Thirteen Roses Book Five: Home: A Paranormal Zombie Saga (6 page)

It was an incongruous thing to say at the best of times but now it felt like a mockery. Half the ladies still hadn’t realised who was dead or indeed that someone was dead, and Alex hoped it stayed that way until they were in the transport.
 

Luke headed into the crowd and emerged a few moments later with three of the ladies. He introduced them with names Alex forgot seconds later, and led the four of them out of the main room. He stopped just outside and gathered them in a circle.
 

‘What I’d like is a nice safe run to the transport. But that’s impossible. We’re going to head down there now and see how many zombies we’re looking at and how easy it’ll be to get through them. Everyone alright with that?’

The three girls nodded, sharing similarly determined expressions. Alex rested his hand on his knife and gave the same. Luke set off at a trot, jogging away from the non-existent field towards the main corridor. He ran out into it and was taken out immediately by a zombie charging into view.
 

All four of them were on it, Alex slamming his knife into the creature’s back as it shifted. The girls carried knives as well and within two seconds there were two thrusting out of its head. It thudded onto the floor and Luke scrambled up, brushing himself down. He blinked and Alex spotted the same blank look he’d worn a few minutes earlier kneeling beside Sophie’s corpse.
 

‘Thank you. Wasn’t expecting that.’

They moved slower, facing outwards from a central point. They gained the stairs without further upset and gazed down into the reception. There were four zombies he could see, but there were plenty of places they could be hiding. Still, four they could manage.
 

Luke led them down and they spread out. Alex sneaked behind the reception desk and found the pole that still rested against it. He came out feeling, if not confident, then ready. The zombies were making a beeline for Luke, as though he was somehow nicer smelling than them. It meant the nearest to Alex was already half turned away from him.
 

He swung, putting his weight behind it, and smiled in satisfaction as the pole sunk deep into its skull. He held on tight as the corpse collapsed. He watched two of the women fight together. One engaged the zombie head on, fending its claws away with her knife. The other went around behind it and buried her own blade in the back of his skull. It sunk in deep and another corpse struck the floor.
 

The other two were down and Alex rested the pole over his shoulder. He was getting better at this. The girls were looking happier, though struggling to keep their eyes off the corpses. Luke nudged one with his foot.
 

‘This is it. This is what we’re fighting. Get used to it.’

The ladies nodded grimly. Alex peered through the front doors and they hissed open. He stepped away as the rain came flooding in to soak the front mat. The street lamps looked like they were floating, pools of light adrift in a sea of darkness. In the strained illumination the zombies looked almost human, drunks and students ambling home after a long night on the town.
 

Of Bayleigh and Krystal there was no sign. Alex stepped back until the door closed and jumped as he backed into Luke. ‘Easy.’ The angel said, ‘Are you alright to stay here and kill anything that comes in?’

Alex glanced at the ladies, all watching him with that same awe he’d thought reserved for Luke. He nodded, swallowing and hoping the fear wasn’t as obvious on his face as it was in his shaking hands. Shaking everything in fact. The four of them set off up the stairs, leaving him alone in reception.
 

He drew his knife. He wasn’t sure he could swing the pole effectively with only one hand but he felt better having them both ready. He chose a spot in the middle of reception, with space all around him, and set himself facing the doors.
 

There was no reason anything should come in. There was no reason they should be interested at all. They didn’t know he was here. He shifted from foot to foot, hands clenching and unclenching on the handles of his weapons. They didn’t know he was here.
 

The doors opened. His heart lurched like he’d missed the last step at the bottom of the stairs and he almost dropped the pole.
 

It was a zombie.

Of course it was a bloody zombie, what else was it going to be? But he wished it was Bayleigh. At least it was only one, he could manage one.
 

He sneered at himself. Why did he still get this fear every time one of the sodding things turned up? He thought he’d got this sorted. He’d killed them and done it well. So why was he still so scared? He gritted his teeth and tried to still the churning in his stomach. He wanted to move closer, to ready himself, but his legs were shaking too hard.
 

So he watched it come closer until it almost touched him before he swore, dropped his knife, and raised the pole between them. The zombie grabbed it and yanked it from his hand where it clattered to the floor. Alex scrambled to get away but the zombie was too close and its claws caught in his hair.
 

He twisted his head but succeeded only in head-butting the zombie’s other hand. Its nails dug into his cheek and he shouted, lashing out. His fist struck something soft and sunk in. He gagged as warmth splashed across his knuckles. He felt blind, his eyes filled with the zombie’s face as the reek overpowered him. He brought his other fist back and struck again. Something snapped beneath the blow.
 

The zombie showed no signs of being injured. It yanked his head up as it tried to pull him closer. Alex had a sudden vision of Dave battering the zombie to death a few feet from where he stood. If Dave could do it, so could he. He didn’t need a weapon.
 

He clenched his blood-soaked fist and slammed it in again. It hit what he thought was the stomach and the skin gave way. The smell of rotting meat and shit joined the ever-present scent of zombie and he retched. His open mouth filled with half a claw, the fingers like cold, manky sausages filling his throat.
 

One caught the back of his throat and he vomited, sick filling his mouth and spilling out down the zombie’s arm. That was enough. He freaked out, fists piling in again and again until they were both hot with blood and intestines. He wrenched his head from side to side but two of the zombie’s nails were digging into the inside of his cheek and he couldn’t dislodge them.
 

He could punch all his wanted, it would make no difference. The realisation brought with it a dull sort of calm. This was simple. Either he manned up and did what needed to be done, or he died. Holding onto that thought, he clamped his teeth together. The rotting fingers fell onto his tongue.
 

Dave

The rain-slick streets tried to throw him at every turn. The tyres of his push bike slid out as he took the corner onto The Strand and he gripped the handlebars tighter. He’d found the bike in a long row of identical blue vehicles. It had needed money to release it but he figured he could spare a few pounds now. And it wasn’t like anyone was going to fine him if he brought it back late.

It wasn’t as fast as a car but with the traffic the way it was, he could cross the city faster. So long as he stayed upright and moved forwards. Az could have taken him most of the way, he was sure, but the demon had looked grumpy and flexed a few muscles. Dave had scrambled down the ladder and out of the theatre before all that suppressed anger could explode at him.

There was something else driving him.
 

He could feel them, two tiny beings growing and swelling in the distant building. As he passed alleyways and side streets it flashed into view, a spire of light beckoning him. They were there. His children were there.
 

He shook his head. They weren’t his children. None of this was his. He wasn’t responsible for the zombies or the soldiers or the ladies or the bloody rain. He wasn’t responsible for any of this and his absence of feeling was being swallowed by resentment. Anger as well, rage at the bastard who tore his wing and drove him from the tower.
 

He blinked, the bike bounced off the curb, and skidded sideways. He put out a leg but he was going far too fast and his leg folded beneath him as he went over. The bike skidded away across the wet street and he landed on his hip with a grunt. He leapt straight up, jumping for the bike while looking in all directions.
 

There were no zombies close enough to catch him so he stopped, resting his hands on his knees and taking a few breaths. What had he been thinking? He didn’t have wings, that was Az. They were linked, he and the demon, and he didn’t know whether it was just knowing that made it stronger or if it was the babies.

He straightened, blinking and shaking his head. Why hadn’t he questioned Az about the births? He said they were being born in a day or two, but when had they been conceived? Why had he left it until now to get them safe? There was more here than he was being told and… he didn’t care overmuch. He wasn’t too bothered, really.
 

What he
was
bothered about was getting the children and making them safe. That was his number one priority. That was his only priority. Smiling with satisfaction, he pulled the bike up, clambered on, and pedalled away.
 

The Shard grew larger with every revolution of the pedals. He barely felt the rain that drove into his eyes and ran down his neck. His clothes were soaked through. He should have got a rain mac with the stove. He should have brought his rucksack with him. There were lots of things he should have done, but something had blocked out those logical leanings when he raced from the theatre.
 

The street lights clipped the wave tips as he crossed the Thames, covering it in sparkling stars. The zombies lurched in both directions across the bridge, not the least bit bothered by the rain. He’d reached the peak of the bridge when the first thunder sounded. There was a zombie ten feet in front of him and, as the sound roared across the sky, it fell to its knees. It cowered, or did the best impression one could expect from a zombie.
 

He almost stopped in surprise. Zombies all around him were responding the same way, toppling over completely in some cases. As the rumbling died away, they clambered up and went about their business. The lightning that followed had no effect at all.
 

Dave kept pedalling, craning his neck to see the tip of the Shard looming high above him. He slowed as he entered the neatly-landscaped area that surrounded it, watching the front of the building. There was no sign of life save the light that glowed through the front windows. As he cycled slowly across the paved area, he spotted a huge mound of bones littering the floor in front of the doors.
 

He rested his bike against the glass and took a deep breath. He was here and he could do this. He had to, his children were up there. He pushed open the door and stepped out of the rain. The abrupt cessation of the beating on his head was a surprising relief and he stood still for a moment, enjoying the peace. The storm still roared outside but the slap of the rain against the pavement drowned out the voice that threatened to creep through the surety in his mind.

He headed for the lifts, not bothering to close the doors behind him. He liked the sound. The lift doors hissed open and he stepped in. As the lift rose, he stared at himself in the wall of mirror. His hair was longer, reaching his ears and gathering in his collar. His eyes were different than he remembered, though he didn’t know which ‘when’ he remembered.
 

So much of his life was shrouded in mist now, and he didn’t know what had occurred pre-zombie and what had happened since. Something had happened in between and driven him to seek Az’s help, but he couldn’t say what it was or why it had happened.
 

One thing remained, though, cutting through the mist like a lighthouse. He remembered his promise to kill Luke. The angel had been responsible for what happened to him and for that, he would die. He felt it like a brand on his skin that itched and stung as he rubbed it. It would never go away and he was happy for that. It gave him purpose.
 

He squeezed the top of his nose between his fingers, blinking. What was he thinking? His purpose was the children he would find here. The doors hissed open and he peered out of the lift. The corridor was carpeted in pale green and the walls matched it for dullness. The occasional tables that dotted the corridor were just the same.
 

He sniffed and stepped out. One of the ladies emerged from a door a few metres down the corridor, saw him, and froze. He tried a smile and it came easy and felt good. He strode towards her, trying to give the impression of calm, open confidence. It worked.
 

Her shoulders relaxed and she took her arms from where they wrapped around her waist and let them hang by her sides.
 

‘Hi, I’m Dave, do you remember me?’

‘You were with us in the hospital.’

‘I’ve come from the others. They, we, need your help. You were right about Luke.’

She looked sympathetic and joined him as he walked down the corridor.
 

‘He sent someone here, a demon, to rape you. Has he been here?’

The lady nodded. ‘He left a few hours ago. We’re still recovering.’

‘Is Jackson okay? Is the Lord’s chosen being cared for?’

‘Of course he is. He is…’ She frowned and sniffed. ‘He lost his left hand. It is a miracle he is still alive after what he did. He saved us.’

‘So no one was… attacked?’ He knew, somehow, that he was modulating his voice just the right amount.
 

‘Two were… before Jackson saved us.’

‘Can I see them? I need to bring proof of Luke’s wrong doing before the rest of your number will follow me here. I have to save them.’

The lady nodded, looking hopelessly pious and gullible. He bit his lip to stop himself laughing. This was as easy as charming them the first time around. Dave squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find where he ended and Az began. But there was no line inside. He was lost, and something far larger and far stronger guided him. He longed to break free, to become himself, but who was he? How could he find himself if he didn’t know who he was?