Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga (17 page)

'Tell me, officers, what are your worst fears?'

The smiler went pale and his mouth dropped open. He screamed and ran. Unfortunately, he had forgotten where he was and dashed straight into the path of an oncoming HGV. The sound was somewhere between dropping a watermelon and squirting the last bit of ketchup out the bottle. Luke blinked as a spatter of blood caught his shoes.
 

That wasn't supposed to happen. He grinned, ignoring the quiet voice deep inside that cried out in distress. He just had to think, what would Az think about this? The smile widened. How about Seph? He shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line and turned to the other policeman.
 

He was naked, his clothes piled neatly on the tarmac. He was stood five feet away from the pile and firing a taser repeatedly at them. Luke was tempted to go deeper and find out what was so scary about them. Instead, he took the long way around him and jumped into the cruiser. After the Micra, it felt like the cockpit of a space shuttle and he grinned as he flicked switches and played with things.
 

Not a great deal happened, so he pulled around the officer and put his foot down. The lorry had pulled into the hard shoulder, pieces of the policeman attached to the front bumper. Wincing, Luke pulled away. He needed to be careful. Or did he? He wasn't sure. This felt natural, more natural than what he'd spent the last few centuries doing. This was the real him, wasn't it?

Too many questions. Boring ones at that. He was enjoying the experience, but the sooner he could find Alex and convince him of the error of his ways, the sooner he could get back to the Flights and his cosy chamber and his flowers. Life was far simpler there, even if it wasn't strictly life. And Sara was there.
 

The M3 cut through the M25 and soon he could see the landmarks that brought a sense of homecoming to him, far stronger than he'd expected. He drove right in until he hit the river. Then he parked the cruiser on Waterloo Bridge and walked until he came to his spot. It was empty and he felt the absence of his stall in the eyes of the passers-by.
 

Many of them had no idea what had been there, but they felt it anyway. But some of them, the workers and regulars, knew what to expect and struggled with the space. Change is difficult, always so difficult, and it's sometimes the little things, the things taken for granted that, when gone, have the biggest impact.
 

He needed to find Alex. He studied at the University of Westminster, but the lab in which he did his research was close by. The universities in England had a remarkably unrecognised stranglehold over property, particularly here in the city. There were all these pockets and bolt holes owned by random educational establishments.
 

The one in which Alex worked was part of Temple, a place close to Luke's heart. Anywhere that practised secret and creepy belief systems was fine by him. Anything that stuck the finger up at the Father had to be a positive. He pushed through the gate and let the traffic sweep him along. It was quieter in here than out by the river, but there were enough people for him to fade until he reached the lab.

He slipped away, down a tiny alley and pushed through the door. The red brick and green lawns outside changed abruptly to the white tiles and linoleum of the laboratory. Alex was there, humming to himself as he bustled about. This was going to be easy. There was no way it would be this easy.

Alex glanced up, saw him and backed away, shaking his head. 'It's you. What are you doing here? I've made my decision, we're keeping the baby, there won't be any problems.'

'See, it's funny. Because you say that, but I have it on good authority that you're still pushing ahead with your experiments.'

Alex shook his head, still backing away until he bumped against the wall. 'I'm not, really. I've changed the thrust of my research. I'm working on a cure for chemical weapons. I sold it to the university this morning.' He frowned. 'Well, I sold the idea. They haven't given me any money yet, but I'm sure they will.'

Luke stared at him. He couldn't be telling the truth, because where would the problem be? Why was he here? Then again, the problem was thirty years away, so maybe nothing Alex did here made any difference. Perhaps a change of tack was needed.
 

'You're sure you want to keep the baby?'

'Huh? I mean, what the hell? How can you ask me that? Of course I do, after what you showed me. I mean, I can't really remember what you showed me, but I know I have to keep it, him.'

'Even though you've changed your research. Don't you think that will be enough?'

'I don't bloody know, this was your idea.'

Luke smiled as Alex's voice rose. For a smart man, he was as unconfident as they came. He just wanted to be led around. Did his girlfriend know that yet? Luke smiled reassuringly. 'Well, I think your change in study would probably be enough. You might want to have another chat to your girlfriend, just to be certain. You could do amazing things here, if you didn't have a child.'

He almost felt bad as Alex's face crumpled and he dumped his notepad on the table. 'Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?'

'My only interest is the safety of the human race.'

'Yeah, well, my interest is my sanity, so go away. Please.'

It would have to do for now. He could work on him over time. He had plenty of it. He headed for the door and was about to leave when he spotted something written on a piece of paper by the door. He pulled it out and read the entire thing.
 

MOD/MI6 fhurng/rg/234
 

Full gagging and secrecy order

Dear Alex

Thank you for your recent efforts in support of our nation's continuing security. As discussed in our meeting, this is your copy of the secrecy agreement you signed.
 

May I take this opportunity to remind you that any attempts to break this order, or share any information pertaining to the contribution you have made, will result in severe and immediate sanctions upon both yourself and any you hold dear.

Thank you again.
 

Sincerely

There was no signature. Luke held it up and turned back to Alex. The man watched him, sickly smile on his face.
 

Jackson - Thursday: Plague Day

His belly hurt. It was like he'd eaten an entire carton of ice cream and one of the bitch's dodgy curries. The thought of his girlfriend made his eyes water. He rolled onto his side and tears streamed down his face. He'd called her a bitch! He shouted at her and screamed and threatened. How had he done that? How had he done all those terrible things?

He rolled onto his front and pulled his knees up, forehead pressing into the concrete. His throat was like sandpaper and he coughed, retching and choking. He could feel them, their little hands clawing at his mouth, their feet shoving and kicking as they went down.
 

His throat was blocked for a moment and he wrapped his hands around it, gasping for breath. His vision began to blur and he rocked back and forth, trying to dislodge them. Some tiny part of his brain, the part not overwhelmed by terror, told him there was nothing there. It had to shout, but it was good at it and suddenly he could breathe again.
 

They were gone. Were they inside him? He lifted his head off the pavement and looked at his stomach. It wasn't swollen or bloated. In fact, the only thing that remained was his aching belly and sore throat. How had he done that to all those children?

Tears came again and he sobbed and coughed. Finally he sat up and crossed himself. He hadn't done that since he left home, since Mam threw him out. She'd always crossed herself, often right before she took the belt to him.
 

'My son, you've brought shame to us again. I pray to the Lord for salvation for your soul. Now grab the door handle and keep your mouth shut.'
 

Wham wham wham and no sitting down for the rest of the week. He hated Mam. Had hated Mam. He remembered the funeral well, the looks of disdain from his brothers and the warmth he felt as she was lowered into the ground. Now he thought of all the love she'd given him, the teachings and the faith. It took a minute or two before he ran out of memories and he crossed himself for the entire 120 seconds.
 

He stood and stretched, his sleeves sliding up his arms as he reached for the sky. His tattoos sprang into sight and he groaned and shook his head. What was he thinking? He'd scarred himself. He chuckled and shook his head. Scarring on the outside meant nothing compared to what was burned into his soul. What he had done could never be washed away.
 

His only hope was to balance up the scales and find some way to become useful to mankind. He would still go to hell, but perhaps he could buy himself onto the higher levels. Nodding righteously, he strolled into the park and took a deep breath. It was beautiful here, so beautiful tears sprang into his eyes.
 

It felt good to cry. It had been too long. To think he'd been ashamed of it before now. He needed to get home and see Maria. She deserved so much better than him and he needed to tell her that and help her understand how amazing she was. He bit his lip as it wobbled. How had he ever called her all those terrible things?

His belly ached, but it was nothing compared to the hurt in his heart.
 

He heard sirens and ducked his head. Instinct, driven so deep he wasn't even aware of it, making him glance around for a good spot to hide. The sirens were numerous enough to make him more curious than scared, so he jogged across to the entrance of the park to see what was happening. As he reached it, four pig cars went past at a serious lick. He flushed as he caught himself thinking of them as pigs. When had he ever believed that was an acceptable way to speak about the police?

They were followed by ambulances and he watched them go past and out of sight. They were heading for Oxford Circus. Maybe something big was going on. Something stirred inside, an old habit of taking opportunities when they arose. He walked through the gate and set off at a steady jog after the police cars.
 

The sirens weren't stopping and another two cars hammered past. They were going faster than they were supposed to in the city. In this second group, the ambulances outnumbered the police cars. He heard something else as well, the distant but unmistakable sound of screaming. His heart jumped. It was a sound that made him feel at once queasy and oddly excited. It stirred things he recognised all too well and shoved down as quickly as he could.
 

He stepped up the pace, pleased for the hours in the gym. It had nothing to do with staring at the gym-bunnys' tight arses and everything to do with keeping fit. He flushed and put his head down. His ears were burning as more memories flooded back. He tried to remember exactly where he'd been in the interim, but all he could picture were the children's faces. That and the feel of boots against the inside of his throat. Which was ridiculous, of course, but he still put a hand against his neck each time the feeling grew strong.
 

His feet brought him to Trafalgar Square and he stopped dead, bending over as he struggled for breath. It wasn't the running that had him gasping, but what lay before him. The square was covered in bodies, tourists and suits alike. They were lying as though they'd been frozen in time, hands held out before them, grasping and eager.
 

The nearest body provided no clues as to what had happened. He couldn't find a pulse and his own heart rate sped up. The skin was dry and cold and the limbs were stiff. He backed away. Something terrible had afflicted them, something evil and rotten. He put his hands together and glanced heavenward.
 

But God wouldn't help him. He was a sinner of the worst kind. Asking God for help now was an insult. It was up to him to help himself and others. He set off through the square. The screams were coming from the river and he looked down Charing Cross Road to see crowds of people running, fleeing like rats from a burning building.
 

  
The road up to Leicester Square was just the same as here. The ground was littered with bodies and not a soul moved. The screams were growing fainter and he caught a glimpse of how it would be in a day or two. There was absolute silence, save the sound of his laboured breathing. London was doomed. So why was he still here?

He dashed for the river. He had to find someone else alive. He was half way down when he heard the rumble of trucks and glanced behind. They were coming his way and he split to the hotel that ran all the way down the right hand side. Jackson crouched in the doorway, hands shaking. He wasn't a scaredy-cat but there was no way anyone driving that thing was here for fun and hugs.
 

The first truck roared past his hiding place, all armoured plating and wheels taller than he was. He caught sight of a gas-masked figure peering out the back, then the next one came and another. The fourth truck carried a container rather than people and smoke jetted from a nozzle on top of it.
 

So that's what had happened. An invasion. Some goddamn terrorists had invaded and were poisoning them. How had they got into the capital? Was the Queen dead? His fists clenched and he stared at the truck, looking for some sort of marking. Surely those Al-kyeeda bastards would want everyone to know who done it?

But the trucks were blank, painted a city-war grey and bearing blacked-out windows. He waited till they'd gone past before he straightened and stretched. He still shook and broke into a walk in the hope it might stop it. He reached the river, still following the screams, in time to see the trucks go over Waterloo Bridge.
 

All the way down the north side of the river, bodies were scattered like flowers after a funeral.
 

Krystal - Thursday: Plague Day