Zom-B Angels (4 page)

‘If you mean will your wounds worsen, no. You will have to endure the pain, but that is all.’

I nod slowly, thinking it over. Then I decide to hell with it. Maybe I’m a fool, but I want to trust this guy. I
need
to trust him. I’ve felt so alone since I came back from
the dead, even when I’ve been surrounded by others. Without someone to believe in, what’s the point of going on?

‘All right, doc,’ I sigh as I take off the rest of my clothes. ‘I can’t be bothered waiting. I’m hopping in. You might have to adjust the temperature for me though
— I like my bathwater
hot
.’

GggggggggR 0000000 Oveeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!

Next thing I know, I’m flopping about on the floor of the lab like a dying fish, vomiting up liquid. The room seems extraordinarily bright. I moan and start to shield my
eyes with a hand. Before I can, someone tosses a towel over my head and says something. I can’t hear them clearly, so I slide my hand in under the towel to stick a finger in my ear and clear
it out.

‘No!’ comes a roar loud enough to penetrate even my clogged ear canals. ‘You might damage your ear with the bone sticking out of your finger.’

I’d forgotten about the bones. Lowering the hand, I try to ask the person their name, but my throat and mouth are full of the solution from the Tube.

‘Keep as still as you can,’ a boy says. ‘We know what we’re doing.’

Someone lifts the towel and gently runs a cotton bud round the inside of my left ear, then my right. A plastic tube slides up under my chin and I’m instructed to feed it down my
throat.

‘I know it’s gross,’ a girl says, ‘but we have to pump your stomach dry, otherwise you won’t be able to talk.’

With a grimace, I stick the tube into my mouth – it’s tricky because my teeth sprouted while I was blissed out – and force it down. When it can’t play out any more, I
hold it in place while a machine is switched on, and keep my lips open wide while liquid is pumped out of my stomach.

After several minutes there’s nothing left to come up. The machine is turned off and I’m handed a pair of sunglasses.

‘Put them on,’ the girl tells me. ‘The room will still seem brighter than normal, but you’ll soon adjust.’

I slip on the shades and tug the towel from my head. Squinting against the light, I spot the boy and girl, both a bit younger than me.

‘
Groo gar goo?
’ I gurgle.

‘Take it easy,’ the boy says, picking up a smaller hooked tube. ‘Your lungs are still full. We have to slide this down into them. Are you ready?’

‘
Ghursh.
’

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ he smirks and carefully slides the tube into my mouth. He has a torch attached to a headband, the sort that surgeons use, and he shines it between my
teeth as he searches for the correct opening. When he finds it, he begins to poke the tube down my windpipe. It’s a horrible feeling and my instinct is to grind my teeth together and snap
through the tube. But I know these guys are trying to help, so I fight the urges of my body.

The boy switches on the machine again and pumps my lungs dry. When he turns it off and withdraws the tube, I cough and scowl at the pair.

‘Ish that iht?’ I mumble, words still coming out garbled because of my oversized teeth, but a lot clearer than before.

‘Just about,’ the girl giggles. ‘But the pump doesn’t force out every last drop. The liquid will have made its way through your digestive system. We need to give you an
enema.’

‘What’sh that?’ I ask.

She holds up a third tube. ‘We need to insert this up your . . .’ She nods at my bum.

‘Ihf you try to shtick that fhing ihn me, I’ll ram iht up
your
hole!’ I bark, slapping the tube from her hands.

‘Fine,’ she shrugs. ‘You can wear a nappy for the next week instead.’

I swear and glare at the grinning pair. ‘Mahke him turn his bahck,’ I growl.

‘Like it’s something I
want
to see,’ the boy snorts and turns away, focusing his attention elsewhere.

I’ve never had an enema before, and I don’t ever want one again, and that’s all I’m saying about that!

When the girl has cleared me out, she leads me to a shower and I hose myself down, washing off the grey gunk from the Groove Tube. When I step out, she hands me a robe. I pull it on gratefully.
Even though I’m cleaner than I’ve ever been, I feel strangely soiled.

‘No need to be ashamed,’ the girl says as I towel my hair dry. ‘We all have to suffer this when we come out of the Groove Tubes. It’s a small price to pay. Look at your
arms.’

I roll up the sleeves of the robe and study my elbows. When I slid into the Tube, the flesh around them had been ripped to pieces, the bone exposed in places. Now they look almost as good as
new. Scarred, pink flesh, but whole and healthy-looking.

I part the front of my robe and examine the hole in the left side of my chest. It’s still an ugly, gaping wound, but it doesn’t look as messy as it did. Some of the green moss has
come away in the tank, and it’s not as foresty as it was.

I close my robe again and stare at the glass-fronted cylinder. The liquid is being drained from it, but slowly. It’s murkier than before, having absorbed dead cells, blood and all sorts of
gunk from my body while I was bobbing up and down inside. I showered thoroughly before getting in, however many weeks ago it was, but there was still a lot of dirt to come out.

‘Where’sh Docktohr Oyshteeen?’ I ask.

‘He’s not here,’ the boy says. ‘He’s been gone the last week or more, at his other laboratory. He told us to apologise on his behalf. He would have liked to be here
to welcome you back into the world, but his work called him away.’

‘It often does,’ the girl says, ‘so don’t take it personally.’

‘I whon’t. Who are yhou?’

‘I’m Cian,’ the boy says.

‘And I’m Awnya,’ the girl adds. ‘We’re twins.’

‘The only twin revitaliseds in London as far as we know,’ Cian says proudly.

‘Probably the world,’ Awnya beams.

‘Congrachulayshuns,’ I mutter sarcastically.

‘We’re in charge of clothing, bedding, furniture and so on,’ Cian tells me. ‘If there’s anything you need that you can’t be bothered going to look for
yourself, let us know and we’ll do our best to get it for you, whether it’s designer clothes, a certain brand of shoe or a specific type of hat.’

‘We got rid of your old clothes,’ Awnya says, ‘but we held on to the slouch hat in case it had sentimental value. You’ll find it on a shelf in your bedroom.’

‘Thanksh.’

My gaze returns to the Groove Tube, longingly this time. I don’t remember much after Dr Oystein helped me climb inside. I recall the feeling of the liquid oozing down my throat –
surprisingly not as unpleasant as when I had to force it back up – but then I drifted off into a blissful state where everything seemed warm and right. It was like I used to feel when
I’d lie in bed on a Sunday morning, having stayed up late to watch horror movies the night before, not asleep but not yet fully awake. The feeling of being somewhere comfortable and safe, the
world not totally real, still part dreamy.

I smoked a bit of weed back in the day – Mum would have killed me if she’d known! – but I didn’t try anything more exotic. Based on what friends of mine who had done
harder drugs told me, the feeling I had inside the Groove Tube must have been a lot like going on a headtrip. Part of me wants to crawl back inside and bliss out again, return to the land of dreams
and stay there forever, escape this world of the living dead. But I recall what Dr Oystein told me about only using the Tubes to cure injuries. Besides, that would be like committing suicide. This
is a bad, mad world, but running away from it isn’t the answer. Well, it’s not
my
answer.

I’m about to ask the twins to show me to my room when I glance at the other Groove Tubes and come to a halt. One of the Tubes is occupied by a large teenager. He has a big head, hair cut
close, small ears, beady eyes. Fat, rosy cheeks, a chunk bitten out of the left one. He looks like a real bruiser, and I know that in this case looks are definitely
not
deceptive.

The last time I saw this guy was in a corridor deep underground. He’d just killed a scientist and scooped the still-warm brain from the dead man’s skull. He was a zom head like me
and the others, but he took off solo, leaving the rest of us to rot. He cared only for himself and was prepared to kill his guardians and betray his friends as long as it suited his own selfish
purposes.

He looks comical, floating in the Tube, naked, eyes open as they are on all zombies, but expression distant. He’s unaware of everything, defenceless, at the mercy of Dr Oystein and his
Angels.

And me.

But I’m not prepared to show him mercy, just as he didn’t show any to me, Mark or the other zom heads. This bastard deserves execution more than most, and I’m just the girl to
do the world that small favour.

‘
Rhage!
’ I snarl, pressing my face up close to the glass of the Groove Tube. Then I step back and look around eagerly for a weapon to kill him.

‘No, B,’ Cian snaps and tries to pull me back.

I wrestle with the boy and throw him to the floor. Awnya rushes me, but I grab her by the throat, then slam her to the ground beside her brother. Good to see the old fighting touch hasn’t
deserted me.

The twins quickly and easily dealt with, I turn back towards the Groove Tube, fingers flexing, snarling viciously. But before I can focus, someone says, ‘Take one more step towards him and
I’ll fry you.’

I pause and peer around the lab. At first I can’t see anyone. Then he moves and I spot him, standing close to the door which opens on to the courtyard. He takes several strides towards me
and his face swims into view. A burly man with brown hair and stubble, wearing a dark blue outfit that wouldn’t look out of place on a security guard. The last time I saw him, he was in
military fatigues.

‘
Rheilly?
’ I gawp.

The soldier smiles tightly. ‘None other.’

‘What the hell are yhou doing here?’

‘The same as usual — guarding those who don’t deserve guarding.’

Reilly stops a couple of metres from me. He’s holding some sort of a gun, but it doesn’t look like any I’ve seen before.

‘Step away from the Tube, B.’

‘Shkroo yhou, arsh hohl,’ I snap.

His smile broadens. ‘That was one of the first things you said when we originally filed your teeth down, back when you revitalised. It’s like we’ve come full circle. I feel
nostalgic.’

‘Fhunny guy,’ I sneer, than tap the glass of the Groove Tube. ‘He killed Docktohr Sherverus.’

‘I know.’

‘Pohked his eye out, cut his head open and tuhcked in.’

‘I’m not a goldfish,’ Reilly sniffs. ‘I was there. I remember.’

‘Sho I’m gonna kill him. Retchribooshun.’

‘Don’t make me laugh,’ Reilly snorts. ‘You hated Dr Cerveris. His death didn’t matter to you in the slightest.’

I shake my head. ‘Yesh, I hated him. But I didn’t whant to kill him. Rhage ish a shavage. Becaush ohf him, Mark and the othersh are dead.’

‘I know,’ Reilly says, softly this time. ‘That sucks, the way they slaughtered the revitaliseds. It’s one of the reasons I cut my ties with Josh and the rest after
they’d regained control of the complex. But Dr Oystein offered Rage a home when he came here, wounded like you were, in need of sanctuary, even though he wouldn’t admit it. Rage was
dubious, especially when he saw you. He wanted to kill you, like you want to kill him. But Dr Oystein protected you and promised to do the same for Rage while he was incapable of defending
himself.’

‘Don’t care,’ I growl. ‘Gonna kill him anywhay.’

Reilly raises his gun.

‘Don’t tell me it’sh me ohr him,’ I groan.

‘No,’ Reilly says. ‘I’m not going to kill you. This is a stun gun. It fires spiked electrodes into your flesh, then fries you with a burst of electricity that would bring
down an elephant. You’re tough, B, but this will floor you for at least half an hour. Trust me, you do
not
want to put yourself through that. However bad your enema felt, it’s
nothing in comparison with this.’