Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga (5 page)

She wouldn't notice herself, but her shoulders had fallen from their place up around her ears. The muscles would ache tomorrow and she wouldn't know why.
 

One from two so far this week. Not bad and certainly better than he'd expected after yesterday. The flower seller sat at his desk, pulled the window closed and focused on the list that lay before him. He had to pick tomorrow's subject.
 

The first he glanced at entranced him and he read it three times, smile getting bigger. He could do this one. This was made for him. He just had to find the right trigger. He read further and thumped the desk with his spare hand. Beer time. With a satisfied sigh, he flicked the lamp off, walked to the edge and jumped.
 

Krystal Part One

They were talking again. She rolled over to face the wall and stuffed her jumper over her ears, but it didn't cut out the noise. She lay still, every muscle in her body tight as a guitar string. She could scream. Any moment she'd lose it and scream.
 

She rolled over and peered through the darkness. 'Please, shut up. Please.'

The voices ceased and the silence was sudden and complete. Others in the room shifted and turned over. No one spoke. She heard covers flicked back and the pad of feet on the floor. Krystal pushed herself back against the wall as far from the edge of her bunk as possible. It didn't help.
 

A hand came in, grasping and groping and it grabbed her arm and yanked hard. She whimpered but bit her lip. She wouldn't say anything, she couldn't. They wouldn't let her back if she made trouble.
 

She tumbled onto the floor and thanked whatever crappy excuse there was for a god that she'd gotten the bottom bunk. He pulled her up and hissed in her ear.
 

'I'll speak when I fucking well want to.' The 'want' was accompanied by a fist in her gut and she dropped to her knees, gasping, tears streaming. She'd expected him to go for the face. She'd seen him before, with others, and it had always been the face. She hadn't been ready for the stomach.

He padded away and she crawled onto her bunk. As she stifled the low sounds of her crying, the silence grew deeper. They all knew. They'd all give her sympathetic looks in the morning, but none of them would say anything. None of them would stand up for her. Just like she'd never stood up for them.
 

She pulled her jumper back over her head and sobbed into the thin mattress until sleep came.

He was gone when she woke up. He normally was. On the bunk below his, last night's conquest lay curled in a ball. His hair was long, around his shoulders and covering his face, but his bare shoulder showed the marks from his fingers.
 

Krystal slipped from her bed and scampered across to him. She could feel the others watching her, but every one of them avoided her eyes when she crossed the room. She knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away, scurrying back in his bunk, and she had a sudden vision of what she must have looked like last night.
 

'I'm sorry.'

Why was she sorry? Because she didn't do more? Because she'd leave this morning and not say anything to anyone? Or just because he'd been hurt far worse than she had and there was no one else who'd say sorry? Didn't matter. It didn't mean anything anyway.
 

A solitary eye peered at her from beneath his hair. His black locks shone beneath the dirty light coming in through the high windows. The shine was grease.
 

'Why are you sorry?'

Ah crap. 'Dunno. Just am, 'spose.'

A thin sound that sat midway between crying and laughing emerged from him and he scooted his legs out and onto the floor. He sat up and she stared as his mouth went through strange contortions that ended with it curled down at the edges and shaking.
 

He was trying so hard not to cry and she held her breath. It was a relief when he let himself go and she wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He buried his filthy hair into her arm pit and howled. She stared at the others in the room, who in turn stared back, everyone asking her the same question.
 

What now?

That was easy. Extricate herself as quick as damned well possible and get away from here. She wanted to ask the kid where
he'd
gone, but he was as likely to know as any of them. There were only four hostels in this part of London and he could turn up at any one of them, any night of the week.

The weather had turned at the weekend, so maybe she should take it outside again. Krystal always preferred sleeping outside, but there were late frosts and she valued her toes too much. A punch in the stomach wasn't much to take. Not compared to what the boy sobbing in her armpit had been through. But the guy only went for boys and there wasn't anyone else around to scare her off.
 

His name was Dawid. He didn't speak English, or not as much as most of the others. But he was persuasive and had the same kind of language as the police. He could convince you your world was tiny. Wasn't difficult with most of them. Once you knew your world was a few streets and a few rooms like this and no one cared, you'd do whatever he wanted if it meant he'd leave you alone.
 

Krystal had been here long enough to know that wasn't true. She vaguely remembered from when she'd gone to school that it was called a stay of execution. They were all on death row, every bloody last one of them. And Dawid was the vindictive guard with the night stick and the technique that left no bruises.
 

The sobs died down and she fidgeted. She freed herself, patted his shoulder, and slunk out the room. She checked her locker on the way past, relieved to find it un-screwed with, and headed for the bathroom. She needed a shower today, however much she didn't want to have one.
 

The bathroom was empty and she dived in and showered as fast as humanly possible. By some stroke of luck, the room stayed empty. Maybe she'd earned it with her gut punch yesterday. Her belly was sore but he hadn't done anything permanent. She weed, watching the dirty yellow run away with the shower water. It didn't hurt, so that was a bonus.
 

She peered in the mirror. She needed a haircut. She kept it short, bobbed around her ears. Quicker to wash and less likely to attract the men. Boys, whatever. She looked a bit like a boy and they left her alone. Not that she was likely to attract them anyway. She could feel her ribs through her t-shirt and her hip bones against her jeans. Her face was the same, cheek bones pressing through the skin, beneath her red-ringed, cold-blue eyes.

They were striking. She'd been told that before. It was why she kept them trained on the ground as much as possible. That was the problem with sleeping out, of course. When people saw the eyes they got ideas. And some of her friends had disappeared recently. The vans were out, looking for girls. She knew where they went.
 

She shivered and wrapped her towel around herself. Her lips barely showed against her skin, thin and chapped and pressed hard together. Krystal flung on her clothes, grabbed her bag from her locker and headed out front. Mrs Ely wasn't in. Probably out getting breakfast. She thought about staying for it and her stomach growled. Maybe she would. Fresh air first, though.
 

She stepped out the door, keeping one foot in so it didn't security-lock and stared up at the sun. Third clear sky in a row and warm enough at eight in the morning to not need her jacket. Her lips curled up at the edges and she felt a twinge at the unusual movement.
 

'Thought you hadn't left yet. Can we talk?'

She jumped and put her hands up. Her foot slid free of the door and she swore and turned on the speaker. The long haired boy stared at her between his curtains and blushed.
 

'Sorry, didn't mean to, but you know, you were nice to me.'

'Yeah, my mistake.'

Krystal looked back up at the sky and shook her head. Would it hurt? Not as much as he did, in all likelihood. 'Yeah, we can talk. Soon as you make sure Mrs Ely gives us some breakfast.'

'Yeah, sure, of course, thanks.'

He nodded like a labrador and she groaned inwardly. What was he, twelve, thirteen? They stood in awkward silence while they waited for Mrs Ely to return. What was she supposed to say? 'Hey. So, you got raped last night. Come here often?'

Not a moment too soon, Mrs Ely bustled down the pavement and waved at them both. 'Out early today.'

'Yeah, not supposed to be. Any chance of breakfast, please?'

She cast a glare at the boy who had the good grace to look sheepish, but the warden waved them through the door and she sat gratefully in the large room that counted as a dining space. Ten minutes later she clung to her polystyrene cup of tea with both hands, drinking in the smell like the elixir of life. The boy ate nothing.
 

She found out he was called Ed and this was his first summer on the streets. Tough start. Though not as bad as what he'd had at home from the sounds of it. Still, he sounded pretty posh, so can't have been all bad.
 

'You said you wanted to talk.'

'Um, yeah. So, last night...'

Krystal put her cup on the table, leaned back and folded her arms. He wanted to talk about that. God, she'd given him a hug, that was all. She wasn't some bloody agony aunt.
 

'Look, I'm sorry about last night, but talking to me about it ain't gonna help.'

'He punched you.'

It wasn't a question. 'Yeah.'

'Was it the first time?'

'For me? Yeah.'

'For others?'

'Nah.'

'He shouldn't be doing that.'

'What, punching me? That's what you're worried about?'

'Of course not. He shouldn't have...done what he did to me either, but punching girls, that's just wrong.'

'
That's
wrong?'

She tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice. He was serious, he was actually serious. Of all the things Dawid was guilty of, Ed was most worried about him hitting girls. And he hadn't seen the half of it. The bastard broke someone's jaw the other week, punched her so hard she swallowed two of her teeth. Krystal'd got off lightly and she knew it.
 

He was staring at her, all earnest and young, and she groaned and nodded. 'Yeah, it's wrong. Punching girls and not saying please and not covering your mouth when you sneeze, it's all wrong, what's the point?'

'I'm going to kill him.'

Krystal Part Two

'I'm going to kill him.'

She thought she was going to laugh; that was the most sensible response. But there was something in his serious little face that choked it off. She settled for opening her mouth and closing it again then shaking her head.
 

'No, you're not.'

'Yes I am. I'm going to kill him and dump his body in the river and then he'll never hit anyone or do what he did to me again.'

There it was again, the look that was a challenge, that dared her to laugh. 'You'll get caught.'

'So you don't think it's wrong?'

'Of course it's bloody wrong.'

She ducked her head, glancing around the dining room at the others. Four had entered since they started breakfast but they were all too busy eating cornflakes to give a toss what they were talking about. She lowered her voice.
 

'Of course it's bloody wrong. But I don't care about that. What I'd be worried about is getting caught.'

'That's why I need you.'

Krystal took one look at him and snorted. She pushed her chair back and picked up her tea. 'Lovely talking to you. Good luck with everything.'

She walked as fast as her tea would allow out the dining room and into the morning air. The days that began with tea were always better than those that didn't. The ones that began with boys trying to convince her to get involved with murder weren't normally so good.
 

She stomped away, trying to choose her destination. Coppers were pretty hot on Tottenham Court Road at the moment. Covent Garden maybe, find a few guilt-ridden tourists. Tourists always paid better than locals. Everyone knew that. 'Cept maybe Ed. He probably didn't know that. Apparently, he knew nothing.
 

She heard the pad of feet on the pavement behind her and sighed, shaking her head. Bloody labrador. He came up alongside, puffing.
 

'You walk fast.'

'Yeah, s'better than running and gets you places.'

'Can we talk?'

'No.'

'Look, please, just for a mi--'

Krystal stopped and swung her hands about in the air, tea slopping over the edge of her cup. 'Leave me alone. You ain't gonna kill him 'cause then you go to jail and that's bloody stupid. I mean, that's it, game over.'

'Oh, because this game's so much fun.'

'This game's bollocks, innit, but trust me, prison makes this look like the sunny side of the street.'

'Yeah, well, maybe, but I'm going to kill him and I need your help and if you don't help me then I'm definitely going to prison.'

The tea went flying as she grabbed his collar. She shoved him halfway across the street before the honk of a horn made her remember where they were. She gave him a final push and let go, setting off at a stomp towards Charing Cross. Traffic was building up, all the rich wankers in their suits and ties. Begging here was like sitting in the desert waiting for rain. Only the desert smelled better.
 

He was following her. She could feel it, like a bit of paper stuck to her shoe. He was bloody mad. And he tried to blackmail her and that was way beyond. She raced across the lights and into the streets around Covent Garden. Coming here reminded her of when she'd still lived at home.
 

Mum had brought her here, once or twice, after Dad left. They hadn't bought anything. They'd laughed at the thought, but it still felt special. Didn't feel much of anything now 'cept bile in her throat. Shoes worth more than she was. No, not worth more, just cost more.