Zom-B Angels (6 page)

Awnya shows me to one of the spare beds. There’s a bedside cabinet next to it. A few files for my teeth rest on top of the cabinet, along with the watches I was wearing, one of which was
smashed to pieces in Trafalgar Square.

‘Your hat’s over there,’ Cian says, pointing to a shelf. The shelf is blue, and so are the two shelves above it. ‘The blue shelves are yours. You can stick anything you
want on them, clothes, books, CDs, whatever. Half of that wardrobe –’ he points to my left, ‘– is yours too. You’re sharing with a guy called Jakob. He doesn’t
have much, so you should have plenty of room.’

‘What about a bedroom of my own?’ I ask.

Cian and Awnya shake their heads at the same time, the exact same way.

‘Dr Oystein says it’s important for us to share,’ Cian says.

‘It’s the same for every Angel,’ Awnya says. ‘Nobody gets their own room.’

I frown. ‘That’s weird, isn’t it?’

‘It’s meant to bring us closer together,’ Awnya says.

‘Plus it stops people arguing about who gets the rooms with the best views and most space,’ Cian says.

‘All right,’ I sniff. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be using it much anyway. It’s not like we need to sleep, is it?’

‘No,’ Cian says hesitantly. ‘But Dr Oystein prefers it if we keep regular hours. We act as we did when we were alive. Most of us get up about seven every morning, do our
chores, train, hang out, eat, whatever. Then we come to bed at midnight and lie in the dark for seven hours, resting.’

‘It’s good to have a routine,’ Awnya says. ‘It’s comforting. You don’t have to use your bed – nobody’s going to force you – but if you want
to fit in with the rest of us . . .’

‘Sounds worse than prison,’ I grumble, but I’m complaining just for the sake of it. Sinking on to the bed, I pick at my robe. ‘What about clothes?’

‘We thought you might want to choose your own,’ Awnya says. ‘We can get gear for you if you have specific requests. Otherwise we’ll take you out later and show you round
some of our favourite shops.’

‘That sounds good,’ I smile. ‘I like to pick my own stuff.’

‘We figured as much,’ Awnya says smugly. ‘We’ll come and collect you in an hour or so.’

‘What will I do until then?’ I ask.

The twins shrug in unison.

‘Get the feel of the place,’ Cian says.

‘Relax,’ Awnya suggests.

‘Keep quiet,’ Ashtat lobs in.

I give her the finger, even though she can’t see me, and slip on the watch that works, an ultra-expensive model that I picked up in the course of my travels. As the twins leave, I start to
ask them for the correct time, in case the watch is wrong, but they’re gone before I can.

I sigh and stare around the room, at the bed, the furniture, the silent girl and her matchstick model. Then, because I’ve nothing better to do, and because I’m a wicked sod, I start
filing my teeth again, as loudly as I can, treating myself to a mischievous grin every time Ashtat twitches and shoots me a dirty look.

The twins take me over the river and into the Covent Garden area. True to their word, they know all the best shops, not just those with the coolest gear, but those with the
least zombies. The living dead don’t bother us much once they realise we’re like them, but it’s still easier to browse in places where they aren’t packed in like
sardines.

I choose several pairs of black jeans, a variety of dark T-shirts, a few jumpers and a couple of jackets. New sunglasses too, and a baseball cap with a skull design that I spot in a window, for
those days when I don’t feel like the Australian hat which has served me well so far.

When it comes to shoes, the twins have a neat little device which screws into the material, making holes for the bones sticking out of my toes to jut through. They measure my feet and bore the
holes with all the care of professional cobblers.

‘I like it,’ I grunt, admiring my new trainers.

‘Dr Oystein invented that years ago,’ Cian tells me, pocketing the gadget. ‘He’s like one of those crazy inventors you read about in comics.’

‘Only not actually crazy,’ Awnya adds.

‘I don’t know about –’ I start to say, but a rapping sound on the shop window stops me.

We all instantly drop to our knees. There’s another rap, a loud, clattering sound, but I can’t see anyone.

‘Do you think it’s a revived?’ I whisper.

‘I don’t know,’ Cian says.

‘I hope so,’ Awnya croaks.

There’s a long silence. I look around for another way out. Then there are two more raps on the glass. I spot a hand, low down and to the left, close to the open door. Another two raps.
Then a series of short raps.

I roll my eyes and stand. ‘Very funny,’ I shout.

‘Careful, B,’ Awnya moans. ‘We don’t know who it is.’

‘But we know they have lousy taste in movies,’ I snort. ‘I recognise those raps. They’re the theme tune from
Jaws
.’

‘And what’s wrong with that?’ a girl challenges me, stepping into view outside. ‘
Jaws
is a classic.’

‘The hell it is,’ I reply. ‘A boring old film with lousy special effects, and hardly anyone gets killed.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ the girl says, stepping into the shop. Four teenage boys appear and follow her in. The girl smiles at the twins. ‘Hey,
guys, sorry if we frightened you.’

‘We weren’t frightened,’ Cian says with a dismissive shake of his head, as if the very idea is offensive to him. ‘We were excited. Thought we were going to see some
action at last.’

‘This is Ingrid,’ Awnya introduces the girl. ‘She’s one of us.’

‘I figured as much.’ I cast an eye over the tall, blonde, athletic-looking girl. She’s dressed in leathers, a bit like those the zom heads used to wear when they were
tormenting reviveds.

‘You must be B,’ Ingrid says.

‘Word travels fast,’ I smile.

‘Not that fast,’ Ingrid says. ‘You were in a Groove Tube for almost a month.’

My smile vanishes.

‘What are you doing over here?’ Cian asks. ‘Are you on a mission?’

‘Yeah,’ Ingrid says.

‘What sort of a mission?’ I ask.

‘The usual,’ she shrugs. ‘Looking for survivors. Searching for brains. Keeping an eye out for Mr Dowling or any other intruders.’

‘We do this a lot,’ one of the boys says. ‘Not the most interesting of jobs, but it gets us out of County Hall.’

‘Sounds like fun,’ I lie, eager to see what they get up to. ‘Can I come with you?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Ingrid says. ‘You haven’t been cleared for action by Master Zhang.’

‘Aw, go on, Ingrid,’ Cian pleads. ‘If it’s a normal mission, where’s the harm? We can tag along too. We won’t tell.’

‘I don’t know,’ Ingrid says. ‘This is serious business. If anything happened to you . . .’

‘It won’t,’ Awnya says, as keen as her brother to get involved.

Ingrid checks with the rest of her pack. ‘What do you guys think?’

They shrug. ‘Doesn’t matter to us,’ one of them says.

‘Three mugs to throw to Mr Dowling and his mutants if they turn up,’ another guy smiles. ‘Might buy us enough time to slip away.’

‘Bite me,’ I snap, and they all laugh.

‘OK,’ Ingrid decides. ‘You can keep us company for a while. The experience will be good for you. But don’t get in our way, do what we tell you and run like hell if we get
into trouble.’

‘How will we know?’ Awnya asks nervously.

‘Oh, trouble’s easy to spot,’ Ingrid says with an icy smile. ‘It’ll be when people start dying.’

The Angels check the apartments above the shops, searching for survivors who might be holed up, or the corpses of people who died recently, whose brains might still be edible.
They don’t talk much, operating in silence most of the time, sweeping the rooms swiftly and efficiently.

One of the guys opens all of the doors. He has a set of skeleton keys and can deal with just about any lock that he encounters.

‘That’s Ivor Bolton,’ Awnya whispers.

‘Was he a thief when he was alive?’ I ask.

‘No. Master Zhang taught him.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘Our mentor,’ Awnya says. ‘He trains every Angel. You’ll meet him soon.’

‘Do you all learn how to open locks?’ I ask

‘Only those who show a natural talent for it,’ Cian says.

I stare at Ivor enviously. I hope I show that sort of promise. I’d love to be able to crack open locks and gain entrance to anywhere I wanted.

We explore more rooms, Ingrid and her team taking it slowly, carefully, searching for hiding places in wardrobes and under beds, tapping the walls for secret panels.

‘Do you ever find people?’ I ask as we exit a building and move on.

‘Living people?’ Ingrid shrugs. ‘Rarely, around here. Most of the survivors in this area moved on or died ages ago. We dig up the occasional fresh corpse, but mainly
we’re checking that the buildings are clear, that potential enemies aren’t setting up base close to County Hall.’

‘What do you do if you find someone alive?’ I ask.

She shrugs again. ‘It depends on whether they want to come with us or not. Many don’t trust us and leg it. If they stop and listen, we tell them about County Hall and offer to take
them to it, and from there to somewhere safe.’

‘That’s one of the main things the Angels do,’ Awnya chips in. ‘We lead survivors out of London to secure camps in the countryside.’

‘It’s not as easy as it sounds,’ Cian says.

‘I bet not,’ I grunt, thinking of all the difficulties I faced simply getting from the East End to here. ‘Have you been on any of those missions yet?’ I ask Ingrid.

‘No,’ she sighs. ‘It’s all been local scouting missions for us so far.’

‘Long may they continue,’ one of the boys mutters.

Cian scowls. ‘You don’t want to tackle the harder challenges?’

‘We’re not suicidal,’ the boy snorts.

‘Do you feel the same way?’ I ask Ingrid.

She looks uncertain. ‘Part of me wants to be a hero. But some of the Angels who go on the more dangerous missions don’t make it back.’

We enter another building, a block of flats set behind a row of shops. We start up the stairs, the plan being to work our way down from the top. We’re coming to the top of the fourth
flight when Ingrid stops abruptly and presses herself against the wall.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, as she makes some gestures to the boys in her team.

‘I think I heard something,’ she whispers.

‘What?’

‘I’m not sure. But we were here just a week ago. The place was deserted then.’ She points to Ivor and another of the boys and sends them forward to check.

We wait in silence for the pair to return. I feel out of my depth. I want a weapon, something to defend myself with. Although, looking round at the others, I see that they don’t have any
weapons either. I want to ask them why they came out without knives or guns, but I don’t want to be the one to break the silence.

There’s no sign of Ivor and his partner. Ingrid gives it a few minutes, then signals to the other two boys to go and look for them.

‘This is bad,’ Cian groans quietly.

Ingrid fries him with a heated look and presses a finger to her lips.

The seconds tick away slowly. I keep checking the time on my watch. I want to push forward to find out what’s happening, but I’m a novice here. I don’t have the right to take
control.

Ingrid waits a full five minutes, then swears mutely, just mouthing the word. She looks at me and the twins. Makes a gulping motion and licks her lips. Nods at us to backtrack and follows us
down to the third floor.

‘I don’t know what’s going on, but it can’t be anything good,’ she says quietly. ‘Wait here for me, but no more than a couple of minutes. If I don’t
come back or shout to let you know that it’s safe, return to County Hall and send others after us.
Do not
follow me up there, no matter what, OK?’

‘I’m scared,’ Awnya whimpers.

Cian hugs her, but he looks even more worried than his sister.

Ingrid casts a questioning glance at me.

‘I’ll take care of them,’ I tell her.

She nods, then pads up the stairs.

Time seems to slow down even more. I fix my gaze on my watch, willing the hands to move faster, wanting Ingrid and her crew to appear and give us the all-clear. But when that doesn’t
happen, and the time limit passes, I look up at the twins.

‘We’re leaving?’ Cian asks.

I shake my head. ‘I can’t. I’ve got to help them if I can. You guys go. Don’t wait for me. Go now.’

‘No,’ Awnya says, horrified. ‘Come with us, B. You can’t go up there by yourself.’

‘I have to. Don’t argue. Get the hell out of here and tell the others what has happened.’

‘But . . .’ She looks like she wants to cry, but being undead, she can’t.

I start up as the twins start down. They go slowly, hesitantly, unable to believe that I’m following Ingrid and her team. I can barely believe it either. I must be mad. I hardly know them.
I don’t owe them anything. I should beat it with the twins.

But I don’t. Maybe it’s because I want to be a dumb hero. Or maybe it’s because I don’t think anything can be as scary as Mr Dowling and his mutants. Or maybe it’s
the memory of Tyler Bayor, and what I did to him, that drives me on. Whatever the reason, I climb the steps, readying myself for battle, wondering what can have taken the Angels so swiftly and
silently. I didn’t even hear one of them squeak.