Zom-B Mission Page 4

  ‘I want to help set up the room for Mr Burke,’ I mutter.

  ‘Of course,’ Dr Oystein says. ‘We will see to it tonight.’

  ‘I will organise another escort for Emma and Declan in the meantime,’ Master Zhang says.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I snap.

  ‘I do not think that you will want to go on a mission given what has happened,’ Zhang says, ‘and I will not send the rest of your group without you, even assuming that they wish to proceed with it.’

  ‘You think I’d rather sit here and brood?’ I shake my head. ‘That’s not me. I can’t think of anything better at a time like this than keeping busy.’

  Zhang’s eyes narrow. ‘I will not send you out if you are an emotional wreck.’

  I grin like a tiger. ‘I’ve seen lots of friends die. Burke’s death won’t put me off my stride. If the others are game, count me in.’

  Zhang studies me for a moment, then nods. ‘I have taught you well.’

  ‘Don’t give yourself all the credit,’ I tell him, standing and pointing to the hole in the left side of my chest. ‘I was a heartless bitch long before I came here.’

  Dr Oystein and Master Zhang smile sympathetically, then take me to organise a room for Burke, where we can store and feed his reanimated corpse. In theory we’re setting him up here so that we can assist him if he revitalises and becomes a thinking zombie like us. But realistically, as Zhang reminded me, there’s little chance of that. It’s far more likely that the room will serve as a cell for him until we give up the ghost and either set him free or put him down like a rabid dog.

  EIGHT

  My room-mates are solemn when I return. They try to comfort me, but it’s awkward because I don’t really want to talk about it. In the end I sit by the window and stare out into the darkness while they discuss the upcoming mission.

  I spend a long time thinking about Burke, school, my family and friends, the old days. So much has changed. So many have been lost. It’s not fair that they’re all gone and I’m still here. But nobody ever said life was fair. You get what comes your way, not what you deserve.

  Eventually I swim out of my daze and tune into the conversation. There’s no hesitancy in the air— everyone is in, as I figured they would be. They’re trying to predict what will happen on the mission, talking about all the things we’ll do and see, the fights we’ll win, the obstacles we’ll overcome. Shane is saying he hopes we run into Mr Dowling, so that he can personally bring down the clown.

  ‘You’d run a mile if you saw Mr Dowling in the flesh,’ I snort.

  ‘That guy doesn’t bother me,’ Shane says. ‘I was never afraid of clowns. Mime artists on the other hand . . .’

  The others laugh and start discussing the creepiness of clowns versus mime artists and a whole host of other people in costumes. Jakob says he’s scared of nurses and doctors, but after all the time he spent in hospital being treated for cancer, I guess he has every right to be.

  I leave my position by the window and join in and the night flies by nicely.

  Just before dawn, we prepare for the trip ahead. I pour drops into my eyes to keep them moist, and make sure I have a few spare bottles in the rucksack which I’ll be taking.

  I sharpen my fingerbones and toe bones. Ashtat decorates hers as if they were nails, but that’s too girly for me. I also file down my teeth, but not as much as normal, keeping them on the sharp side in case I have to bite my way out of a sticky situation.

  None of us packs a weapon. Dr Oystein thinks weapons should be consigned to the history books. He’s hoping, if we can find a way to eliminate the zombies and restore power to the living, that we can put the errors of the past behind us. Most of us would rather pack a hammer or axe, but we can see where he’s coming from. We’re not forbidden from using weapons in the field if the need arises, but we try to do without. Besides, with our fingerbones and fangs, who needs anything else?

  I pull on fresh jeans, a tight jumper with a section cut out to expose the hole in my chest, a leather jacket and a pair of cool-looking shades. They’re prescription sunglasses. We all have a few pairs. On Dr Oystein’s orders, the twins have recently started to test every Angel’s eyes and track down suitable glasses. They don’t restore our sight to what it was like when we were living, but they help. Contact lenses would be better, but they don’t suit our dry eyes.

  As I’m sticking my trusty Australian hat in my rucksack, Rage pops up in front of me and says, ‘What do you think?’ He’s smeared green and brown paint across his face.

  ‘We’re going into suburbia,’ I say, rolling my eyes, ‘not the bloody jungle.’

  ‘Over the top?’

  ‘Big time.’

  He scowls and stomps off to scrub his cheeks clean.

  Ciara the dinner lady arrives with a vat of brain stew and we tuck in, downing the grey gruel, absorbing the necessary nutrients, then throwing up into buckets which Ciara sweetly passes out to us. She chats with us a bit, wishes us luck, then leaves to wash her hair and get dressed in another of her stylish outfits. Probably off to flirt with Reilly in the bowels of County Hall.

  Carl spends an hour choosing his clothes for the trip. He’s even more fashion conscious than Ciara, or any girl I ever knew. He tries on at least a dozen different outfits.

  ‘Enough,’ I snap as he’s studying himself in a full-length mirror for the fiftieth time. ‘You’re beautiful. The coolest cat in town.’

  ‘I’ve got to look my best,’ he says. ‘Mother would spin in her grave if I got killed and didn’t leave an immaculate corpse behind.’

  Shane is less bothered. He doesn’t even change out of the tracksuit that he was wearing earlier, though he swaps his gold chain for another in his collection, then pauses and decides to wear both. I picture him laying into scores of zombies with the chains, swinging them like nunchucks—death by bling!

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ Shane asks, catching me chuckling softly.

  ‘An old joke,’ I lie, then cast an eye over Ashtat and Jakob. They’re in their usual garb, a blue robe for her, baggy clothes for him.

  ‘Don’t you think trousers would be more practical?’ I ask Ashtat.

  ‘No. I have always trained in these. I am accustomed to them.’

  When we’re ready, we head down to present ourselves to Dr Oystein. Emma and Declan are with him, but Master Zhang is nowhere to be seen. I note that Dr Oystein is wearing a fresh shirt, but he doesn’t seem to have bandaged the wound beneath it.

  ‘Will you hop into a Groove Tube to clear up your injury?’ I ask as we spread out before him.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘Zhang dug out the bullet and the wound is only a minor nuisance.’

  ‘It must be painful,’ I note.

  He shrugs. ‘The pain reminds me that I must never take our safety here for granted, that we must always be aware that an attack can come at any moment, from any quarter.’ He looks around at the others. ‘You have all decided to go on the mission?’ he asks, even though our clothes and rucksacks obviously signify that we’re up for it.

  A chorus of ‘Yes’ and ‘Yeah’ and ‘Yup’.

  ‘One day an Angel will turn me down,’ he mutters. ‘I am almost looking forward to the shock of the rejection.’

  We laugh softly, then Dr Oystein puts his hands together and bows. ‘Your courage fills me with pride, and I do not say that lightly. I am privileged to have you for my charges.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Rage grunts. ‘You’ll make me blubber like a baby.’

  ‘Never, Michael,’ Dr Oystein says. ‘I doubt if you cried even when you came out of the womb.’

  ‘Now there’s a horrible image,’ I cackle.

  ‘Less of it,’ Rage growls.

  ‘You all know what to do and how to protect Declan and Emma,’ Dr Oystein goes on. ‘So I will not bore you with a ponderous parting speech. But I will offer to lead you in prayer if anyone wishes to ask their god for a blessing before you depart. It is not compulsory and I will
not be offended if you abstain.’

  Ashtat, Shane, Carl and Jakob shuffle forward without a word. Rage takes a big step back. He looks at me, curious to see what I’ll do. A few months ago I’d have joined him or stood aside on my own. But times have changed. That baby in Timothy’s gallery turned my world on its head. I don’t know exactly what I believe any more, except I’m convinced that there’s some sort of higher power at work out there, otherwise how could I have dreamt of the babies in advance for all those years?

  I join the others and we stand around Dr Oystein in a semi-circle as he says a short prayer. The words are his own, designed not to be exclusive. The doc never tries to force his beliefs on the rest of us. He’s often said that there’s room in this world for any number of gods.

  At the end of his prayer he asks for a few moments of silence, so that each of us can communicate silently with our supreme being of choice. I try to think of something that isn’t corny or insincere. Finally I sigh and say inside my head, For the sake of Declan and Emma, and to atone for all those I have failed before, let me stand true.

  Then prayer time is over. Dr Oystein escorts us to the exit, issues us with a set of directions, wishes us luck and waves us off. We head down the road on our first real mission. Look out, world, here I come!

  NINE

  Hammersmith isn’t that far from County Hall. At zombie speed, jogging, we could be there in less than an hour if we pushed ourselves. Even at human pace, allowing for a young child, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.

  But we have to go slow. The undead hate the sunlight. It burns their skin and sears their eyes. Revitaliseds can protect themselves, dress in heavy clothes, wear sunglasses and hats. Reviveds aren’t smart enough to figure that out. But they can smell the same way we can. If they get a whiff of living flesh, it might be enough to tempt them out.

  Emma and Declan sprayed themselves with the strongest perfume the twins could find for them before we left our sanctuary, and that should mask their scent. But it only takes one sharp-nosed zombie latching on to their smell to bring the hordes crashing down upon us.

  We cross Westminster Bridge, Emma and Declan in the middle, the rest of us fanned out around them. We’ve trained with humans before – Reilly normally fills in as our guinea pig – so we know what we’re doing.

  Even so, this feels different. With Reilly we never ventured far from the safety of County Hall. And he’s a trained soldier who could defend himself if he had to. This is real, not an exercise. If we make a mistake, Emma and Declan will die.

  There’s none of the joking that there usually is. We’re all alert, taking this seriously, saying nothing, senses trained on the area around us, ready to react to the slightest hint of an attack.

  We slip by Westminster Station. There are scores of zombies down there, but luck is on our side and there aren’t any resting near the entrance. We pass like ghosts, unchallenged.

  Ignoring the Houses of Parliament, we cross the Square and head down the road to St James’s Park. We haven’t gone very far when luck deserts us. Figures spill out of one of the buildings to our left. Five zombies rush us, sights fixed on the pair of humans in our midst.

  Ashtat and I protect Emma and Declan while the boys deal with the zombies. It’s short and sharp. We’ve spent months fine-tuning our skills. On top of that we’ve fed regularly, we haven’t had to trawl the streets for dried-up scraps of brain, so we’re at our physical and mental best.

  Rage and Shane each take out a couple of zombies, shattering their skulls with carefully placed blows. Carl dispatches the fifth, calmly bashing the guy’s head against the pavement to crush his brain. I wince at the thuds and spray of splintered bone and blood. I know these people are already dead, that we’re doing them a favour by putting them out of action. But it never feels right.

  A lone female zombie darts from the shadows of a building on our right. Ashtat deals with her, whirling gracefully to deliver a kick to the undead woman’s head that Bruce Lee would have been proud of. The woman’s skull must have been damaged prior to this, because her head explodes like a rotten pumpkin.

  ‘Gross,’ Ashtat squeals, trying to shake goo from her foot.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Emma moans, clutching Declan tightly, looking around fearfully. I can tell that she’s thinking of running.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I calm her. ‘You’re safe with us. We know what we’re doing.’

  ‘But we’re attracting attention,’ she whines as another three zombies stream out of the building that the female came from.

  ‘Not for long,’ I promise, although I can’t guarantee that. We could come under attack every step of the way to Hammersmith.

  Jakob is fast. He races ahead of the others to tackle the new threat. Carl isn’t far behind—he leaps through the air like a giant grasshopper and lands among the trio. ‘Come to Daddy,’ he chuckles grimly, laying into the unsuspecting zombies. The living dead never fight among themselves. It confuses them when we turn on our own. If they could think, they’d consider us traitors to the cause.

  Ashtat and I push on with Emma and Declan. Rage and Shane slot into place around us.

  ‘The Cabinet War Rooms are just up there,’ Rage says cheerfully, nodding as we come to a corner. ‘Churchill had his bunker there in the Second World War. Fancy checking them out?’

  ‘I don’t think this is the time for sightseeing,’ I snarl as a look of panic shoots across Emma’s face. ‘He’s only joking,’ I tell her.

  ‘Yeah,’ Rage says. ‘Don’t worry, love. I have a warped sense of humour.’

  We make St James’s Park and head for the lake, where we pause and wait for the others to catch up. This place used to teem with wildlife, exotic birds and tourist-friendly squirrels, but nothing larger than an insect moves in the park today. Zombies prefer human brains, but they can feast on animals too. The only creatures still roaming the city are those whose brains are too small to be of any interest to the undead, or those who are cunning enough to have learnt to lie low and hide.

  Carl and Jakob catch up. Carl is grinning, wiping blood from his hands with clumps of grass. Jakob looks as serious as ever.

  Emma is panting hard. ‘I don’t think this was a good idea. Maybe we should go back.’

  ‘It will be fine,’ Ashtat assures her.

  ‘We don’t have to worry so much in the parks,’ I tell her. ‘Reviveds mostly stick to the shadows in the daytime. They avoid open spaces like this.’

  ‘What about when we get back on to the streets again?’ she says.

  I shrug. ‘There are zombies everywhere. But you knew that before we set out. It’s a risk, but not the biggest gamble in the world. You stand a better chance with us than you would on your own.’

  ‘But if we returned to County Hall . . .’ Emma wavers.

  ‘We can if you want,’ Rage sniffs. ‘But then you’re stuck with us for the rest of your days. What do you think, Declan? Do you want to come home with your undead Uncle Rage?’

  Declan says nothing, but turns his face away and buries it in his mother’s skirt.

  ‘If you want to retreat, tell us and we’ll take you,’ Carl says patiently. ‘But if you’re going to change your mind, now’s the time. We can slip back without any hassle. Nobody can predict how many of the buggers might be lying in wait for us further on.’

  Emma hesitates, torn between hope and fear. Nobody says anything. It’s not our job to persuade her one way or the other, merely to help her however we can.

  ‘OK,’ she finally croaks. ‘We’ll go on.’

  ‘Great,’ Shane beams. ‘You know it makes sense.’

  We advance, holding our formation around the shivering humans. As I said to Emma, it should be safe in the park, but we don’t take chances. A zombie could have carved a niche for itself in one of the trees, or dug a hole in the soil and be lying covered by twigs and leaves, or be resting at the bottom of the shallow lake with its mouth closed and its nose pinched shut. We stay alert,
taking nothing for granted, each one of us all too aware that in this world of the living dead a single mistake can be the end of you.

  TEN

  We hike through St James’s Park, skirt Buckingham Palace and enter Green Park. That links up with Hyde Park, and soon we’re strolling along as if on a fun day out. We stick to the middle of the park, so we have a clear view in all directions.

  We relax our guard slightly and Emma lets Declan run around, chasing after him, playing games. But we don’t let either of them slip too far away, wary of hidden threats.

  The grass has grown wild since the downfall of mankind. Old scraps of rubbish blow across it. Weeds snake through the bones of human carcasses. But this is still a soothing place. In these green stretches it’s possible to imagine that the apocalypse never happened. If I use my imagination, it could be a quiet Sunday morning, early, before any joggers or tourists are about. I might be on my way home from an all-night party, Mum and Dad waiting for me, angry but concerned, school on Monday, boring but reassuring, all my friends to catch up with.

  I shake my head and frown. There’s no use thinking that way. The world’s gone to hell and the only way to deal with it is to accept it for what it is. No point trying to live in the past. That’s for saps.

  We eventually run out of park and pause to prepare for the next stretch. It’s a fairly straight, wide road most of the way to Hammersmith. On paper it’s a doddle. In the flesh it looks a lot less straightforward.

  ‘What about a car?’ Emma asks, spotting one stranded in the road nearby.

  ‘The noise would draw attention,’ Carl tells her.

  ‘But we could move faster than the zombies, couldn’t we?’ she persists.

  ‘Yes,’ Carl says, ‘but they could attack from the side or throw themselves in the way and make us crash. Then we’d be trapped and they’d just have to swarm round the car and force their way in.’