Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga (13 page)

She was on a street, entirely unfamiliar and as similar as a million other streets across London. It was early enough that the sun still hid behind the houses opposite, a beam like a ray from the heavens cutting between them to blind her. Luckily, early morning meant commuters, so she followed the guys in suits and found herself at Finchley Road Station.
 

How the hell had she got here? She couldn't remember anything about last night. Well, she remembered getting ready and getting on the tube. She remembered finding a club that was open early. She remembered Monique having to go early. She'd said it was fine because she was with... what was his name?

Whoever it was, he was asleep in the house she'd just left behind, and if she was lucky, she'd never see him again. What had she been thinking? She was gonna kill Monique. Or maybe just not tell her anything. She groaned at the uncomfortable patch between her legs. She just needed to get home and showered and go to bed. Maybe when she woke up again, her head would have returned from the lowest circle of hell and work properly.
 

She got the usual glances as she limped through the tube station. The accident had left her with two legs, but a hip that would never work properly again. As her sporting exploits up to that point ran to dashing for the bus and pub crawls, it wasn't the end of the world. The physios never failed to be impressed by her progress, but she still looked a bit awkward when she walked.
 

The tube was packed and it was four stations in before she realised she was going the wrong way. She groaned and tried to get off at the next station, but her hip chose that moment to seize up and she flailed about in her seat until the doors closed.
 

She rose early for the next one and stepped out at Westminster. The thought of being on the tube any longer made her stomach flip. She kept almost being sick and having to swallow it, which was the grossest thing possible. Better to have the Thames to spit it into.
 

She strolled down the river, every footstep ringing with the thudding in her head. She bought a coffee and sat on a bench, staring blearily at the world. As the pounding slowed, she clambered up and kept walking. She passed Embankment Station and paused, her eye caught by the most incredible flowers.
 

There was a tiny stall, just a table really, bearing more flowers than should have been possible. There were blues and reds and violets and pinks and orange and white, and all the other colours still threatening to come spewing from her mouth. They were peaceful though and as she drew nearer, the smell settled her stomach and calmed her head.

The flower seller watched her with unusual eyes. As they met hers, they closed and she realised he was swaying on his feet. Her first grin of the day made inroads into her lips and she raised a hand.
 

'Hi.'

'Hello, young lady, how...' He cut off, stifling a yawn and rubbing his head. 'Apologies, truly. How are you today?'

'You know how you feel? Like that, only fifty times worse.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'C'mon, what were you drinking last night?'

He blushed and tried to hide behind some chrysanthemums. She chuckled and stopped as the metal band rehearsing in her brain reminded her how bad an idea it was. 'Hey, it's okay. Tell me, did you wake up in someone else's bed?'

His blush grew deeper and her laugh came from her belly, filling the air and making her headache sit up and start banging. 'Was she pretty? Or he, sorry, no offence.'

'She is exquisite. She's a goddess with hair like the night and eyes in which even the truest of men lose themselves.'

'Wow. Impressive. Mine was a munter. Actually, that's not true. I don't really remember, but I think he was a bit of a dick.'

'Isn't that what you wanted?'

It was her turn to blush and she nodded. 'Touché. Your flowers are very beautiful.'

'Thank you. I do believe you should buy something from me. I have it on good faith that you might want some today.'

'Do you now. And who told you that?'

'Oh, the wind and the stars. The sound that comes just before daybreak, the sigh the moon makes as she sinks below the horizon.'

'Lots of people talking about me.'

'You'd be amazed.'

They grinned at one another and she stuck her face in first one bunch of flowers and then another. They all had their own smells and every one was as lovely as the last. As she breathed them in, her headache faded until it was a dull throb at the base of her skull. She took a step back and looked at him.
 

'Why were you drinking?'

'Big thing at work, lots of stress.'

'What's stressful about selling flowers?'

'I have to meet my quota. The boss is pretty hard on us.'

'Wow. I didn't realise it was such a high-pressure job.'

'Not many people do. Can I tempt you to some roses?'

'Yes, you may.'

He wrapped them with a grace she hadn't expected after seeing the puffer jacket and the bloodshot eyes. He handed them over and she dug for her wallet.
 

'No charge. Really.'

'How does that fit in with meeting your quota?'

He shrugged. 'Sometimes, the quota just doesn't matter. It was nice talking to you.'

'You too.'

She strolled slowly away. He shouted after her. 'Hang on a minute.'

She turned and watched him jog slowly across the pavement, wincing with every step. He stopped before her, huffing and puffing.
 

'Sorry, forgot to mention. I put a thirteenth in there. If you wanted to give it to someone, it might be nice.'

She nodded, tucking her nose inside the nearest and taking a deep breath. 'Yeah, that's a nice idea. Thanks again.'

He sketched a mock bow which she returned with a curtsey, and watched him head back off to his stall. Strange man. Nice roses, though. Her head still hurt, but was considerably better than she had any right to feel. She looked down into the roses. They were the colour of romance, if such a thing had a colour.
 

Taylor snorted and shook her head. And she knew all about romance of course. Last night had been all about the romance. She sniffed and headed for the tube. Now she could go home. She walked through the barrier at Embankment and down the escalator. She reached the bottom and hesitated.
 

She should go home. She needed a shower so bad. But something, some urge compelled her and she headed down the opposite tunnel. Maybe she'd head to the East End, take a wander around Mile End, relive some old memories.
 

She wandered down the tunnel, wincing as the sound of a badly played saxophone grew steadily stronger. The guy playing it appeared like a bad cliché at the end of the tunnel. He wore a brown suit and flat cap and was a hundred if he was five. She got the feeling he'd once been very good, but his timing was shot so all the notes bled into one another and made this soupy sort of mess.
 

He tipped her a nod as she passed, the melody slipping and she gave him a smile. She walked past and paused, glancing back. With a shrug, she pulled a rose free of the bunch and placed it carefully into the soft guitar case he was using to collect money. He looked down at it and the sax slipped from his mouth. When their eyes met, she flinched to see tears collecting in his.
 

Taylor Part Two

The busker blinked his tears away and stared at the mouthpiece of his saxophone, as if only just realising he'd stopped playing. He bent slowly at the knees, picked up the rose, tucked it behind his ear and resumed his meandering, tunefully challenged styling.
 

Taylor listened for a moment before turning away and limping towards the tube. She heard the rush of wind and picked up her pace. She arrived on the platform just as the doors hissed shut and she thumped it with her hand. The train jerked forwards and then stopped. The doors half-opened and she stepped forwards, only for them to close again.
 

With a glare at the mirrors at the end of the platform, she sat on the bench and watched the tube hustle into the tunnel. The screeching of the wheels on the track made her head ache all over again and she moaned. What the hell was she doing? She should be at home by now, lying in bed, or maybe watching crap daytime T--

BOOOOOMMM!

It sounded like an effect from a disaster movie, like the Transformers had just blown something up. She was half out of her seat when a wave of heat and smoke exploded from the tunnel and swept over her. With it came screaming, high-pitched and desperate.
 

She flew back onto the seat, bounced off it and hit the floor. The roses flew from her hand, the plastic splitting open so they scattered across the platform. Her hips were complaining with a dull ache she hadn't felt in a long time. There were screams from the platform, people shouting 'bomb' and 'help' and other useful things.
 

She pushed herself to her hands and knees, trying to see through the smoke. A train came in on the other platform and whisked the wind about, pulling at her clothes as her vision grew suddenly better. She crawled to the edge of the platform and stared down into the tunnel.
 

There were flames and more smoke, but the only light came from the fire and it painted a scene of utter destruction. It had to be a bomb. It didn't matter. She turned herself around and slid off the platform until her feet touched the floor. She had to be careful not to touch one of the rails. Which one was it? She would avoid all three, that was the best option.
 

The smoke was thick in here and she pulled her t-shirt up over her mouth. Her eyes watered and she blinked it away. There were voices ahead, people crying and screaming. She put her hand on something hot and yanked it back, howling as her skin was seared.
 

She scrubbed her eyes, trying to see through the gloom. The bomb had been at this end of the train; it was destroyed, ripped apart. She saw something white peeking through the smoke and her gorge rose up. She slewed to the side and threw up as she recognised bone poking free from the charred flesh.
 

She had to help someone, but what the hell was she supposed to do? She pulled her jacket sleeves down over her hands and tried to pull wreckage out of the way. The second piece of metal she hauled on was still attached and accompanied by a creaking sound that made her jump back.
 

Too late, she looked up and saw the tonne of tube train roof as it came down. It caught her on the head and drove her to her knees, then slammed into her back. Her last thought, as her face was driven into the sharp edges of the tube, was of the busker and the rose she'd stopped to give to him.

Interlude

Luke screamed and howled and thumped his hands on the desk as though it would make any difference to what had just happened. What was she thinking? He'd done it so beautifully and made it so easy for her. It had even been poetic, the doors opening and closing again, tempting her, then throwing her back.
 

But instead of walking free, she was dead in the tube tunnel and he was three-four down with the Father arriving tonight. It couldn't have been engineered better if the entire thing had been planned. He shoved his desk hard enough to slam it against the dry stone wall of his chamber and rose.
 

It had been planned. It had to have been. He was the best, not just at this, but at anything he put his mind to. He'd been hitting eighty or ninety percent for the last few centuries and now this happened. Even the subjects he'd got right had ended badly. This was planned from beginning to end, so who'd planned it?

The Father? Could be, but why bother? He could do what he wanted without following some pointless charade. Who else could it be? He bore a wry smile as he turned and gazed out over the stars. Who couldn't it have been? He liked to think it was unlikely to be Az or Seph, but there were no guarantees. He needed to know, though.
 

He threw himself from the edge and flew out into space. He fell from his chamber, leaving behind the rough stone edge and diving down through the darkness. There were thousands of them, stone huts and wooden houses and shells the size of trucks, and all manner of living quarters, floating in space with open backs, and in every one someone like him, or someone like Az, was hard at work.
 

He caught the thermals and rose, huge wings flapping slowly as they carried him up to a chamber near the top of the Flights. He landed on the edge and held himself there with long wing beats. Seph leaned on the desk, staring fixedly through his window at something only he could see.
 

Luke knelt down and steadied himself, waiting. He peered over Seph's shoulder and narrowed his eyes. Sometimes he could see another's subject, if he tuned in properly. It should be easier with someone he knew.
 

A picture formed in the space of a desert and a man taking long, lurching steps through the sand. In the seconds that he watched, the man stopped and toppled forwards. He raised his head once and dropped it again. Seph leaned back into his chair, hissing through his teeth and thumping the desk.
 

'That didn't look successful.'

Seph jumped and spun round, then raised his hands. 'Luke, come on in, don't hang around on the edge. How are you feeling?'

Seph rubbed his head as he asked and Luke smiled. 'Better. And worse. You?'

'The same. I felt shocking this morning, utterly shocking. Then I lost the headache but now I've lost my bloody subject. By the way, how come you saw it?'

Luke shrugged. 'You just have to concentrate. Where does that leave you?'

'Five-two. Not my best but thoroughly satisfactory.' Luke nodded, trying and failing to look enthusiastic. Seph's face fell and Luke sighed in relief. He hadn't planned it. His look of dismay as he realised why Luke was here said it all.
 

'You didn't make it.'