ZOM-B 11 Page 8

  ‘You haven’t lost your old hunting skills,’ I snarl, fixing my gaze on the taser, getting ready to throw myself out of the way of the dart-like electrodes as soon as he fires.

  ‘Look me in the eye, B,’ Barnes says softly.

  ‘Get stuffed,’ I jeer, moving sideways, preparing a battle plan, trying to keep sight of the Angels while watching Barnes’s trigger finger.

  ‘B,’ Barnes says more firmly. ‘I want to see your eyes.’

  Something in his voice makes me look up. We lock gazes and he stares at me with a calm, hard expression. I’d been brandishing the spoons, hoping to ward off any incoming blows, but now I let them drop, knowing I can’t fend off a warrior of Barnes’s stature with a couple of useless bits of cutlery. The game is truly up.

  ‘Go on then, you bastard,’ I croak bitterly. ‘Knock me out and take me to your precious new master, the same way you served me up to your old bosses.’

  ‘Dr Oystein isn’t the same as Justin Bazini or the Wood brothers,’ Barnes says.

  ‘You’re right there,’ I agree. ‘He’s worse.’

  ‘See what they’ve done to her?’ Carl says miserably.

  ‘Yes,’ Barnes murmurs, not breaking our connection, looking into me almost as deeply as Mr Dowling used to. ‘I see.’

  Then his jaw sets and he takes a step back. Before I can react, he raises the taser, aims swiftly but carefully and fires.

  SIXTEEN

  The barbed electrodes shoot through the air and find their target. The taser buzzes as electricity shoots through it and I wince in anticipation of my muscles spasming, my limbs stiffening involuntarily, before I collapse and thrash about like a dying snake.

  But to my surprise I don’t fall. Not a single muscle twitches. After a confused moment, I realise that’s because Barnes didn’t shoot me.

  He shot Shane.

  As Carl and Ashtat gawp, Barnes calmly takes the second of his three tasers and shoots Carl, who falls next to Shane.

  Ashtat recovers her senses and turns to run, but Barnes is too quick, even for a revitalised zombie. The electrodes catch her between the shoulder blades and she goes down with a strangled cry.

  Barnes leaves the electrodes attached to the tasers and doesn’t cut the power. He lays the hand units down, checks to make sure that each is functioning, then sets his sights on me.

  ‘That’s the same sort of taser I used when I captured you outside Hamleys,’ he says. ‘One blast should knock each of them out of action for a good while, long enough for us to get away. But I don’t believe in taking chances. I’ll leave them running. They won’t cause any permanent damage.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ I say warily. ‘Why are you doing this if you’re Dr Oystein’s man?’

  ‘I’m nobody’s man except my own,’ he replies stiffly. ‘I quit taking orders the day I severed my ties with the Board. I worked for Oystein because I believed in him.’

  ‘And now?’ I ask.

  He shrugs. ‘I believe in you more. You’re the reason I came back. I never forgot how you fought every day to spare the lives of those children on the Belfast, even though you had no ties to them. I left London to try to save my son, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should have stayed to fight with you. When I got done with my other business, I reckoned I might put my dubious talents to their best use if I threw in my lot with you. So here I am.’

  I stare at the tall, serious-looking man, wondering if this is a trick.

  ‘How can I trust you?’ I growl.

  He smiles wearily. ‘If you tell me not to come with you, I’ll let you go. I found you once, so I could probably find you again, but I won’t come looking if you ask me not to.’

  ‘And Dr Oystein?’ I press. ‘He won’t be impressed when he finds out you’ve betrayed him.’

  Barnes snorts. ‘I knew there was something wrong when he came out of the Brewery without you. He fed his Angels a load of crap, claimed Mr Dowling had done something to your mind, that you were out of control. But that’s not the story the twins told when they reported back. According to them, you were in bad shape physically but fine mentally.’

  Barnes looks around impatiently. ‘We don’t have time for this conversation, not here in the open. I don’t know what’s happened between you and Dr Oystein, but I can smell a rat. I doubt you would have fled without good cause, and I don’t think he’d have sent his troops after you if he wasn’t desperate to get you back. Desperate men worry me. I have little faith in them.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ I laugh.

  Barnes doesn’t crack a smile. ‘I feel I owe you for all that you suffered on the Belfast, since I was the one who delivered you to Dan-Dan and the others. I’ll help you if you want, or release you if that’s what you’d prefer. Just give me the nod.’

  I think it over quickly and decide to gamble on his support. ‘Come on then,’ I grunt, and off I set, no longer alone, and no longer as vulnerable as I was. I don’t want to jinx myself, but, with Barnes by my side, I just might make it out of this trap. There’s hope for the B yet!

  SEVENTEEN

  Barnes takes the lead and I’m happy to follow. I like waiving the responsibility. I’ve carried the can long enough. Let somebody else do the planning and worrying for a while. It makes a nice change.

  The ex-soldier sets a slow pace, not much faster than the speed I was going before I fell in behind the one-eyed zombie.

  ‘Aren’t you worried we might run into other Angels?’ I ask.

  ‘Hush,’ he says. ‘The Angels don’t bother me but zombies do. If they see or hear us talking, they might investigate, and I don’t want to have to flee from a pack of brain-munchers.’

  I’d forgotten that the undead were a threat to the likes of Barnes. I’m full of questions, but I keep my mouth shut, respecting the silence. Now that I study him, I see that he’s not just walking slowly, but swinging his arms and rolling his head, the way many zombies do. He’s mimicking the movements of a revived, to divert the interest of any undead observers who might be wondering about the couple of figures swanning around in the sunshine. He also covers his head with his arms every so often, as if the rays are paining him.

  I haven’t a clue what time it is, but, to judge by the setting sun, we don’t have much daylight left to play with. I think of mentioning that to Barnes, but I’m sure he’s even more aware of it than I am. The streets of London are deadly for the living at night.

  Barnes leads me south into Wapping. I don’t think that’s a good idea. The streets are narrow here, the buildings pressing in tightly above them. Easy to fall foul of a flash zombie attack and get pinned down. But he seems to know what he’s doing and he starts to pick up the pace, negotiating the streets as if he’s familiar with them.

  We don’t run into any Angels. I’m glad of that. As far as I can see, Barnes is out of tasers, leaving him only with his guns. I’d rather not harm any of my old allies. They weren’t part of Dr Oystein’s conspiracy. They don’t know what the doc is really like.

  As the sun starts to set over the city, freeing the undead to come out in their hordes, we arrive at a pub called the Prospect of Whitby. The windows have been boarded over and the door is locked. To my surprise, Barnes produces a key.

  As the door opens and we slip inside, I whisper, ‘That wasn’t a skeleton key.’

  ‘No,’ Barnes says, closing the door behind him and flicking on a light. ‘This was one of my bases in the old days, when I was running with Coley. We shored up several places like this around the city, so we could stay in them at night when we needed to. We’ll be safe here.’

  Barnes pushes through the pub, switching on another few lights. He goes all the way to the back door, opens it and steps out on to a balcony overlooking the river to check something. He’s smiling when he returns.

  ‘The last time I was here, I left a boat tied up outside. It’s still there. We have that as backup if we need to make a quick getaway. It’s not much of a craft, but it’ll get us safely ou
t of here if zombies attack from the front.’

  ‘You think of everything,’ I chuckle.

  ‘No,’ he sighs. ‘But I try to.’

  Barnes fetches a bottle of beer from a fridge, opens it and finishes off half with his first gulp.

  ‘Damn, that was good,’ he gasps, setting it down. ‘I’d almost forgotten what beer was like, even when it’s well past its sell-by date. I’d offer you one, but I know it would run clean through you.’

  ‘I’m too young for alcohol anyway,’ I smirk.

  ‘Sure,’ he laughs. ‘Like you never sank a sneaky beer or two in your misspent youth.’

  We smile at one another and I take a seat close to him, but not so close that I might accidentally scratch him if he was to stumble.

  My smile fades as I remember something. ‘You mentioned Coley a minute ago . . .’

  Barnes grins. ‘Poor old Coley. I felt bad for turning on him the way I did, tying him up before I rescued you from the Board. I went back and set him free. He was mad as hell – would have tried to kill me, except he figured I’d take him in a fair fight – but he swallowed his pride and actually asked to come with me. He knew he stood a better chance of getting out of London if he had someone to watch his back. But I could never have trusted him. I made my excuses and left. Haven’t heard anything about him since. I guess that’s the last I’ll ever see or hear of him.’

  ‘Well, it’s definitely the last you’ll see of him,’ I sniff and proceed to tell Barnes about how Coley teamed up with Dan-Dan again, and how his master killed him when the zombies overran Battersea Power Station.

  Barnes is grim-faced when I finish. ‘The fool,’ he snaps. ‘He deserved what he got, siding with a monster like that. We didn’t know about the children when we signed up to work for the Board. But to understand what Dan-Dan was truly like, and to go back for more . . .’ He spits with disgust. Then his expression softens. ‘Still, we were a team for a long time. I hoped he’d fare better than that.’

  ‘At least it was quick,’ I note.

  ‘Yeah,’ Barnes says glumly. ‘We should all be so lucky.’

  He sips his beer and I give him a few moments of silent reflection. Then I clear my throat as tactfully as I can. ‘What about your son?’

  ‘Stuart,’ Barnes says softly, staring at the label on the bottle.

  ‘Did you find him?’

  Barnes doesn’t answer. His son was the reason he caught me and handed me over to the Board. They’d granted the boy sanctuary on a zombie-free island which their people were managing. The child was safe as long as his father cooperated with Bazini and his cronies. But then Barnes betrayed them and led the Angels to my rescue.

  Barnes finishes the beer and gets another. I say nothing, determined not to ask any more questions, not wanting to upset him. But after a while he looks up and volunteers the information.

  ‘It took me longer to get to the island than I imagined. A lot of roads to the coast were blocked. I had to work my way around them. I ran into scores of zombies. But I got there in the end. I kept going. For Stuart.’

  The ex-soldier’s fingers tighten on the bottle and I know what’s coming next.

  ‘Bazini or one of his team had radioed ahead. Told the people on the island what I’d done, and issued new instructions. I found Stuart’s remains. They left him hanging over the harbour. He was still there when I reached the island. Well, whatever the crows hadn’t bothered with.’

  Barnes falls silent again, his gaze distant, a world of pain in his expression.

  ‘Did you kill them?’ I ask softly.

  He shakes his head slowly. ‘I don’t blame them. They were following orders. I knew what the rules were when I signed up to the deal. I broke them, so it was my fault, nobody else’s. There are always consequences when you agree a deal with evil men. After what I did on the Belfast . . .’ Barnes sighs. ‘Anyway, I cut down what was left of Stuart, buried him, then got the hell out of there, unseen and unheard.’

  ‘Do you regret it?’ I ask quietly. ‘Telling Dr Oystein about me. Leading him to the Belfast. Breaking your contract with the Board. Would you do it differently if you could go back in time?’

  Barnes grunts. ‘No. If you’re a damn fool once, you’ll be a damn fool twice. What they were doing on the Belfast was wrong. I’d always known they were a crooked bunch, but I was able to turn a blind eye to their shortcomings — I’m no saint myself, so I didn’t feel any right to take the moral high ground. But when I realised the full extent of their vileness, of what Daniel Wood was doing to those children . . .

  ‘There are some things in this life that you can’t stand for,’ he says, which is similar to what I’d been telling myself earlier in the day. ‘I loved Stuart more than anything else in this world, but sometimes you have to make a sacrifice for the greater good. I’m not sure if Stuart would have understood that. It wasn’t really something I understood myself until I saw those children on the Belfast. I wish I could have one last conversation with my boy, to explain.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I croak.

  Barnes sniffs, waves my apology away, then has another gulp of his beer and tries to forget the awful loss that his decency has cost him.

  EIGHTEEN

  It wouldn’t have surprised me if Barnes had carried on drinking, to wash away the memories and sleep the dreamless sleep of a drunkard. But he stops after the second bottle. I assume that he wants to be alert if we have to move out in a hurry.

  ‘You hungry?’ Barnes asks, pulling some dried goods out of a chest.

  ‘That stuff’s no good to me,’ I snort.

  ‘I know,’ he says, ‘but I have brains too. I keep them in a freezer out back. I had a look when I was checking the boat. The power to the freezer went a while ago, but I think the meat’s still fresh enough to be of use.’

  ‘What are you doing with brains?’ I frown.

  ‘Coley and I kept a supply. We used them to bait zombies and lure them into traps.’

  ‘Very humane,’ I mutter, my expression hardening.

  Barnes shrugs. ‘I make no apologies for being a hunter. I don’t regret killing brain-dead zombies. They’re savage abominations and this world is well rid of them. I’m sorry for what I did to you, but that’s as far as my regrets extend. The dead should stay dead and, if they don’t, the living have every right to put them down.’

  I shift uncomfortably. I want to argue the point with him, but how can I when just a few hours ago I was plotting to unleash a virus that would wipe out every zombie on the planet? Barnes cut down dozens or hundreds of reviveds in his time. If I’d been successful, I’d have eliminated billions.

  ‘Get the damn brains,’ I huff.

  Barnes grins and fetches me a slice of chilled headcheese. It’s not the most appealing chunk of brain I’ve ever been faced with – a light mould has spread across it since it defrosted – but it hasn’t totally dried out, so it should still provide me with the nutrients I need. As I take it from him, he settles back and his grin spreads. ‘I can’t wait to see this.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I snap.

  ‘I want to see how a stomachless zombie eats.’

  I stare at Barnes, then at the hole in my middle. ‘Hell, I hadn’t thought about that.’

  ‘You haven’t eaten in a while?’ he asks.

  ‘Not since most of my stomach was ripped away.’ I think about it, then take an explorative bite. I work it down my throat, but once it clears my chest, the chunk simply drops into the pit where my bowels used to be.

  ‘Plop!’ Barnes deadpans.

  ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying this so much,’ I scowl. ‘If I can’t eat, I can’t extract the nutrients that I need to keep my brain ticking over. I’ll relapse and become a revived again.’

  ‘There’s no fear of that,’ Barnes says. ‘I’ve seen zombies in worse shape than you chowing down and getting whatever it is that they need from the brains. Go with your instincts and see where they lead you.’

 
; I stare at the chunk of brain in my hand and try to tune out my thoughts, to focus on the food and let my natural reactions take over. It’s easier than I thought it would be, and a minute later I find myself mashing the brain up in my mouth, working it into a paste. Then I spit the paste into my hands and scrape it around the walls of my stomach, covering as much of the cavity as I can with the grisly goo.

  ‘Fascinating,’ Barnes purrs.

  ‘You don’t have to gawp,’ I growl. ‘I know how disgusting this is.’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘This is better than prime-time TV. Is it doing the job? Do you think you’ll be able to sustain yourself?’

  ‘Yeah. I can already feel myself absorbing the richness of the meat. I’ll scrape off the gunk soon, so as not to attract insects, but it’s pretty much the same as when I ate before. Except now I don’t have to puke the brains back up, so in a way it’s even better.’

  ‘You’ll set a trend,’ Barnes laughs and tucks into his own food, which looks a hell of a lot more appetising than mine.

  Barnes carefully washes his plate when he’s finished and throws the remains of my mashed-up meal into the Thames, so that the scent doesn’t attract any passing zombies. I join him on the balcony and stare out across the river. Night has settled over the city and I can hear the moans and cries of its undead population as the reviveds take to the streets in search of the ever-diminishing supplies of grey matter.

  Brains must be hard to come by now. The vast majority of zombies are surely in agony. I think the noise will worsen over the coming months, until maybe it’s one solid, twenty-four-hour-long scream, every single day of the week for the next few thousand years.

  ‘I don’t know why they stay,’ Barnes says quietly. ‘Surely they’d be better off in the countryside, where they might find the odd wild animal to feast on.’

  ‘There are still lots of animals here,’ I tell him. ‘We can smell their brains. But they’re fast, and they hide, and they’re able to adapt. The reviveds are slower to change. Maybe they never properly will. But as long as the scent of brains lingers, zombies will prowl the streets. They don’t have the sense to move on.’