Finally she started crying, and clung hold of my arm as we walked back across the field to where Angela was running towards us, sobbing with relief to see that we were both safe. We met in the middle of the field and huddled tight, each of us holding onto the other two, and it was a long time before we were able to let go and return to the car. We climbed in, closed the doors and just sat there, finally feeling safe with the reassuring frame of the SUV around us. Me in the front, Angela and Julie in the back, holding each other while Julie continued to cry and shake as she tried to recover from her ordeal.

She was different after that. Quiet, withdrawn, nervous. Always looking around, her eyes darting in every direction as if there were zombies hiding behind every bush. Nothing we could do would bring her out of it. Physically, she was fine. Angela helped her remove her clothes so she could check her for bites and scratches, but she refused to put them back on and we had to wrap her in a blanket until we could find some clean clothes for her. They seemed to reassure her a little, but it wasn't until we met George that she finally began to come back to something like herself.

He just talked to her. The two of them sat in the back of the car together as we drove through the open farmland, past great flocks of rooks that were rapidly losing their fear of humanity and that rose into the sky in great black clouds as we passed them by, and he just talked to her, about anything. He commented on interesting things we were passing by and incidents in his past that they reminded him of, or he just rambled on about anything that happened to cross his mind. She just sat there, unresponsive, for a long time, staring straight ahead at Angela's headrest, giving no sign that she was even listening, but he just carried on talking anyway, perhaps hoping that if he carried on long enough some of it would eventually filter in, like soaking a badly dried out houseplant by sitting it in a bucket of water. He talked about his job (he used to be an architect. His most proud achievement was a covered shopping centre in the middle of Eastwood with a large, glass dome in the centre of the roof through which the sun would shine at any time of the day, illuminating the seating area outside the coffee shop) and he talked about his family. It turned out he was a grandfather, with one daughter at college in Hastings and another, older daughter who was married to a television executive in Aston where they were raising a three year old son. He hadn't spoken to them since the telephones had failed and was clearly sick with worry, although he kept saying that he was sure they were alright.

I think it was that worry that got through to Julie. The three of us were a complete family, all together. We had no other close family members, only a couple of distant cousins in Grantham that we'd long since lost touch with. There was no-one else we were close to, no-one else whose safety was of great concern to us. George, on the other hand, was desperately concerned for his daughters and grandson (his wife had died some years earlier, from natural causes). He'd been on his way to find them when he'd met up with a large group of survivors, the ones who'd told him about the fenced community, and since the place wasn't far from the direction he'd already been going in, he'd decided to go there first, check the place out and bring his family back to it if it was everything his new friends promised. I think it was that fear that Julie responded to. It resonated with the fear she was still feeling, perhaps. Whatever it was, after two days of it she finally began to respond, to our immense joy and relief.

As he talked about his daughters, about the antics they'd gotten up to as children and the trouble they'd had with their first boyfriends, Julie turned her head to look at him, and we could see that she was listening to him. The she started asking questions. Angela and I kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt whatever spell he was casting on her, not wanting to spoil the healing magic. She asked him how old they'd been when they first started having proper boyfriends, something that made my ears prick up. There was this boy she'd been seeing for a while, a curly haired classmate called Roger whom she called her study buddy. He would call around sometimes and they would do their homework together while the latest pop hits played on the stereo. I had no reason to think there was anything happening between them, but if you're a father of a teenage daughter you'll know where my thoughts were going every time I saw them together.

Before long they were chatting as if they'd known each other all their lives, and when she laughed out loud as he recounted the antics of their pet dog Angela and I laughed along with them, just out of sheer joy that our daughter was coming out of the dark place she'd retreated to following the encounter with the zombie. I know she would probably have come out of it on her own in time, but I suspect that the longer it had taken, the more lasting harm she would have suffered. As it was, there was something different about her even after she seemed to have recovered fully. She was more serious and thoughtful, less prone to casual, trivial gossip, and she was less fussy about her appearance. Before, the slightest trace of grease or grime on her skin would have set her off to the nearest water to scrub it off, and she hadn't been able to tolerate the slightest crease or stain on her clothes. Now, though, she got her hands dirty without a care, trimmed her nails short, ignored the state of her hair and hardly seemed to care about the state of her clothes. When we came across a tree branch blocking the road she helped lift it along with the rest of us, not caring about the moss that stained her bare hands and that left green smudges on her jeans. She remained hyper vigilant, though, continually looking about for any zombies that might suddenly appear.2 I've heard that that's a symptom of PTSD, but in this new world we're living in it's a symptom that might help her survive.

We saw more zombies, but so long as we were in a moving car they were no threat to us. Not even a zombie can keep up with a car, and if we saw one in the middle of the road we just ran it down. Julie gave a little shriek the first time it happened, but as we left its crushed body in the road behind us I looked back and saw a definite look of savage satisfaction on her face, and after that she took a savage delight at every zombie we ran down.

Two days after meeting George, though, we came across something we couldn't, or rather didn't dare, get past, even in a car. The road we were on was going down a slope into a wide valley. It was a bright, sunny morning and the air was still, although there was a coolness and a dampness left over from the previous night that left a heavy dew on everything. As we descended the gentle slope, the road turned a corner and suddenly the whole valley was spread out before us. It was probably a beautiful sight normally, with fields and small cottages and a little brook running along a stony bed and under picturesque stone bridges, but what we saw ahead of us that day made me slam on the brakes in shock. We were all thrown forward against our seat belts and Angela, who'd been looking out the side window at a line of small shops we were passing, looked ahead to see what had spooked me. I heard a shocked intake of breath, echoed from behind me as George and Julie saw it as well. For a long time we could only sit there and stare, convinced that there must be a rational explanation to what we were seeing, but as we failed to find one our horror and fear only grew greater and greater.

The valley ahead was filled with a layer of mist. I'd seen such things before, and normally it was beautiful. A sheet of white as smooth and placid as a pond on a still day, shining brightly in the sun. So dense that everything within it was completely hidden from view. Anyone entering it would soon be as soaked with water as if they'd walked through a shower of rain, but it was somehow a pleasant experience that left you feeling fresh and happy, as if the water had somehow washed all your cares away. What we saw ahead of us on that day, though, looked nothing like that.

The mist was rising up in half a dozen places, as if lifted by the slightest of breezes across its surface. I'd seen this before as well, and although it looked slightly eerie, there was a beauty to it that captivated me and made me watch until the growing heat of the day burned it away. This time, though, the rising wisps of fog were moving almost purposefully, as if they were animated by a kind of intelligence. They looked almost like people, although unnaturally tall and thin and with wispy limbs that moved in ways that the human skeleton would never allow. They made the same movements over and over again, lifting one wispy leg before turning slowly on the other with arms upraised and head thrown back. It looked almost like a dance, but slow, as slow as the passage of clouds across the sky, and the word dance was totally unsuitable to describe what I was seeing. They weren't dancing, they were capering, like lunatics celebrating the sadistic murder of innocents, and the more I watched, the more I felt a helpless, sick horror rising inside me. Then one of them slowly turned its head towards us, as if it had just become aware that they were being spied on, and I swear that I clearly saw eyes in that foggy head. Eyes that burned with inhuman cruelty and malice.

"Go back!" said Julie in a terrified, trembling voice. "Go back! Go back! Go back!" I wanted to turn around to comfort her, but I couldn't take my eyes off the dancing cloud figures. "Go back!" She repeated, louder. "Go back!"

"Sam!" said Angela, sounding equally scared. "Get us out of here! Please!" I was still paralysed by the scene in front of me, though, as helpless to move as a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, and Angela had to shake me roughly by the shoulder before I snapped out of it. "Sam!" she repeated. "Get us out of here! Now!"

Ahead of us, the nearest cloud figure had finished turning its head towards us, and I saw murderous hatred in its eyes. It began to turn towards us, clearly intending to make its way in our direction. It was ridiculous to think it could actually harm us. For one thing, it was made out of mist, and for another, it was moving so slowly that a man could have outrun it at an easy walk, and yet the very sight of it filled me with such terror that the paralysis returned, and only George's voice yelling in my ear freed me from it. I put the car into reverse, turned it around so fast that I almost ran it into a ditch, and then sped away down the road with my foot as hard down on the accelerator as it would go. As soon as the mist creatures were out if sight the panic faded, but I carried on driving for nearly another mile before I stopped by the side of the road, my heart still hammering in my chest and with Julie still sobbing with fear behind me.

"What in the name of all that's holy..." I said at last. I twisted around in my seat to face Julie and reached out to take her hand. She was still shaking, her face pale with fear. She kept looking back the way we'd come as if afraid they might be following us. "You okay, Honey?" I asked. "They're gone now. They were probably harmless anyway..."

"There was nothing holy about those things!" said Andrea emphatically. "What were they?"

"I don't know," said George, "but I've been expecting to see something like them for some time!"

I stared at him. "You've been expecting to see giant dancing fog monsters?"

"Well, not them in particular, but some kind of supernatural manifestations."

"Why?"

"Well, the zombies are clearly supernatural in nature, wouldn't you agree?" I just stared at him. "Of course they are!" he continued. "Scientifically, they're impossible! They have no heartbeat, some have vital organs missing. I've seen some able to move their limbs normally even though their muscles were eaten down to the bone! Whatever allows them to walk around and chase people is clearly beyond any natural principles we know, which is how I define supernatural, and why should there be only one supernatural thing in the world? If there are suddenly zombies now, there should be other supernatural manifestations, so I wasn't at all surprised to see those things! Horrified, scared, yes, but not surprised."

"Can we drive while we talk?" asked Angela. "I don't like just sitting here." She also looked back, but there was nothing behind us but trees and a clear blue sky. I gave Julie's hand one last squeeze, therefore, then turned back in my seat and put the car back into gear. "If we go back to Camelford we can take the road to Astin and then to Hanningfield, pass the whole valley to the north. That okay with everyone?" I saw George nodding in the rear view mirror. Finding his daughters and grandchild was still his priority, but they and the community of survivors were in the same direction, so I put my foot down and drove.

"You think we'll see more things like them, then?" I asked.

"It's certainly possible," he replied. "This is a new world now, filled with wonders and horrors we've never seen before. There's no knowing what might be around the next corner!"

"So why is this happening now? All these centuries, dead people have just lain there and rotted. Why are they suddenly..." I was going to say 'coming alive,' but that didn't seem right.

"I can't say, but I remember reading an article some scientist had written a few years back in one of those lifestyle magazines. You know the kind. Most of the time they just contain articles about how to organise your kitchen or what kind of tupperware goes best with a faux wood veneer, but every so often they include something serious, just to fill the pages I suspect. Anyway, this chap was saying that the laws of nature might not be the same in every part of the universe. He referred to the fact that almost every civilisation more than five thousand years old has a tradition of gods walking among men and interfering in human affairs. He suggested that this might be more than just myths and legends. Maybe, back then, the Earth was passing through a region of space whose natural laws allowed gods to exist..."

"That's ridiculous!" I exclaimed.

"More ridiculous than zombies or dancing fog monsters?" I had no answer to that, so I just kept on driving.

"I have a simpler explanation," said Angela. "God is dead and the devil's in charge now."

"I thought you didn't believe in God," I said.

"I don't, but I'm beginning to believe in the devil."