dEaDINBURGH by Mark Wilson Page A

down.
    “This man believes that it’s his mission to rid Edinburgh of the living. He thinks that the dead footballer has chosen him to do this. He and his men have killed dozens of people who are simply trying to survive this mess. Maybe hundreds”
    “Okay,” said Joey, palms in a submissive gesture to calm the padre. “Where exactly is he?”
    Jock eyed him suspiciously. “You’re never to go there, you understand?”
    Joey nodded.
    “This isn’t something we can change or can help with. He has hundreds, maybe a thousand, dedicated to his cause and he collects more followers from the communities he destroys in his king’s name. If we go south, we stay away from the fence-line. Somna and his people, they call themselves The Exalted. They think that anyone who survived in the city-centre is now dead as it was the epicentre of the outbreak. That’s the only reason that they haven’t made their way to the city-centre communities – that and the fact that they’ve been busy torturing, killing, purifying they call it, their way across the towns south of the city.”
    Jock looked crushed as he relayed the story.
    “You’ve met them.” It wasn’t a question.
    Jock gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head.
    “I tried to stop a small group of them from killing a young couple out in Liberton. Obviously I failed. They tortured those people, cut parts from them and took joy, actual joy, from doing so. They fed the body parts to their king and left those kids in pieces to rot. Just for being in their path, for being alive. I barely escaped. You must never go near them, you hear me, Joseph. I’m telling you where they are so that you can avoid it.”
    “I promise, Jock.” Joey meant it.
    The padre spent the next thirty minutes describing the location and layout of The Exalted tribe’s camp in Drum Woods. Then he added, “There have been rumours of a cure for the infection, you know. In the old Royal Infirmary out on Little France on the South Side.”
    Joey nodded. Despite never having explored the south, Jock had insisted that he spend hours studying maps of Edinburgh they’d found in petrol stations and hotels over the years. They’d adapted a map of the city complete with all the fenced communities they’d learned of on their trips and some Jock had encountered in the south, fences and gates marked off in brightly fluorescent highlighter ink. They heard a lot of stories from other travellers.
    “It’s bull,” Jock told him. “At least I believe that the rumour’s a lie, told by The Exalted and spread to lure more victims to the south.”
    Joey walked around to where Jock sat. “If I go without you, I’ll be careful. No heroics.”
    “No heroics,” Jock repeated. It was a phrase he’d drilled into Joey that’d become a symbol of their relationship. The secrets they’d shared, hopes for the future and lessons they’d learned from each other. It had become their motto. All heroes die, son. Don’t be a hero, be a survivor.
    As Jock opened his mouth to continue talking, a tinkling sound from outside the building brought their weapons to their hands and both men to their feet.
    Silently, they took flanking positions in view of the only entrance. The door’s handle started to dip down. It’s not one of The Ringed, Joey thought. They don’t open doors, or can’t. Darting his eyes to Jock he acknowledged that Jock had seen the movement and that the padre would change strategy in response.
      He put his blades away and pulled his bow up into the ready position, waiting for whoever came through. Jock disappeared completely from sight. Joey knew from experience that his mentor would reappear when the time was right.
    “Just come through,” he shouted at the door. “I won’t shoot.”
    A few beats of silence followed before a man’s voice with a clipped, upper-class English accent replied.
    “You have a gun. That’s very unusual. Can I see it?”
    Joey ignored the odd question.
    “Step