ZOM-B Baby (4 page)

I train hard for the next week. Now that Master Zhang has started practising proper moves with me, I learn new things every day. It’s a real mix — karate, judo, boxing. We also focus a lot on fighting with knives, steel bars, hammers, screwdrivers, things like that.

‘This is all about practical application,’ he tells me. ‘Apart from some knives, we will not send you out armed. You will fight mostly with your hands, but if you ever need a weapon, you must know how to make use of whatever you can find.’

I ask him why we don’t use guns. ‘The zombies don’t have any. Surely we could just go out with rifles and mow them down.’

‘There would be no honour in that,’ he replies.

‘But isn’t this all about winning?’ I press.

‘Not at any cost,’ he says. ‘Oystein is adamant about that. If we are to build a better world, we cannot do so by relying on the barbaric ways of the past.’

‘Reilly has a taser,’ I note.

‘Reilly is human,’ Zhang says calmly. ‘We are not. We have a choice — we can be less than we were or we can try to be more.’

‘It would be a lot easier if we had guns,’ I mutter.

‘The easy way is not always the better way,’ he says. ‘If we wish to rise above our foul situation, we must work harder to be honourable in death than we ever had to in life.’

Zhang shows me how to most effectively sharpen the bones sticking out of my fingers and toes. He says they’re our best weapons and he teaches me how to
incorporate them into the moves, how to dig and slice and gouge.

He also trains me to file my teeth in a different way. ‘You never know when you might have to rip out someone’s throat or chew through to their brain in a hurry.’

‘Is there honour in biting open a person’s throat?’ I ask innocently.

‘Less of your backchat,’ he growls but I know he’s smirking inside. We get along all right. We’re similar in many ways. Tough nuts.

I don’t discuss Dr Oystein with the other Angels. In fact I don’t talk to them much at all. I’ve been brooding ever since that day in the aquarium. No matter which way I look at it, I can’t accept what the doc told me. And being unable to accept that he’s on a mission from God, I find it hard to accept anything else about him, his offer of refuge or a role in the war he’s waging. Rage and Carl are able to sweep their misgivings under the carpet. I can’t.

Rage is fitting in better than me. He’s in his element, training hard with Master Zhang, messing
about with our room-mates, getting to know other Angels. He’s taken to this with ease.

That pisses me off. I was sure that Rage would be the outcast here, the one that the others would be wary of. I was almost looking forward to the day when he betrayed us, so I could say, ‘Told you so!’ But, as things stand, I’m the one who doesn’t belong, who’s falling adrift a little further every day. It’s not that the others aren’t trying to be nice to me. They are. But I see them as stooges who are playing along with Dr Oystein for all the wrong reasons, so I feel awkward around them and keep pushing them away.

The worst thing is, there’s no one for me to confide in. I’ve seen Dr Oystein a few times over the week, in corridors, the dining room and gym. He’s always smiled at me, made small talk a few times. I’m sure he’d be happy to discuss my concerns if I approached him, but what could I say? ‘Sorry, doc, I think you’re crazy and dangerous. Other than that you’re OK.’

Mr Burke is the only person I’d feel comfortable chatting about this with, but he’s gone off again on
a mission, to infiltrate another complex like the one where I was held captive, or to spy on Mr Dowling, or …

Actually, I don’t know what Burke, Dr Oystein and the others get up to. There hasn’t been much talk of how we’re supposed to take the fight to Mr Dowling and his mutants. Things seem to operate on a need-to-know basis around here. Or maybe it’s on an
if-we-can-trust-her
basis. Perhaps they’re withholding information from me because they sense that I’m not fully committed.

I suppose that’s logical. You don’t want to share all your secrets with someone who might walk out the door at any given moment. In their position I wouldn’t be too forthcoming with someone like me either. Still, that doesn’t make life any easier, just increases my belief that it’s me against the rest of them. Roll on full-blown paranoia!

‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ I snap and push myself away from the table.

I’m in the dining room, having just tucked into a bowl of Ciara’s latest batch of cranial stew. The others
are still chewing. They stare at me uncertainly, surprised by my outburst.

‘What’s wrong?’ Ciara asks, having stayed to chat with Reilly, who’s munching a hamburger that I’d give my left ear to be able to taste. ‘Is it too hot? Too cold? Lumpy?’

‘I wasn’t talking about the food.’ I force a smile, not wanting to offend the sweet, fashionably-dressed dinner lady. ‘The food’s great. Honest. I just … I can’t deal with this any more. I’ve got to get some air. I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back later.’

I storm away. I don’t know why things should have come to a head here, now, but they have. Something inside me snapped when I was sitting at the table, thinking about Dr Oystein and his claim to have a link to a higher power, and how everyone is happy to go along with whatever the doc says. I’ve been playing the good little girl, saying nothing, but I can’t do it any more.

I’m tramping down a corridor, not sure where I’m going or what my plans are, when someone rushes up behind me. Before I can react, arms snake across my
stomach and grab me. I’m hauled into the air and twirled round. I catch a glimpse of Rage’s face as I’m whirling.

‘Let me go!’ I shout.

‘Your wish is my command,’ he says and instantly releases me.

I stagger across the floor, slam into a wall and fall. My head is spinning badly. I lean forward and dry-heave. There are white flashes in front of my eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ Rage asks.

‘No,’ I gasp, then sit back against the wall and wait for my head to clear. When it finally does and the heaving stops, I glare at him. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘Just trying to cheer you up. Did you get dizzy?’

‘What does it look like, numbnuts?’

‘Did that used to happen when you were spun around in the past?’ he asks.

‘Yeah. Not as bad as this, but my ears were never the best. They used to pop like mad when I flew. If I went on a spinning ride at a funfair, I’d have a headache for hours.’

‘Oh. I thought it might be something to do with being dead. I was worried for a minute.’

‘No need to be,’ I snarl, getting to my feet. ‘You can still go on merry-go-rounds any time you like.’

‘I preferred you when you were suffering,’ Rage sniffs and reaches out to grab me again.

‘You’ll lose both hands if you try it,’ I snap, then squint at him. ‘Why the hell are you trying to cheer me up anyway? What does it matter to you how I feel?’

‘It doesn’t,’ he says. ‘But the others thought someone should come after you. They were concerned, thought you might do something stupid, maybe top yourself. I figured I’d look like a caring, sensitive guy if I volunteered to help you, especially as they all know that you hate me. So here I am.’

‘You’re too sweet for this world,’ I jeer. ‘Head on back to those muppets and tell them I’m fine.’

‘Not yet,’ Rage says. ‘It’s too soon. It wouldn’t look like I’d tried very hard. I’ll tag along with you for a while.’

‘What if I don’t want you to?’

‘Tough.’ He flashes me a grin. ‘If you do want to top yourself, I know a place where you can get some great power drills. I’ll even help you choose the best bit for it. I’d love to see someone drill through their own skull.’

‘There’s the Rage I know and loathe,’ I chuckle.

‘Honest Rage,’
he smirks. ‘That’s how I define myself these days. Telling the truth is what I’m all about.’

‘It must be a nice change,’ I sneer.

‘It is.’ There’s a long silence while we eye each other. ‘But seriously,’ Rage says, breaking it, ‘if you
do
want me to recommend a good drill …’

We exit County Hall and walk to the corner of the building. We can see part of Waterloo Station from here, and the London Eye.

‘Have you been back into the station since Zhang tested us?’ Rage asks.

I look at him oddly. ‘No. Why the hell would I?’

‘I have,’ he says. ‘I’ve gone in there with a rucksack seeded with brains, done the run through the zombies again, trying to improve my time.’

‘Why?’ I frown.

‘I want to be top dog. You’ve got to push yourself if you want to get ahead.’

‘You’d better be careful,’ I say drily, ‘or you’ll wear yourself out.’

‘Nah,’ Rage grins. ‘It’s not just all about the training. I make time for fun stuff too. For instance, I walked up to the IMAX theatre the other day. Wanted to see if I could screen a film.’

‘Could you?’ I ask.

‘Wasn’t able to try. The place was packed with zombies. I forced my way through to the projectionist’s booth, but the buggers had beaten me to it. Some of them had made it their home and it was a mess, equipment smashed to pieces. A shame. I was hoping to screen
Night of the Living Dead
there.’

It’s hard to tell if he’s joking or not.

‘The noise would have been awful anyway,’ I note. ‘The IMAX had the best sound system in London, great for a living person with normal hearing, but with ears like ours it would have been deafening.’

‘Yeah,’ Rage says. ‘But fun. The reviveds would
have hated it. They’d have howled like wolves.’ He stretches, looks at the sky and grimaces. It’s a cloudy day but still way too bright for the likes of us. ‘Where were you headed before I stopped you?’

‘Nowhere.’

‘Really? You were marching like a girl with a purpose.’

‘I just wanted to get away.’

Rage scratches an armpit and grunts. Must be force of habit — we don’t sweat, so he can’t have itchy pits.

‘It’s boring here, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘That’s why I keep looking for things to do. I hate the silence. A city should be buzzing, not quiet like this. It’s like the God-awful countryside these days.’

‘Nothing wrong with the countryside,’ I sniff. ‘I used to enjoy days out.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ Rage argues. ‘It was hell out there, nothing but fields, trees and Mother bloody Nature. If people loved that so much, they wouldn’t have built cities and moved to them. The countryside’s boring and so’s London now.’

He turns in a circle, looking for something to amuse him. He pauses when he spots the London Eye, then nods at me. ‘Come on.’

‘I’m not going on the Eye. I’ve been up a few times since I moved into County Hall. It always leaves me feeling down, seeing how much of the city has been ruined.’

‘Just follow me,’ he insists.

At the Eye, instead of hopping aboard one of the pods, he heads for the control booth. There’s always an Angel on watch in a pod, as well as one in the booth to monitor the big wheel. Today the person on duty is Ivor, a guy I know pretty well, although I wouldn’t claim to be a close friend. I first ran into him when he was on a mission with his team, and we’ve had a few conversations since then, when our paths have crossed.

Ivor has brought a load of locks with him, and is fiddling with them to while away the time. He’s able to pick just about any lock. I’d love to be able to do that, but although I’ve tried a few times, I’m not a natural.

‘Don’t you ever stop practising?’ Rage shouts, startling Ivor, who was focused on the locks and didn’t see us approach. He almost drops the lock that he’s working on, but catches it just in time.

‘It’s good to keep your hand in,’ Ivor says, smiling at us. ‘My fingers are like a lock — they get rusty if I don’t keep using them.’

Ivor spends a few minutes showing us how to pick the lock. He makes it look so easy, but I get nowhere with it. Rage doesn’t even try.

‘These fingers weren’t made for work like that,’ he says, giving them a wiggle.

‘They’re like sausages,’ I laugh.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Perfect for smashing, not picking.’

We chat with Ivor for a while, then Rage asks if he can stop the Eye.

‘Stop it?’ Ivor frowns.

‘Just for ten or fifteen minutes. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘I’m not supposed to,’ Ivor says. ‘Dr Oystein likes us to keep it going all the time.’

‘I know. But we’ll pretend that someone in a wheelchair was boarding and they got stuck.’

Ivor laughs. Rage works on him a bit more and finally he agrees to the odd request.

‘But no more than a quarter of an hour,’ he insists. ‘And if the doc or Master Zhang asks, I’ll tell them it was for you.’

‘Cheers,’ Rage says, hurrying out of the booth.

‘What are you up to?’ I ask suspiciously as I follow him.

‘You’ll see in a sec,’ he promises and trots to the nearest pod.

There are small handles running around the pod. Rage grabs hold and climbs quickly until he’s standing on the roof. I still don’t know what he’s planning, but I’m curious, so I climb up after him.

‘They must be the biggest spokes in the world,’ Rage says, staring at the mesh of links above us. ‘Imagine if you had another wheel the size of this and you could make a bike out of them.’

‘You’re crazy,’ I laugh.

‘Yeah,’ he grins, then jumps and grabs hold of one
of the bars. He pulls himself up then slides across until he’s hugging the rim of the wheel. ‘Race you.’

‘What?’

‘Race you,’ he beams. ‘Come on, up you get.’

I stare at him uncertainly.

‘Are you chicken?’ he growls.

‘Sod you,’ I snap. ‘I just don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘A race,’ he says. ‘Along the inside of the rim, all the way to the top.’

I frown, then study the metal rim. I follow it with my gaze at it curves outwards and upwards, before arcing back in on itself past the halfway mark and coming full circle at the top.

‘You
are
bloody crazy!’ I gasp, seeing now what he wants to do.

‘I might be crazy but I’m no coward,’ Rage chuckles. ‘Come on, I dare you — a race. We’re stronger than we were. We’ve got these neat bones sticking out of our fingers and toes to help us grip. I’m sure we can do it.’

‘Even if we could, why the hell would we want to?’

‘Now who’s the crazy one?’ he jeers. ‘I’m challenging you to a race up the London Eye. Nobody could have done that in the past, not without equipment. How cool will it be to be the first pair in the world to free-climb this baby?’

‘It’s impossible,’ I mumble. ‘If we made it past the halfway point, we’d have to hang upside down.’ I point to the bar running up the centre of the Eye, linking the two rims of the wheel. Smaller bars from the rims connect with it at regular intervals. We could use them for support. ‘What about that way? It would be safer and easier.’

‘This isn’t about safe and easy,’ Rage says. ‘I think we’ll be all right even if we fall – we’re hard to kill – but if not, what of it? We’ve all got to go eventually. How would you prefer to leave this world — as a decaying, decrepit old fart, or trying to climb the London Eye in your prime?’

‘Dr Oystein won’t like it if a couple of his precious Angels risk their lives on something this pointless,’ I murmur with a wicked smirk.

‘I don’t think either one of us is that bothered
about keeping Dr Oystein happy,’ Rage snorts. ‘Last one up’s a rotten zombie!’

And off he shoots.

For a few seconds I shake my head and tut loudly. Then, with a whoop, I leap, grab hold of a bar, pull myself up, steady myself on the rim and off I tear.