Zom-B Angels Page 8

  At least I get on pretty well with my room-mates. They’re not the sort I would have been friends with in my previous life, but they’re not a bad bunch. They do their best to help me find my feet, show me round County Hall, give me tips like how to groom the bones sticking out of my fingers and toes.

  I haven’t spoken to many of the other Angels. I’ve picked up names here and there, and I know a few to nod to in the gym and pool – such as Ingrid and her crew – but I haven’t tried to bond with any of them. I’m still not sure if this place is for me, and won’t know for certain until I’ve had a chance to chat with Dr Oystein again. If I don’t like what I hear, and decide that I’m better off out of it, I don’t want the added aggro of having to leave friends behind.

  On the afternoon of the fourth day, after lunch, when I have free time on my hands, I head down to the lab with the Groove Tubes to catch up with Reilly, something I’ve been meaning to do since our first reunion.

  The soldier isn’t in the lab, nor is Rage, who must have been fished out not long after I was. I get an angry feeling in my gut when I spot the empty Tube, recalling the way Rage threw the rest of the zom heads to the lions, how he killed Dr Cerveris. I’m uneasy too — I don’t trust Rage. It wouldn’t surprise me if he popped up behind me and dug a knife into the back of my skull.

  I ask around and track down Reilly to the kitchen where Ciara works. Reilly and the dinner lady are talking while she washes up. As far as I’m aware, they’re the only two humans here, so I guess they feel closer to one another than to the cannibalistic zombies they serve.

  ‘Hey,’ Reilly says when he spots me. ‘I was wondering when you’d come looking for me.’

  ‘What made you think I would?’ I snort.

  ‘I’ve always known you had a crush on me,’ he grins.

  ‘Not if you were the last guy in the world,’ I jeer, hopping up on to a table across from the pair and letting my legs dangle. ‘Isn’t there a dishwasher for that?’ I ask Ciara as she scrubs another plate.

  ‘I prefer washing by hand,’ she says cheerfully. ‘It passes the time and it keeps my mind off . . . other matters.’

  Her shoulders shudder slightly and I don’t ask any more questions. I’m sure, like any other survivor in this post-apocalyptic city, that she has memories she’d rather not dwell on.

  ‘Go on then,’ I say to Reilly. ‘Tell me how you came to be here.’

  He shrugs. ‘There’s no big story. Josh and the others who hadn’t been killed by the clown and his mutants pulled out of the underground complex in the wake of the assault. I’d had doubts about the place from the beginning. What I saw that day – the way the reviveds and revitaliseds were executed like rabid animals – helped make up my mind. I wanted out, so I walked away while they were evacuating. I doubt if anyone missed me. If they did, they probably assumed I was killed or converted by a stray zombie.’

  ‘Took you long enough to see them for what they were,’ I sniff.

  Reilly sighs. ‘Things aren’t black and white any more. They never were, I suppose, but there used to be law and order, right and wrong. Now it’s all chaos. I don’t think Josh or Dr Cerveris were bad guys. They were trying to uncover answers, to figure out a way to put the world back on track. I didn’t approve of how they went about it, but if they’d cracked the zombie gene and come up with a way to rid the world of the living dead . . .’

  ‘They’d have been your heroes?’ I sneer.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘You’ve got to remember, you’re the enemy. Dr Oystein is doing an incredible job, and I admire how his Angels have dedicated themselves to helping the living. But you’re all part of the problem. Dr Oystein acknowledges that, so it’s not like I’m being disrespectful. The world has been torn apart by a war between the living and the dead, and even though you guys are on my side, I can’t trust you. One scrape of those bones, if I stumbled and you instinctively reached out to grab me, and I’m history.’

  I frown. ‘So why swap Josh for Dr Oystein?’

  ‘I think he can do more than Josh could,’ Reilly says. ‘He knows more about what makes you lot tick. He’s working from within to solve the problem and that gives him an edge over everybody else. I also like the fact that he goes about his business humanely, but I won’t kid you, that’s just a bonus. If I believed that we could sort out this mess by slicing you up in agonising, brutal ways, you wouldn’t get any sympathy from me. I’d feel bad about it, but that wouldn’t stop me forging ahead.’

  ‘He says such nasty things sometimes, doesn’t he?’ Ciara tuts.

  ‘He’s no saint, that’s for sure,’ I mutter.

  ‘Then again, this is hardly a time for saints, is it?’ Reilly notes.

  ‘True,’ I nod. ‘So how’d you find your way here? Did you follow the arrows?’

  ‘No.’ Reilly scratches the back of his neck. ‘I was on my way out of the city. I wanted to join a compound in the countryside or head for one of the zombie-free islands and try to gain entry. Then I ran into a pack of Angels on a mission. I would have avoided them, except I recognised someone with them. I tracked the pack until he parted company with the zombies, then revealed myself and asked what he was up to. When he explained what was going on here, I decided I wanted to be part of it. I offered my services. They were accepted. So here I am.’

  ‘Who was the guy you recognised?’ I ask.

  ‘You’ll find out soon,’ Reilly says. ‘Dr Oystein returned earlier today and my contact was with him. I’m guessing the pair of them will want to see you.’

  I get a prickle of excitement when I hear that the mysterious doctor is back. I was starting to think that I’d only dreamt about him. It seems like months since he introduced himself to me and took me on my first tour of the building.

  ‘One last question. Do you know where Rage is?’

  Reilly grimaces. ‘We hauled him out of the Tube a couple of days ago. I’ve been watching my back since then.’

  I bare my teeth in a vicious grin. ‘I thought you trusted him.’

  ‘I never said that,’ Reilly corrects me. ‘I said that Dr Oystein trusts him, and I trust Dr Oystein. I protected Rage because the doctor asked me to. That doesn’t mean I liked it. And it doesn’t mean I feel safe now that he’s out on the prowl.’

  Reilly looks around nervously and touches the handle of the stun gun which he has strapped to his side. ‘Truth be told, I’m crapping myself.’

  I laugh harshly. ‘You should become one of us, Reilly. We don’t crap, we just vomit.’

  With that, I hop down and head back to the gym, treading carefully, judging the shadows as I pass, on the lookout for a cherubic monster.

  SEVENTEEN

  Now that Dr Oystein is back, I expect him to summon me for a meeting, but there’s no sign of him that evening or night, and I head to bed at the usual time, surprised and frustrated.

  When I mention the doctor’s return to the others, they’re not that bothered. Shane and Jakob say that they already knew. Ashtat and Carl didn’t, but it’s not a big deal for them, since they’re accustomed to him coming and going.

  ‘I never thought to tell you,’ Shane shrugs when I ask why he didn’t let me know. ‘It’s not like we announce it with bugles every time he returns.’

  In the morning I report for training again with Master Zhang. He lobs me around and slams me down hard on my back, time after time, studying the way I land, making suggestions, urging me to twist an arm this way, a leg that way.

  After one particularly vicious slam dunk that makes me cry out loud, someone gasps theatrically and says, ‘I hope that’s as painful as it looks from here.’

  I glance around, spirits rising, thinking it must be Dr Oystein, even though that would be a strange thing for him to say. But it’s not the doctor. It’s Rage, standing by the wall and smirking.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Becky,’ Rage says with fake sweetness. ‘Last time I saw you, you were hanging naked in the Groove Tube.’

  ‘Same here,’
I sneer. ‘Sorry for your little problem.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I cock the smallest finger on my right hand and flex it a couple of times.

  Rage laughs. ‘I don’t worry about those sorts of things any more. You’ll have to do better than that to wind me up.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I snarl.

  ‘Do you get the feeling she doesn’t like me?’ Rage asks Master Zhang.

  ‘I have no interest in your petty squabbles,’ Zhang says as I stand and grimace, still aching from when he threw me. ‘In my company, you will treat one another with respect, as all of my students must.’

  ‘You’ve been training Rage too?’ I ask.

  ‘For the last couple of days, yes,’ Zhang nods.

  ‘Be careful what you teach him,’ I growl. ‘He might use it against you.’

  ‘Now, now, Becky,’ Rage smiles. ‘Remember what Master Zhang told you. It’s all about respect.’

  ‘Respect this,’ I spit, giving him the finger.

  ‘Enough,’ Zhang says quietly. ‘I will not tolerate disobedience.’

  ‘Hear that?’ Rage beams. ‘You’re gonna have a hard time –’

  ‘That applies to you as well,’ Zhang stops him. ‘Both of you will be silent.’

  I expect Rage to challenge Master Zhang, but he shuts up immediately and bows politely. I glare at him but hold my tongue.

  ‘Oystein told me of your feud,’ Zhang says, ‘but that is not why I have kept you apart. I prefer to train new recruits by themselves for the first few days, so that I can evaluate them independently.’

  ‘I bet I’m doing better than you,’ Rage murmurs to me.

  I ignore him, as does Master Zhang.

  ‘There is a test that I subject my students to, usually after a couple of weeks,’ Zhang continues. ‘But Oystein wishes to speak with both of you later today, to explain more about our history and goals. I have decided to give you the test ahead of that meeting.’

  ‘Why?’ Rage asks.

  ‘It is an important test,’ Zhang says. ‘If you fail, it will be an indication that you are not cut out for life as a fully active Angel. If Oystein knows that you will not be taking part in our more serious missions, it might affect what he chooses to share with you.’

  ‘You mean, if we turn out to be a pair of losers, he won’t want to waste too much time on us,’ I grunt.

  ‘Precisely,’ Zhang says smoothly, then heads to the door and nods for us to follow him.

  ‘You’re not giving us the test here?’ Rage asks as we turn into the corridor.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘We need reviveds for the test.’ He looks back at us and his eyes glitter. ‘Lots of reviveds.’

  Rage and I share a worried glance, then trail Master Zhang through the building. He stops off at a small storage room to pick up a couple of rucksacks, then leads us outside and over to Waterloo Station. We pass one of the speakers along the way, but he doesn’t bother to turn it off.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ Rage winces.

  ‘I’ll tell you about it sometime, if you pass this test,’ I grin, delighted to know something he doesn’t.

  Zhang leads us up to the station concourse. This used to be one of the busiest train stations in London, but now it’s home to hundreds of resting reviveds. The mindless zombies are scattered around the concourse, squatting, sitting, lying down, or just standing, waiting for night to fall. It’s strange to think that so many of them are on our doorstep. I haven’t seen any since I came to County Hall.

  I stare at the old ticket machines, the shops and restaurants, trying to recall what it would have been like back in the day, wanting to feel nostalgic. But it’s getting harder to remember what the world was like, to treat the memories as if they’re real, rather than fragments of some crazy dream I once had.

  ‘This is a very straightforward task,’ Zhang says. He points towards the far end of the concourse, to an open doorway at the rear of the station. ‘I want you to race to that exit. If you make it out in one piece, you pass the test.’

  ‘That’s all?’ Rage frowns. ‘But that’s too easy. The zombies won’t attack us. They know we’re the same as them. Unless these are different to the ones I’ve seen elsewhere?’

  ‘They are no different,’ Zhang says. ‘I did not arrange for them to be present, or interfere with them in any way. These are the usual residents, reviveds who have chosen to base themselves here.’

  ‘Then what’s the catch?’ Rage asks.

  ‘The rucksacks of course,’ I tell him.

  ‘Correct,’ Zhang says. He passes one of the rucksacks to me, the other to Rage, and gestures at us to put them on.

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ Rage growls. ‘They’re not heavy. They won’t slow us down.’

  ‘They are not meant to slow you down,’ Master Zhang tuts, then drives the fingers of his right hand into the rucksack on Rage’s back, making five holes in it, before doing the same thing to mine.

  The scent of fresh brains instantly fills the air and my lips tighten.

  ‘This isn’t good,’ Rage mutters as the heads of the zombies closest to us start to lift.

  ‘If you stood still, they would come and examine you,’ Zhang says. ‘When they realised that the brains are stored in your rucksacks, they’d let you be – reviveds do not fight with one another – and stand nearby, waiting, hoping to finish off any scraps that you might leave behind.’

  ‘But we’re not going to stand still, are we?’ I sigh.

  ‘No,’ Zhang says. ‘You are going to run.’ He pokes some more holes in our rucksacks. ‘Now.’

  Rage swears under his breath and shoots a dirty look at Master Zhang. Then, since he has no other choice, he runs towards the zombies, who are stirring and getting to their feet. And since I have no choice either, I race after him, closing in quickly on the growing, undead wall of snarling, hungry reviveds.

  EIGHTEEN

  Rage barrels into several of the zombies, sending them flying. They howl with anger and excitement, more of them becoming alert, catching the scent of brains, closing in on us, fangs bared, finger bones twitching.

  I take advantage of the confusion Rage has caused and angle to the right, hoping to slip by unnoticed. But other zombies who were sheltering on the platforms have heard the noises and come to investigate. When they spot me tearing by, they clamber over the ticket barriers and surge towards me in a mob, forcing me back into the centre of the concourse.

  Rage is surrounded and is lashing out with his fists, trying to shove past those who block his way. It looks impossible, but he’s kept up his momentum, like a burly rugby player forcing back a scrum.

  I take a different approach. As zombies clutch at me and throw themselves in my path, I duck and shimmy and veer around them. I’ve been in a situation like this before, in Liverpool Street, when I was trying to escape with Sister Clare of the Shnax, so I put that experience to good use.

  A sprawling zombie – he looks like he was a construction worker when he was alive – grabs my left leg just above my ankle and pulls me down. I kick out at him as I fall and he slides away from me. I realise he has no legs – they look like they were torn from him at the knees when he was turned – which is why he’s lying on the floor.

  Taking advantage of my unexpected fall, I slip through the legs of a couple of zombies ahead of me. One is a woman in a miniskirt. I grab hold of the skirt and spin her around, so that she clatters into several other zombies and knocks them over. As the skirt rips, I let her go, propel myself to my feet and carry on.

  Rage has found a way through the press of zombies around him and has picked up speed. He calls cheerfully to me, ‘This is the life, isn’t it?’

  I ignore him and stay focused on the reviveds, ducking their grasping fingers, kicking out at them, looking for open channels that I can exploit.

  Master Zhang is trailing us, slowly, as if out for a Sunday stroll. He watches calmly, but not too curiously. I guess he’s seen all this lot
s of times before.

  A girl my own sort of age grabs the rucksack on my back and tries to wrestle it from me, either realising that the smell is coming from there, or simply seeing it as the best way to slow me down. I turn sharply and slam the flat of my palm up into her chin, snapping her head back and knocking her loose.

  ‘An interesting move,’ Master Zhang says. ‘Most people in your position would have simply punched her.’

  I don’t reply. There’s no time. Before the girl staggers away from me, I grab her and force her to her knees. Then I step on to her back and launch myself forward, flying over the heads of a pack of zombies who were closing in on me.

  ‘Oh, now even I’ve got to applaud that one,’ Rage booms, clapping loudly. He’s been forced to a standstill close to where I land. ‘How about we do this as a team?’ he bellows, offering me his hand.

  ‘Get stuffed,’ I snap, and look for another small zombie that I can use as a springboard.

  This time, as I’m hurling myself into the air, one of the reviveds catches hold of my left foot and hauls me to the floor. A cluster of them press in around me, fingers clawing at my face, trying to rip my head open, to get to the juicy brain which they think is the source of the smell.

  ‘No!’ I scream, pushing them back and struggling to my feet. I look around desperately, hoping that Master Zhang will help. But he just stands there, gazing at me, challenging me with his expression to figure my own way out of this mess.

  Rage is moving forward again. He’s snapped an arm off one of the zombies and is using it as a club, lashing out at anyone within range. Many of the zombies who get knocked back by him shake their heads, then refocus on me, figuring I offer easier pickings. A huge crowd of them starts to close in around me.