had worked together. A team. Maxie had always been good at getting other children to help out. There were better fighters than her, true, but they were happy for her to tel them what to do. They didn’t want the responsibility. And when Arran wasn’t there, she was the leader.

So, it was al her fault. Another kid gone. She shut down part of her mind. She didn’t want to think about what the grown-ups would do to Smal Sam.

She started to cry. She didn’t care who saw it. Cal um looked at Josh. They both felt awkward. In the end it was Josh who squatted down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s al right, Max,” he said quietly. “We’l be al right. Something’l happen, someone wil come. Something’s gonna change. When Arran and the others get back we’l talk about it maybe, yeah? Make a plan?”

“What’s the point?” said Maxie.

“When Arran gets back, yeah?”

Maxie looked up into Josh’s concerned, grubby face. “Sorry,” she said.

“Come on,” said Cal um. “Let’s try and find out how they got over the wal . Then we should get back inside.”

“Yeah.” Maxie jumped up. It was okay as long as you were doing something, as long as you didn’t stop and think.

She wished Arran were here, though. She always felt safer when he was around.

It was just . . . What was he going to think?

Another kid gone.

Al her fault.

A
burster was lying in the middle of the road. A father by the looks of it, though it was hard to tel. He had the familiar look of a vegetable, or a piece of fruit, left too long in the sun. The skin blackened, shriveled and split, the overripe flesh inside squeezing out. His insides had turned to mush. This was what happened if any grown-up lived long enough to let the disease run its ful course. They literal y burst.

Arran prodded the body with his sneaker. As he did so, the skin popped, and a stream of pus oozed out, fol owed by a bright pink blossom of soft fat.

Arran was leading the scavenger party. Tal , fair-haired, and athletic, he had a knife in his belt and carried a pickax handle as a club.

“Gross,” sniggered the boy at his side, who had a shock of curly hair bleached almost white.

“Come on. We don’t have time for this.” Arran turned his back on the corpse and continued up Hol oway Road. When the disaster first happened the kids had been appal ed and fascinated by dead bodies. Now they were used to them. They hardly even noticed them. A burster, though, was stil a little special.

The scavenger party took up their positions with Arran and trudged on. They hadn’t gone another hundred yards, however, before the bleach-haired boy, Deke, slowed down.

“What’s that?”

They stopped and listened.

“Dogs,” said another boy, and he moved to the front. He was shorter than Arran and not as strong. He had proved time and time again, though, that fighting was not al about strength. Arran was the leader, but Achil eus was the best fighter of them al , with a wiry build, dark eyes, and olive skin. He spent most of his spare time shaving elaborate patterns into his short hair. He could be moody and sarcastic and quick to lose his temper, but nobody much minded because he’d saved them al many times with his combat skil s. He moved fast, used his brain, and was utterly ruthless in a fight.