Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga (21 page)

The thing smelled. There was rot, like meat left in the fridge too long, and something else. A sort of wet mustiness like a wooden shed that had got damp and started growing mould. It crept into his nostrils and throat and clogged him up, and he furiously rubbed his nose in an attempt to dislodge it. It made no difference and he tried to take shallow breaths as it came nearer.
 

He'd say, when asked later, that at this point he weighed up the options. He thought about running and decided against it. But the truth was, his legs refused to move and it was all he could do not to fall to the floor and pray for something. The person didn't stop. It raised its arms and that was the moment he was galvanised into action.
 

He shouted, barely recognising the high-pitched squeak that emerged, and grabbed the arms. They felt hot, not at all like the bodies he'd examined a few minutes earlier. And the moment he closed his hands around them, they jerked and yanked and almost pulled him off his feet. The creature was strong and unyielding and Jackson didn't stop to think.
 

He pulled it towards him and past him to the edge of the railing. Its chest struck the bar and a sound like wood striking metal echoed over the river. Then Jackson grabbed it by the legs and heaved. It went straight over the barrier and dropped like a stone into the Thames.
 

It sunk in just the same way, but he kept watching, waiting for it to bob to the surface. It was the watching that nearly killed him. He smelled them first and spun around. Two stood no more than fifteen feet away and if he hadn't been in full panic mode, he'd have said they were smiling.
 

He couldn't throw them both over. He reached for the small of his back and pulled out his knife. It was a Bowie knife, the kind he'd always wanted as a kid. With his first pay cheque from the Chinese men, he'd gone and bought one, and hadn't left it at home since. Just thinking of the two men brought sweat to his brow, but he was glad for the knife.
 

The people came at him and his breathing sped up. They both stretched their hands out, like the old versions of
Frankenstein,
and he hacked at them. The one to the right lost some fingers and he sliced a large chunk out of the other's palm. Their blood was thin, like watered-down gravy with bits in, and it went everywhere.
 

It struck his top and he jumped back, shrieking again. He half-expected it to start hissing and melting through the material, but it just clung there, carrying the same smell of mould. His attackers seemed oblivious to their new wounds, they just kept on coming. He gritted his teeth together and stepped forwards.
 

With a shout he imagined was a battle cry, he buried the knife hilt deep in the one on the right's eye. It made a squelching sound as it struck and he heaved. Then the other one grabbed his shoulder and he lashed out, fists swinging wildly. He caught it a good blow on the chin and it staggered back. He followed it with another blow to the face and it fell over.
 

He turned back to the one with the knife in its eye. It lay prone on the floor and the smell of rot grew suddenly stronger. His eyes widened as the skin began to slough away, layers of it crumbling to the floor. With nose wrinkled, he stepped closer and pulled his knife free. It was accompanied by another squelching sound that he did his best to ignore.
 

The second was getting up, no worse for wear from his punches and he readied the knife. He knew what he was fighting. He'd spent the last ten minutes pretending they were something else, or at least hoping they were, but his subconscious knew all too well. There were so many things wrong with it he wanted to scream. But at least he knew how to kill them.
 

The zombie came at him and he punched it in the face then jammed the knife into its ear. It went in easier than he expected and he lost his footing, falling over on top of the creature. As it struck the ground, the body beneath him gave way and his elbows sunk deep into its chest. The warmth of the lumpy blood soaked into his shirt and he groaned as bile filled the back of his throat.
 

He rolled off, flicking ineffectually at his shirt. He smelled of it and imagined he could taste the rot in his mouth. He yanked his shirt off, trying to avoid dragging it over his face. The body at his feet was going the same way as the first, skin rotting before his eyes. He pulled his knife clear of the mess and stood.
 

Jackson looked across the city. How many of them were there? Hundreds, thousands? More, so many more. But he was God's soldier and he would fight them one by one. It was what he was supposed to do. He raised both hands above his head and roared, and if it came out slightly squeaky, he didn't care.
 

Alex - Thursday: 6 Days to Plague Day

Who was this guy? The world was shifting beneath his feet. It had shifted last week when he'd seen the future, but he'd explained that away as a hallucination, something he imagined to help him understand his need to have a child.
 

But that wasn't so easy now. Not when the man who created the hallucination had, only a few hours ago, been pouring water over his face and burning him with cigarettes. He hadn't imagined that. But who was he? There were no such things as ghosts and werewolves and vampires and demons, and all the other stuff he'd enjoyed so much until he discovered science.
 

Science had changed so much in his life. It had given him direction and ambition. But the truth was no longer clear cut. He had to admit there were things beyond science, things he couldn't explain, things no one could explain. And that made the hairs on his arms stand up and his mouth go dry. Because it meant he had to admit the man sitting across from him in the train seat wasn't human.
 

'Who are you?'

The man shifted his face away from looking out the window and made eye contact. His eyes were weird, shifting and changing, just like his skin. Alex had barely looked at him when he'd sold him the flowers, and only a little more in the horrendous future he'd taken him to. But it was obvious he was odd. How had he not noticed it before?

Why would he? Why would he have suspected a flower seller of being some strange being capable of torture and making him see the future?

'My name is Luke.'

'I mean, what are you?' The words felt like dead weights dropping from his lips. How could he be asking someone that?

'That's a better question. I'm an angel.'

'I'm sorry?'

Luke cracked a smile, the same one he'd had when he began torturing him. It was the sort of smile worn by people who know more than you and think they always will. Alex wasn't convinced that in this case it wasn't entirely justified.
 

'There are plenty of other explanations of course. I'm a figment of your deranged mind. I'm a side product of that foul shit you cooked up and sold to the government. I'm you, your alter ego, making you take control of your life and right the things you've done wrong.'

Alex was already shaking his head. 'You aren't though. You aren't any of those things.' He paused, head still rocking from side to side. 'If you're an angel, how come you tortured me? Aren't angels supposed to be loving, caring beings?'

'Ahh, well, that's an excellent question. I tortured you because I needed information. And because it was fun. As far as us being loving, caring beings, try a comparison. Your doctor. He or she has the job of keeping you well. Would you describe them as loving and caring? Do they give you a hug when you arrive at the surgery? How about the police. They care for your wellbeing and ensure you're safe. How about them? Many hugs recently?'

'That's different, th--'

'Why? Why should we be any different?'

'You aren't human.'

'Exactly. So what possible reason could there be for us to act like we care about you?'

Alex opened his mouth and closed it again. His entire knowledge of the Bible extended as far as knowing there were two testaments, possibly, and that it featured God and Moses and a bunch of other guys and not many women. What was in there about angels? Without knowing, he couldn't really argue either way.
 

'So why are you doing this? Why are you trying to stop us getting poisoned if you don't care?'

'I didn't say I didn't care. Only that my caring isn't the fluffy kind. It's the practical kind, which is far more useful than the former.'

Alex leaned back in his seat, forehead creased. 'You're an angel.'

'You catch on quick, most impressive.'

'Angels aren't real.'

'Neither are zombies, but you know what, you've just made them a reality.'

Alex's chest tightened and he gripped his trousers as his hands shook. 'They aren't zombies as such, not entirely. They merely operate through instinct using a simpler system, it's not--'

'Will they eat brains?'

Alex stared at his hands. 'They'll eat anything that will sustain them. Protein's best, meat. Doesn't matter if it's raw or cooked. At a push, they'll eat vegetables, but they'd have to eat a huge amount to stay alive.'

Luke chortled, shaking his head. 'You've created vegetarian zombies. Not just made a myth, but a genre-busting myth. Most impressive. Some of my old colleagues will be most jealous.'

'They aren't vegetarians, not by a long shot. But I haven't created anything. I've made a weapon that will, conceivably, create them. But it's safe, that's why I gave it to them. They'll make it safe.'

Luke stared at him, incredulous smile on his face. 'You really believe the government can be trusted with anything? I've been a human for all of a week and I already know that. Admittedly, I've watched them dance from screw up to screw up for the last few millennia, but still...'

Alex got to his feet. 'I need a pee, back in a moment.'

He set off down the carriage until he reached the tiny toilet and crammed himself into it. He sat on the closed seat, staring at the wall while his hands shook. Luke was right. He'd created something terrible and his self-control lasted all of a few days before he cashed in. He had to get away. He had to get Lisa and get out the country, as quick as possible.

They could run far enough to escape whatever came of the plague. They could go to some remote island surrounded by sea. Maybe in the Pacific, Tonga or Fiji. But he had to get away from that crazy bastard first. He thought he was an angel. For a minute, Alex had believed it. Now though, he just thought the man was crazy.
 

He unlocked the door and peered out. Luke was just visible through the coats and elbows sticking out into the walkway. Alex crouched down and crept out of the toilet, heading the other way down the train. He reached the last carriage and squeezed himself into a corner seat. The next station was in the arse end of nowhere, but he could still get a cab or something from there.
 

His fingers drummed against his leg, eyes fixed on the door between the two carriages. Luke would be wondering where he was by now. How long before he decided to search? The train announcer told him the next stop was approaching and he shifted side to side. He was in a group of four seats and the other two occupants were staring at him like he had two heads.
 

He opened the window and tried not to fidget. The train slowed and the station signs flashed past. He got up and headed for the door. Waiting in the space between the carriages, he heard something and turned. A voice, soft and calm, cut through the noise of the stopping train.
 

'Tell me, Alex, what's your greatest fear?'

The train rattled to a halt and he reached out to keep himself steady. A burst of pain shot up his wrist and he glanced down to see a stump where his hand should be. Blood dripped lazily from it, as though it had better things to do but couldn't be bothered.
 

He screamed and grabbed at it with his other hand. Only that one was absent as well and his stumps banged together. The pain made every cigarette burn irrelevant and he dropped to his knees, vision closing in. He came to moments later to see eyes staring at him, an entire carriage-full of people watching this crazy man rolling on the floor.
 

His hands were whole and very much present. Luke came bustling up the carriage and helped him up. Alex was vaguely aware of Luke offering an apology to the others on the train.
 

'I'm so sorry, change of medication. Don't worry, he's fine.'

He allowed Luke to steer him back to their seats and settle him down. His hands were still there and he poked and prodded at them, biting on a finger to make sure. What had happened? Luke's voice drifted over the tiny table between them.
 

'Tell me, Alex, what's your greatest fear? The last five minutes would suggest you're rather partial to your hands, but I question whether it isn't the loss of the world you live in that doesn't cause more hardship. The baby and now your unwillingness to believe in me. Don't like change much, do you?'

Alex narrowed his eyes and said nothing. He rubbed his hands together and felt the grating pain of a few minutes ago. It had been real, as real as the airships of his future vision. 'What are you?'

'I'm your saviour.' The grin was back. 'Sounds good, doesn't it?'

Krystal - Thursday: Plague Day

Nothing moved. The city was swimming in a dirty fog that covered every street and everybody, and made the tops of the crashed cars look like hundreds of tiny islands. The fog stretched from Shepherds Bush to Limehouse, and got closer every second. And everywhere it went, those stupid enough to hang around dropped like drunks on a heavy night out.
 

Ed had stopped watching. He was sitting with some of the others in a circle, talking about stuff. She'd tuned in a moment ago and it sounded like they were talking about their lives. What made them happy, what they liked doing at the weekends, all the sorts of things people spoke about when the ship they were on started sinking.