Zom-B Circus Read online

  Sentimentality was a weakness. Cat often rifled through the contents when she went through someone’s house, figuring the dead had no right to privacy. She’d take anything that caught her fancy–jewelry, artwork, books–but she didn’t hold on to anything for long, junking it before it could come to mean too much to her.

  Cat took nothing from her sister’s home, not even the photo snapped on George’s birthday. When it came time to flee–as it surely would–she didn’t want to own anything she cared about. A person might pause in the middle of running away to think about prized items that they were leaving behind, and pausing was bad. In this world of the living dead, it could be the death of you.

  Cat didn’t like thinking negatively, so in an attempt to drive away the dark thoughts, she started going through her plan for the next day, the streets she’d explore, the goods she would look for. Cat had moved all over London since escaping from school. She was taking the city a zone at a time, working her way through the boroughs.

  In an ideal world she would have settled in Knightsbridge, in a lovely mansion, where she could have dressed up in designer frocks and tiaras every day. But although she’d made the most of the apocalypse and sampled the good life in some of London’s finest neighborhoods (“It’s an ill wind that blows no one any good,” she sometimes giggled as she went to sleep in a four-poster bed), she never stayed in one place for long, and bedded down in dumps as well as palaces. She’d spend a few days or weeks getting to know an area well and enjoying all that it had to offer, then move on before she grew complacent. No ties, and no pattern—that was how Cat liked it.

  When Cat tired of looking ahead, she cast her thoughts back, but not as far as George’s party. Instead she recalled that day in the chemistry lab and all the days since, the three girls she had sacrificed, and the others who had followed.

  Cat spent a long time remembering their faces and their expressions as she’d launched them at the zombies. It was cruel, but she found comfort in their distress. It made her feel strong, the fact that she had triumphed where they had fallen.

  Stupid people, she thought. They should have been sharper, faster, more cunning. I’m here and they’re not, because I’m strong and they were weak. I’ll never be weak like that. Never.

  Smiling grimly to herself, she drifted off to sleep, and the faces she saw in her dreams were the same faces she thought about when she was awake. Those faces were always with her, not because she couldn’t shake them loose, but because she was determined to hold them tight. There would be no second chances in life for those dumb failures. She had seized her opportunities. They hadn’t. They were zombie fodder, while she was a cold-hearted warrior who would do whatever it took to survive. If that meant becoming a monster, so be it. In a world of undead atrocities, Cat would choose abandoning her humanity and standing proudly among the monstrous every time. The alternative was a noble death, and to Cat Ward that was no sort of an alternative at all.

  SIX

  Although Cat kept to herself most of the time, she had crossed paths with various groups since the city fell, survivors like her who had chosen to stay in London. She ran into another such group around Muswell Hill when she was out foraging, and although she was wary of them–London was a lawless place now, and some survivors were taking advantage of that, terrorizing the living as well as the undead–she stopped to talk. You could sometimes pick up useful survival tips from those who were tough and resourceful.

  There were eight people in the group, although one of those was a child, a young boy called Declan, who clung tightly to his mother Emma and didn’t say a word while the others were speaking.

  The leader was a guy called Shaun. He was from Australia originally, and had learned a lot about what it took to survive as a globe-trotting thrill seeker in the years before the zombies put an end to all such recreational activities.

  “Don’t you think you’d be better off with a partner or a gang like us?” Shaun asked. “This is a hard place for loners. It’s good when you have someone to watch your back.”

  “The trouble is, I’d keep expecting them to stab me in the back,” Cat said, and she was only half joking. Since she didn’t expect anyone to trust her–because she’d throw them to the zombies in the blink of an eye to save her own neck–she could hardly bring herself to trust anybody else.

  They traded stories and tips, warning each other about areas where there were lots of zombies. Sometimes Cat fed misinformation to people like this, sending them into zombie hot spots, figuring a zombie with a full stomach was one less zombie she’d have to worry about for a while. But she liked Shaun–he was the sort of guy she would have picked for a boyfriend back in more innocent times–so she was straight with him.

  At one point Shaun asked her if she’d heard the rumors about Stansted Airport. “A few people have told me that the army has reclaimed the terminal,” he said. “Apparently they’re running flights out of there, importing recruits and equipment to use in the war with the living dead.”

  “That sounds like a wild fantasy to me,” Cat snorted.

  “Probably,” Shaun agreed, “but I might go check it out if the rumors persist. I don’t want anything to do with soldiers on the defensive–I think we’ve got a better chance of surviving here than in an army-run compound–but I plan to be part of the offensive when it starts in London. I want to be around for payback.”

  They parted soon after that. Cat was half tempted to go with the group, but if her feelings for Shaun deepened over time, she might one day stop to help him if they ran into trouble, rather than make a swift getaway. Shaun might be a good-looking, charming guy, but boyfriends were more trouble than they were worth these days. Cat chuckled—maybe they always had been!

  Cat wasn’t interested in payback–the zombies had set her free of the shackles of school and her old way of life, so she had nothing personal against them–but the rumors about Stansted and the army intrigued her. She found it hard to credit the stories, especially since she heard nothing about such a maneuver on the official radio station over the next few days, but her curiosity had been stimulated. If the rumors were true, she might be able to cut a deal with the soldiers, do some work for them and earn a flight out to a zombie-free island.

  Cat had thought about leaving London and hooking up with people in one of the army-run compounds in the countryside–not least because it would allow her to search afresh for Jules, Paul and George–but she didn’t like the idea of walling herself in. An island with no zombies was a different proposition. She could envision herself settling back with a cocktail at sunset. It would be nicer than holing up in silence for the night.

  So, even though it was a long shot, Cat headed east the next day, towards Tottenham Hale. It was a trek from Muswell Hill, at least a couple of hours if she moved as cautiously as she normally did, but she could get there and back easily before dark fell.

  She’d chosen Tottenham Hale because she knew that the railway line from central London to Stansted ran through the train station there. If she based herself in that part of the city, she could keep watch on the line—if the airport was functional, the army might be using the line to move troops and supplies to and from it.

  If Cat spotted soldiers on the line, she’d approach them and try to earn their trust. Failing that, she could hike all the way out to the airport. It would be long–probably a couple of days–and dangerous, but after all this time on the streets, she liked her chances.

  But that was a job for another time. All she wanted to do right now was scout as far as the train station, see what shape that part of London was in. If she found it overrun with zombies, she’d withdraw to consider alternate routes. If, on the other hand, it looked quiet, she’d search for a suitable place to base herself, before moving her gear across over the coming days, so that she could start keeping watch on the line.

  Cat wound her way east slowly and carefully. Some survivors kept to the main roads when they wandered, clear of the buildings. Many
of them tried to mimic the movements of the undead, hoping to be mistaken for zombies if they were spotted by brain munchers.

  It wasn’t a bad method but it wasn’t Cat’s way. She preferred to hug the buildings, creeping along in the shadows, ducking and sometimes even crawling past windows, darting past open doorways. The way she figured it, if you were in the middle of a road, there was a chance you might be spotted by several zombies in different places at the same time, and if a group came lumbering after you from various directions, it spelled trouble. Her way, you weren’t spotted as often, and you usually only had to worry about an assault from a single source when you were.

  Cat hadn’t had to fight with the undead many times, but was prepared for war if it found her. She carried a sword and a variety of long knives, two axes and a short spear that was strapped to her back. She wore gloves and a mask, to protect her from spraying zombie blood, which was as infectious as a bite or a scratch.

  Cat had a gun too, which she’d picked up a long time ago, but she’d never fired it. The noise of a gun would probably bring loads of zombies running. She’d only use that in an emergency, as a last resort, or maybe turn it on herself if she was trapped with no way out.

  Cat frowned at that thought and quickly pushed it away. She didn’t like to contemplate worst-case scenarios. A survivor should focus on the positives, not the negatives. Let losers like those she’d thrown to the zombies worry about stuff like that. Cat had more important things to think about—like what cocktail she’d choose first if (when) she made it to her paradise island!

  Smiling at that image, Cat paused to spray on more perfume–the undead responded to the scent of sweat, so she masked it as much as she could–then calmly pushed ahead, ready for whatever the city had to throw at her.

  SEVEN

  It was an unremarkable journey until she got to Seven Sisters. She only had a single run-in with a zombie. He had been lying in the doorway of a pet store, an elderly man whose legs didn’t work.

  The zombie spotted her coming and dragged himself forward, eager to grab her ankles and haul himself up to bite into her brain. It was no contest. She’d simply stood her ground, shifted slightly to the left as he drew near, and used her spear to impale his brain. After he’d stopped shuddering, she pulled out the spear, cautiously wiped it clean of any dangerously infectious zombie brains and carried on as normal.

  There was a large junction outside the Seven Sisters Tube station, where she paused to apply more perfume and have a sip of water. An uneasy feeling crept over her as she was drinking, an itch at the back of her skull. It was probably nothing, but she’d learned to pay attention to her instincts. It was better to react to a false alarm a dozen times than to get caught once.

  Cat stepped out of the shadows and moved into the middle of the junction. She was a target now, but it meant she had a clear view in all directions. She turned slowly, fingers flexing. She couldn’t see anything, but that itch was still there, so she held her ground and drew her sword from its scabbard in case it was needed.

  All was silent for several minutes. Although she still felt uneasy, Cat figured she’d waited long enough. If something bad was going to happen, it should have happened by now.

  Still, she decided to cut short her exploration. Better to retreat and come back another time. She wasn’t going to ignore a warning, even if there was nothing to actually be wary of. She’d return to her base in Muswell Hill, rest up for the night, come back again tomorrow, but this time a different way. If she got the bad feeling again, she’d go look for a different route to Stansted.

  Cat began to retrace her steps. She’d covered no more than a few meters when a whistle suddenly rang out, a high, piercing note.

  Cat froze, her eyes widening, trying to place the source of the sound. But it was impossible to tell where it had come from. As she waited for it to come again, she spotted movement on the road ahead of her. Her stomach shrank as several zombies lumbered into view, caught sight of her and picked up their pace.

  Cat turned to race south but there were more zombies that way. She spared just enough time for a single, foul curse. Then she about-faced and headed north at top speed, up the open Tottenham High Road, the zombies in hot pursuit.

  EIGHT

  Cat was desperate to get off the High Road. She guessed there would be hundreds of zombies littering the shops, restaurants, cafés and pubs along it. They would surely spot her and spill out to join the hunt.

  The problem was, there were zombies down every side street that she came to, a small pack on each. As soon as they saw her, they started forward, moaning hungrily and gnashing their fangs. It would have been suicide to try to slip past them on the small, tight streets.

  Cat couldn’t understand what was happening. You got the occasional undead straggler outside in the daytime, but nothing like this. Also, it was bizarre how they were in every street, and always at the far end, not close enough to dart out and grab her.

  At least the buildings on either side of the road appeared to be clear. Or, if there were zombies inside, they were resting away from the doors and windows, unaware of what was happening outside.

  Cat ran at a steady pace. She tried not to pant or surrender to panic. She was in a bad spot, but it had been worse in the school and she’d gotten out of there alive. She had to keep her head, stay focused, search for a way out.

  She thought about ducking into a shop or a pub and barricading herself in, then looking for an escape route out back. But that would be a serious gamble. There were dozens of zombies chasing her. It wouldn’t take them long to tear through any barrier that she might set in their path. And if she wound up in a building with no back door…

  No, it was better to keep running, so she did. At first she counted the side streets, but she lost track pretty quickly. There seemed to be an endless number of them, and every one was blocked off with zombies.

  She heard a few more whistles as she fled. They confused her. She didn’t know who was making the noises. If it had been just the one, she’d have assumed it came from a zombie who had swallowed a whistle at some point. But the sounds came from different places, behind, ahead and to the sides of her.

  The whistles actually scared her more than the zombies. She felt confident that she could outpace the living dead and lose them once she got off the High Road, but the whistles were an unknown factor.

  Perhaps they were the work of soldiers. Maybe survivors like her were clearing out this area and herding zombies ahead of them. That would explain why the undead were coming from all over the place. She had heard of the army doing this in towns around the country, reclaiming them for the living. Maybe this was their first such venture in London.

  Cat would have been delighted to learn of such an operation any other time, but right now she was caught in the middle of the rush and that was bad news. Because if the people with the whistles were directing the zombies toward a dead end where they could be picked off by snipers or scorched with flamethrowers, there would be no way for them to tell Cat apart from the monsters they had targeted.

  Cat was certain that if she didn’t make it off the High Road within the next few minutes, she’d be as damned as those who were trailing along behind her. But with nowhere to turn, she had no choice but to keep going as she was, and run.

  NINE

  Cat’s legs were starting to tire as she drew close to the Tottenham Hotspur soccer stadium. She had worked out a lot more these last few months than she ever had before, and was in the best condition of her life, but she’d never had to endure a sustained sprint like this. She could have jogged for hours without pause, but the zombies were running, not jogging, so she had to match their pace.

  The undead were slower than they’d been in life, lacking the fluid coordination of the living. But since they didn’t use their lungs, they didn’t get tired the way humans did. They could maintain this speed indefinitely, whereas Cat was quickly running out of steam.

  She was worrying about tha
t as she drew abreast of the stadium, but that worry was swiftly wiped away when she saw another horde of zombies coming at her from the top end of the High Road.

  Cat drew to a fearful halt and stared at the advancing zombies. She glanced over her shoulder—there was an army of the undead behind her, closing in. A quick look left and right—more zombies racing at her from the side streets.

  She was caught in the middle, no way out.

  Cat pulled down her mask and started to moan, a long, loud wailing sound. How could this have happened? She was always so careful. If soldiers were at large, shepherding the zombies into a kill zone, she should have spotted signs. She wasn’t blind, deaf or stupid.

  As zombies closed on her from all sides, Cat stopped moaning. If this was to be her finale, so be it. She drew her gun, gazed at it glumly, then got ready to rid the zombies of their chance to kill her.

  Before Cat could raise the gun, a whistle blew, sharp and sustained. She looked around with surprise. This time the blast had come from a place much closer to her, within the net of encroaching zombies. But she couldn’t see anyone.

  Then she spotted an opening into the stadium. All of the turnstiles, which fans of the club had passed through over the decades, had been blocked off with heavy steel doors, but there was one exception. A single door, close to where she was standing, hung ajar.

  Cat couldn’t be sure that the whistle had come from there. And she had no idea what lay beyond—maybe the corridor was home to even more zombies than those chasing her out here. If she ducked inside and slammed the door shut and the stadium turned out to be infested with the living dead, she was damned.

  But what other choice did she have? This was a chance to get away, and she had dedicated her whole life, especially since the zombie outbreak, to seizing every chance that came her way.