ZOM-B Baby (2 page)

‘Maybe you were right,’ Burke mutters. ‘We might have been better off if we’d killed him when he was in the Groove Tube.’

I chuckle. ‘You don’t really mean that.’

‘No,’ he smiles. ‘I suppose I don’t. But I’ll have to keep a close watch on him. I hadn’t realised he was this dangerous.’

‘The clue was in the name,’ I note drily.

Burke winces. ‘It’s always a dark day when the student becomes the teacher. Especially a student as limited as you were. No offence.’

‘Get stuffed.’

We laugh, and for a while it’s like we’re back in school, just a cool teacher and a teenage girl sharing a joke.

‘So what do
you
think of the whole Dr Oystein and God thing?’ I ask.

Burke sighs. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Of course it does.’

‘Why?’ he challenges me. ‘Isn’t faith a personal choice? Don’t we all listen to our hearts and choose to believe – or not – based on what we feel rather than on what other people tell us?’

‘No,’ I snort. ‘We believe whatever our parents tell us, until we’re old enough to decide for ourselves. Then most of us go along with what we grew up with because it’s easier than trying to learn something new.’

Burke claps enthusiastically. ‘My star student. Why did you never come up with airtight reasoning like that in class?’

‘Because school was boring,’ I tell him.

‘Ouch,’ he says, then sighs again. ‘You’re right of
course. But whether we choose to believe or just stick with the faith we’ve grown up with, the truth is that nobody can ever say for sure if there’s a God or not. Dr Oystein is convinced that there is, and for all I know he’s right.’

‘But if he’s not?’ I press.

‘I don’t think it matters.’ Burke grimaces. ‘I mean, under different circumstances I’d be wary of him. Lots of wars have been fought by people who used religion as an excuse. Kings, politicians and generals twisted the beliefs of their followers as they saw fit, playing the religious card to justify their crusades over land, oil, gold or whatever it was they were really fighting for.’

‘Isn’t that what Dr Oystein is doing?’ I ask.

‘I don’t think so. He’s asking us only to have faith in him, not in his God, to accept that he’s working in the name of good, to overcome the forces of darkness which are stacked against us. Whatever you think about God, nobody can deny that we’re facing dark times. The zombies, Mr Dowling and his mutants … These are forces we can’t ignore, enemies
that have to be faced. Every so often a war that
must
be fought comes along, and I think this is one of them.’

‘Yeah, fair enough,’ I mumble. ‘But is a nutjob the best man to lead the fight against the bad guys?’

‘If not Dr Oystein, then who?’ Burke asks. ‘You?’

‘Hell, no. I’m not a leader.’

‘Nor am I,’ Burke says. ‘It takes a certain breed of person to command. Dr Oystein is a rarity, a man with the ability to lead but not the desire — he’s told me that he’s only doing this because it’s him or nobody, and I believe him. The alternative is someone who craves power — the likes of Josh Massoglia or Dr Cerveris. Do you really want to pledge yourself to someone like that?’

‘No, but …’ I shift uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t like Josh or Dr Cerveris, but they ran a tight ship.’

‘Until Mr Dowling penetrated their defences,’ Burke says, then leads me from the Victorian chamber, through the rest of the Dungeon, and out towards the front of the building. When we’re in the fresh air, beneath the shadow of the London Eye, he continues.

‘This is a chance to start afresh,’ he says softly. ‘Whether it was divine retribution or a mess of our own making, the world
has
fallen, the old order
has
crashed and burnt. If we can find a way to deal with the zombies, this is an incredible opportunity to begin again and try to improve upon the mistakes of the past.

‘If you believe the stories of the Old Testament in the Bible, this isn’t the first time this has happened. The Flood wiped the slate clean and people had to start over. Things didn’t work out too well that time, but who’s to say we can’t do better now? The zombies and mutants are clear-cut enemies. Everyone can recognise them as a threat and join against them — Jew, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, white and black, all fighting together, differences set aside.

‘If we win this war, power-hungry people will immediately start thinking about how to establish control over the remnants of mankind. They’ll look for new foes and threats, and work the survivors up into an agitated state. Hatred and domination are the ways of the past and will in all likelihood be the ways
of the future too. Unless Dr Oystein and his Angels can help us change.’

Burke pulls a face. ‘I know I’m being a crazy optimist, but I can’t help myself. The best that the old leaders can offer is a return to the status quo. I think, based on what I’ve seen of him, that Dr Oystein holds the promise of true redemption. He’s what a leader should be — a man who is reluctant to tell others how they should behave and what they should believe.’

‘I don’t know if I agree with you,’ I say miserably. ‘I want to, but I can’t get over the fact that this is a guy who claims to be in touch with God. It’s hard for me to go along with someone like that.’

Burke nods. ‘I understand. I won’t try to pressure you, just as Dr Oystein won’t. If you can reconcile yourself to working with us, we’ll welcome your support and you can help us take the fight to Mr Dowling, rescue survivors, work with those who’ve established compounds beyond the confines of the city, search for a way to suppress the zombies. There’s going to be so much to do, so many wars to be waged. We’ll need all the help we can get.

‘But if you can’t trust the doctor, we’ll respect your decision. You’re free to leave any time you want. I doubt you’ll find a more secure home anywhere else in this ruin of a country, but if you need to search for one, you’ll depart with our best wishes.’

I growl uncertainly. ‘I want to stay with you, but I’m gonna need more time to think about it.’

‘That’s fine,’ Burke says. ‘We’re in no rush. Take all the time you want.’ He turns to leave, then looks back at me with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. ‘You know what might help?’

‘What?’ I ask suspiciously.

Burke points to the sky. ‘You could pray,’ he says, then skips along with a laugh as I hurl a most unholy curse after him.

I head back to the training room and find Master Zhang still there, sitting in a corner. He nods for me to enter when he sees me in the doorway. I take up a position opposite him. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, but I just plop down on my bum and draw my knees up to my chest.

There’s a sweet smell in the air. Some kind of flavoured tea. It’s coming from a pot to the master’s right. There’s a kettle of water boiling on a small stove to his left.

‘I miss the taste of tea more than anything,’ he says
softly, lifting the lid of the pot to stir the contents. ‘It was one of the great pleasures of my life. I did not realise how important it was to me until I was denied it.’

Zhang sniffs the fumes then pours some more water into the pot. He turns off the stove and leaves the kettle to cool. There are some cups stacked behind him. He reaches back slowly, picks up two, passes one to me and sets the other down in front of him.

‘Is this a tea ceremony?’ I ask.

‘You know of such things?’ He sounds surprised.

‘I saw it on a few travel programmes. Looked like a lot of hassle for a simple cup of tea.’

‘The tea ceremony is an ancient Japanese ritual,’ Zhang says, pouring a cup of tea for me and one for himself. ‘It has much more to do with etiquette and tradition than tea. It is a purification process for the soul, a way to honour your guests and bond with them.

‘This is not a tea ceremony,’ he says, picking up his cup and inhaling. ‘I just enjoy the smell and the memory of the taste.’

Zhang sips from the cup, swishes the liquid round his mouth, then picks up a bowl which had been standing next to the cups and spits into it. He passes me the bowl and I follow suit, smelling the fumes, sipping the tea and spitting it out.

‘Didn’t get much of a kick from it,’ I note.

‘No,’ he says sadly. ‘This is a delicate blend. The flavours are subtle and difficult to detect even with an appreciative tongue. With our useless taste buds, we might as well be sipping water.’

‘Then why bother?’ I frown.

‘We might not be able to dream,’ Zhang says, ‘but we can use our imaginations. With the aid of the scent and the texture of the tea, I can sometimes trick myself into believing that I still taste.’

He takes another sip, swishes, spits it out and makes a sighing sound. ‘This is not one of those days.’

We take a few more sips, pretending there’s a point to this. The smell grows on me after a while, and sets me thinking about something.

‘Why do you suppose we can smell when we can’t taste?’

I’m not really expecting an answer, but Zhang surprises me.

‘It is for practical reasons,’ he says. ‘Zombies need to smell, in order to be able to sniff out brains. But since brains are all we eat, we can function without our taste buds.’

I scratch my head, thinking it over. ‘Yeah, that makes sense. I should have figured it out before.’

‘Yes,’ Zhang says. ‘You should.’

I scowl, then laugh. ‘You’re Chinese, aren’t you?’ I ask, changing the subject.

‘Yes.’

‘But the tea ceremony is Japanese …’

‘I have travelled widely,’ he says. ‘I like to think of myself as a citizen of the world. Besides, the Chinese introduced tea to Japan, so I feel that I have a natural entitlement to engage in the ceremony.’

‘What’s the situation like in China now?’ I ask.

‘Not good,’ he says quietly. ‘We had the largest population in the world. That means we now have the largest number of zombies. Life is grim everywhere
for those who have survived, but it is particularly difficult in China and India.’

We finish off the tea in silence. When we’re done, Zhang stands and moves to the centre of the room, beckoning me to follow. I stand opposite him, ready to be hurled to the floor. But this time he throws a punch at my face.

With a yelp, I knock his hand aside and step back. He follows, throwing another punch. Again I block it and move away from him. Zhang sweeps his leg beneath both of mine and I fall in a heap.

‘What the hell!’ I snap, rolling away from him.

‘You blocked admirably,’ he says calmly. ‘And your first defensive step was well judged. Your second, on the other hand …’ He tuts.

I stand and dust myself down. ‘Is this the start of my real training?’ I ask.

‘No,’ he says. ‘The real training started the first time I threw you.’

He chops at me and forces me back again. This time I repel four of his attacks before he sweeps my feet from under me.

‘You know what I mean,’ I mutter, rising again. ‘Are you going to teach me to fight now, to strike and defend myself, the way you teach the others?’

‘Yes,’ he says and comes forward a third time, lifting his left foot high to kick my chest. I grab the leg and try to twist it. Zhang rolls with the twist, brings his right leg up and kicks the side of my head, knocking me to the ground.

‘That was ambitious,’ he says. ‘Ambition is good. Caution is better, at least to begin with.’

‘You’re telling me to walk before I try to run?’ I ask, getting up again.

‘No,’ he says. ‘We have no time for walking here. You must learn swiftly and take short cuts. I do not have time to train you in all the ways of the martial arts. So, when in doubt, go for the simplest solution.’

Zhang kicks at me with his left foot again. This time I chop at his ankle then step back out of reach.

‘Good,’ he grunts and closes in, kicking, punching, chopping, forcing me back, testing my reflexes.

Zhang spars with me for half an hour before telling me to go and rest. ‘You did well,’ he says. ‘We will focus on specific moves next time. This was a useful first workout.’

I bow to Master Zhang and turn to leave. But something’s niggling me. I stop and face him again. He raises the eyebrow of his bloodshot eye – it must have been bloodshot when he was turned into a zombie, and since we don’t heal properly, I’m guessing it will be like that forever – then nods to let me know I can speak.

‘Did Dr Oystein tell you to do this?’ I ask. ‘To step up my training and stop just throwing me about?’

‘Why would you think that?’ he replies.

‘Dr Oystein told me about his conversations with God.’

Zhang’s expression doesn’t change. He waits for me to continue.

‘I think it’s a load of nonsense. I’m not sure if I believe in God. Even if I do, I don’t think He talks to zombies and asks them to save the world.’

‘You must be a wise young lady to be able to dismiss the teachings and beliefs of your elders so easily,’ Zhang says.

‘Of course I’m not,’ I say sourly. ‘I know my limits. But my nose works as well as yours. I recognise bullshit when I smell it.’

‘Really?’ Zhang smiles thinly. ‘Did you eat cheese when you were alive?’

I look at him as if he’s crazy. ‘What sort of a question is that?’

‘A simple one. I enjoyed cheese very much and tried many varieties over the years. They all tasted good to me, but the smell … Some smelled as good as they tasted. Others stank of old socks, fresh vomit, even, yes,
bullshit
.’

‘Is this one of those famous Chinese riddles?’ I ask when he doesn’t continue.

‘No,’ he says. ‘I am merely pointing out the fact that sometimes one cannot judge by smell alone. Oystein said nothing to me of his meeting with you. I decided to vary your routine because I thought the time was right. I will be doing the same with Rage when he next comes to me. There is nothing more to it than that, no matter what your nose might tell you.’

‘Fair enough,’ I grunt.

‘You believe me?’ he asks.

‘Yeah.’

‘Then why don’t you believe Oystein?’

‘Because you’re not telling me that you can talk with God.’ I pause. ‘You’re not, are you?’

Zhang shakes his head. ‘I do not believe in God. Or reincarnation. Or any kind of supernatural realm.’ He makes a small sighing sound, looking his age for once — he can only have been in his early twenties when he was turned into a zombie. ‘My lack of faith was a source of grave concern for my parents.’

‘Then what the hell are you doing here?’ I growl.

He shrugs. ‘I believe in the doctor. He rescued me years ago. I was living in a small village but had moved there from a large city. I had been vaccinated against the zombie gene. Oystein kept track of me, the way he tried to keep track of all his children — and that is how he thinks of us.

‘When there was an outbreak of zombies in my village, troops moved in to contain it. We were sealed off from the world and those who had been infected
were executed. Oystein made sure that I was not killed. He had me isolated and fed. My guardians were issued with strict instructions not to harm me.

‘I took almost five months to revitalise. Most people would have given up on me. Not Oystein. He hates abandoning any of us.’

‘But it’s got to be a problem for you,’ I mutter. ‘How can you believe in him if you don’t believe he really speaks with God?’

‘It is not an issue,’ Zhang insists. ‘He has never asked me to accept his beliefs. He has only asked me to fight, which is all he is asking of you too.’

Zhang returns to his cups and bowls and begins to tidy them away. ‘It is very straightforward in my view,’ he says. ‘A war to decide the future of this planet is being fought. We must choose sides or pretend it is not happening. Assuming you do not go down the road of blind ignorance, and are not on the side of evil, you must back Oystein, regardless of whatever flaws you perceive in him, or look for another leader to support.’

‘Do you think there are others out there?’

‘I am sure there are. But they will have flaws too. You must ask yourself which is worse — a leader firmly rooted in reality who thirsts for power and control, or a truly good-hearted man who might be a touch delusional.

‘I do not think that God exists,’ Zhang says, heading for the door. ‘But there are certainly godly people on this planet, and I am honoured that one of them has deemed me worthy of his friendship and support. You should be too, as I doubt there are many pure people in this world who would see goodness within
you
.’ He looks at me with a probing expression. ‘Do you even see it within yourself?’

I think of the bad things I have done. Of my racist past. Of Tyler Bayor.

And I can’t say a word.

‘I will see you tomorrow for training,’ Zhang says softly, and shuts the door with a heel, leaving me even more confused and unsure than I was when I came in.