Zom-B Mission (5 page)

‘At least he went down fighting,’ Dr Oystein says, squeezing my arm to show his support. ‘Whatever Mr Dowling did to his mind, it wasn’t enough to break him completely. By warning you at the end, he has done us a great service. We might have thought him a traitor otherwise. This way we know that he was simply a victim.’

‘Only a coward uses a man’s friends to try to destroy him,’
Zhang grunts. ‘If Dowling had any honour, he would never have resorted to such an underhand tactic.’

Dr Oystein smiles bitterly. ‘Nobody ever accused Mr Dowling of being honourable.’

‘I want to kill him,’ I growl. ‘I want to run him down and rip his grinning head from his body.’

‘We do not know where he is,’ Dr Oystein says.

‘We could find him.’

The doc shakes his head. ‘That
is what he wants, to lure us on to his turf, to hit us when we are disoriented and not thinking clearly. He would have known the odds were stacked against Billy. If he had seriously wanted to kill me, he would have devised a more cunning plan. This was nothing more than a provocative gesture designed to stir us up, perhaps a spur-of-the-moment whim when he found Billy alone and unprotected.
We must not grant him the satisfaction of a reaction.’

‘So we’ll do nothing?’ I yell.

‘We will remember,’ Dr Oystein says calmly. ‘And when the day comes for us to move against Mr Dowling, we will do so in Billy Burke’s name, as well as in the name of so many others who have been killed or tormented by that accursed clown.’

I stare at Dr Oystein helplessly. I don’t want to wait.
I want to make Mr Dowling pay immediately. But I know the doc is right. Patience isn’t something that comes naturally to me, but I’ve been working on it and I’m learning to tell when it’s time to rush into action and when it’s time to hold back.

‘I want to help set up the room for Mr Burke,’ I mutter.

‘Of course,’ Dr Oystein says. ‘We will see to it tonight.’

‘I will organise another
escort for Emma and Declan in the meantime,’ Master Zhang says.

‘What are you talking about?’ I snap.

‘I do not think that you will want to go on a mission given what has happened,’ Zhang says, ‘and I will not send the rest of your group without you, even assuming that they wish to proceed with it.’

‘You think I’d rather sit here and brood?’ I shake my head. ‘That’s not me. I can’t
think of anything better at a time like this than keeping busy.’

Zhang’s eyes narrow. ‘I will not send you out if you are an emotional wreck.’

I grin like a tiger. ‘I’ve seen lots of friends die. Burke’s death won’t put me off my stride. If the others are game, count me in.’

Zhang studies me for a moment, then nods. ‘I have taught you well.’

‘Don’t give yourself all the credit,’
I tell him, standing and pointing to the hole in the left side of my chest. ‘I was a heartless bitch long before I came here.’

Dr Oystein and Master Zhang smile sympathetically, then take me to organise a room for Burke, where we can store and feed his reanimated corpse. In theory we’re setting him up here so that we can assist him if he revitalises and becomes a thinking zombie like us.
But realistically, as Zhang reminded me, there’s little chance of that. It’s far more likely that the room will serve as a cell for him until we give up the ghost and either set him free or put him down like a rabid dog.

EIGHT

My room-mates are solemn when I return. They try to comfort me, but it’s awkward because I don’t really want to talk about it. In the end I sit by the window and stare out into the darkness while they discuss the upcoming mission.

I spend a long time thinking about Burke, school, my family and friends, the old days. So much has changed. So many have been lost. It’s not fair
that they’re all gone and I’m still here. But nobody ever said life was fair. You get what comes your way, not what you deserve.

Eventually I swim out of my daze and tune into the conversation. There’s no hesitancy in the air— everyone is in, as I figured they would be. They’re trying to predict what will happen on the mission, talking about all the things we’ll do and see, the fights
we’ll win, the obstacles we’ll overcome. Shane is saying he hopes we run into Mr Dowling, so that he can personally bring down the clown.

‘You’d run a mile if you saw Mr Dowling in the flesh,’ I snort.

‘That guy doesn’t bother me,’ Shane says. ‘I was never afraid of clowns. Mime artists on the other hand . . .’

The others laugh and start discussing the creepiness of clowns versus
mime artists and a whole host of other people in costumes. Jakob says he’s scared of nurses and doctors, but after all the time he spent in hospital being treated for cancer, I guess he has every right to be.

I leave my position by the window and join in and the night flies by nicely.

Just before dawn, we prepare for the trip ahead. I pour drops into my eyes to keep them moist, and make
sure I have a few spare bottles in the rucksack which I’ll be taking.

I sharpen my fingerbones and toe bones. Ashtat decorates hers as if they were nails, but that’s too girly for me. I also file down my teeth, but not as much as normal, keeping them on the sharp side in case I have to bite my way out of a sticky situation.

None of us packs a weapon. Dr Oystein thinks weapons should
be consigned to the history books. He’s hoping, if we can find a way to eliminate the zombies and restore power to the living, that we can put the errors of the past behind us. Most of us would rather pack a hammer or axe, but we can see where he’s coming from. We’re not forbidden from using weapons in the field if the need arises, but we try to do without. Besides, with our fingerbones and fangs,
who needs anything else?

I pull on fresh jeans, a tight jumper with a section cut out to expose the hole in my chest, a leather jacket and a pair of cool-looking shades. They’re prescription sunglasses. We all have a few pairs. On Dr Oystein’s orders, the twins have recently started to test every Angel’s eyes and track down suitable glasses. They don’t restore our sight to what it was
like when we were living, but they help. Contact lenses would be better, but they don’t suit our dry eyes.

As I’m sticking my trusty Australian hat in my rucksack, Rage pops up in front of me and says, ‘What do you think?’ He’s smeared green and brown paint across his face.

‘We’re going into suburbia,’ I say, rolling my eyes, ‘not the bloody jungle.’

‘Over the top?’

‘Big time.’

He scowls and stomps off to scrub his cheeks clean.

Ciara the dinner lady arrives with a vat of brain stew and we tuck in, downing the grey gruel, absorbing the necessary nutrients, then throwing up into buckets which Ciara sweetly passes out to us. She chats with us a bit, wishes us luck, then leaves to wash her hair and get dressed in another of her stylish outfits. Probably off to
flirt with Reilly in the bowels of County Hall.

Carl spends an hour choosing his clothes for the trip. He’s even more fashion conscious than Ciara, or any girl I ever knew. He tries on at least a dozen different outfits.

‘Enough,’ I snap as he’s studying himself in a full-length mirror for the fiftieth time. ‘You’re beautiful. The coolest cat in town.’

‘I’ve got to look my best,’ he says. ‘Mother would spin in her grave if I got killed and didn’t leave an immaculate corpse behind.’

Shane is less bothered. He doesn’t even change out of the tracksuit that he was wearing earlier, though he swaps
his gold chain for another in his collection, then pauses and decides to wear both. I picture him laying into scores of zombies with the chains, swinging them like nunchucks—death by bling!

‘What are you laughing at?’ Shane asks, catching me chuckling softly.

‘An old joke,’ I lie, then cast an eye over Ashtat and Jakob. They’re in their usual garb, a blue robe for her, baggy clothes
for him.

‘Don’t you think trousers would be more practical?’ I ask Ashtat.

‘No. I have always trained in these. I am accustomed to them.’

When we’re ready, we head down to present ourselves to Dr Oystein. Emma and Declan are with him, but Master Zhang is nowhere to be seen. I note that Dr Oystein is wearing a fresh shirt, but he doesn’t seem to have bandaged the wound beneath it.

‘Will you hop into a Groove Tube to clear up your injury?’ I ask as we spread out before him.

‘No,’ he says. ‘Zhang dug out the bullet and the wound is only a minor nuisance.’

‘It must be painful,’ I note.

He shrugs. ‘The pain reminds me that I must never take our safety here for granted, that we must always be aware that an attack can come at any moment, from any quarter.’ He looks
around at the others. ‘You have all decided to go on the mission?’ he asks, even though our clothes and rucksacks obviously signify that we’re up for it.

A chorus of ‘Yes’ and ‘Yeah’ and ‘Yup’.

‘One day an Angel will turn me down,’ he mutters. ‘I am almost looking forward to the shock of the rejection.’

We laugh softly, then Dr Oystein puts his hands together and bows. ‘Your courage
fills me with pride, and I do not say that lightly. I am privileged to have you for my charges.’

‘Stop it,’ Rage grunts. ‘You’ll make me blubber like a baby.’

‘Never, Michael,’ Dr Oystein says. ‘I doubt if you cried even when you came out of the womb.’

‘Now there’s a horrible image,’ I cackle.

‘Less of it,’ Rage growls.

‘You all know what to do and how to protect Declan and
Emma,’ Dr Oystein goes on. ‘So I will not bore you with a ponderous parting speech. But I will offer to lead you in prayer if anyone wishes to ask their god for a blessing before you depart. It is not compulsory and I will not be offended if you abstain.’

Ashtat, Shane, Carl and Jakob shuffle forward without a word. Rage takes a big step back. He looks at me, curious to see what I’ll do.
A few months ago I’d have joined him or stood aside on my own. But times have changed. That baby in Timothy’s gallery turned my world on its head. I don’t know exactly what I believe any more, except I’m convinced that there’s
some
sort of higher power at work out there, otherwise how could I have dreamt of the babies in advance for all those years?

I join the others and we stand around
Dr Oystein in a semi-circle as he says a short prayer. The words are his own, designed not to be exclusive. The doc never tries to force his beliefs on the rest of us. He’s often said that there’s room in this world for any number of gods.

At the end of his prayer he asks for a few moments of silence, so that each of us can communicate silently with our supreme being of choice. I try to
think of something that isn’t corny or insincere. Finally I sigh and say inside my head,
For the sake of Declan and Emma, and to atone for all those I have failed before, let me stand true.

Then prayer time is over. Dr Oystein escorts us to the exit, issues us with a set of directions, wishes us luck and waves us off. We head down the road on our first real mission. Look out, world, here
I come!

NINE

Hammersmith isn’t that far from County Hall. At zombie speed, jogging, we could be there in less than an hour if we pushed ourselves. Even at human pace, allowing for a young child, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.

But we have to go slow. The undead hate the sunlight. It burns their skin and sears their eyes. Revitaliseds can protect themselves, dress in heavy clothes,
wear sunglasses and hats. Reviveds aren’t smart enough to figure that out. But they can smell the same way we can. If they get a whiff of living flesh, it might be enough to tempt them out.

Emma and Declan sprayed themselves with the strongest perfume the twins could find for them before we left our sanctuary, and that should mask their scent. But it only takes one sharp-nosed zombie latching
on to their smell to bring the hordes crashing down upon us.

We cross Westminster Bridge, Emma and Declan in the middle, the rest of us fanned out around them. We’ve trained with humans before – Reilly normally fills in as our guinea pig – so we know what we’re doing.

Even so, this feels different. With Reilly we never ventured far from the safety of County Hall. And he’s a trained soldier
who could defend himself if he had to. This is real, not an exercise. If we make a mistake, Emma and Declan will die.