Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga (7 page)

'Yeah, sorry, I know it's late, please?'

The creases didn't go away, but he stood back and made room for her. With a grateful smile she slipped past him and surveyed the main room. It was busy tonight but she saw him instantly. He was in a crowd, sat on the arm of a chair, leaning over a boy no older than Ed and saying something that made them all laugh.
 

Her skin crawled and she stopped by the door. Did he deserve to live? He would do it tonight, same as most nights and another boy would be scarred. Ed would stop that. Speaking of which...

She checked them, one at a time. He wasn't here. Unless he'd already gone to bed. She weaved through the common room, waving at the people she recognised. If she was Ed, she'd call them friends, but that was stupid. No one was friends here.
 

She headed for the dorms. They were separated here so she waited until the coast was clear before she sneaked into the boys'. Ed was there, with his back to her. He knelt in the centre of the room, head bowed and she paused, watching him. What was he doing? Was he praying? She snickered and he jumped and spun round. Tears ran down his snot-covered face and he clutched the knife in both hands.
 

'What are you doing here?' His voice shook.
 

'I'm not doing it.'

His control shattered and he howled, falling on his face and spreading his arms wide. He looked like he'd fallen from high up and splattered across the dormitory floor. She took a step closer and his fists clenched. She took a deep breath as he suddenly sat up, bringing the knife in towards himself.
 

It all happened horribly fast. The knife twisted until it was aimed at his body and she shouted something. She didn't know what, she was too busy diving at him. The knife moved, flashing beneath the fluorescent strip and she saw it slip through the ragged material of his t-shirt. Then her hand caught his arm and the knife and both of them went flying.
 

He was pinned to the floor beneath her. It would never have happened with anyone else, but he was so slight. The knife slid away from them and bumped into the far wall. She panted. He shook beneath her and she rolled off, thumping onto the floor and looking across at him. His forehead pressed against the cold tiles, snot and tears smearing across them.
 

'I can't do it. I want my mum.'

She let out a long breath and sat up. He came willingly enough, falling onto her lap and heaving great sobs. The sound broke something inside her and her own tears ran hot down her cheeks, tears she hadn't shed in all the time she'd been on the streets. Something slipped and tore free and a great weight fell away, leaving her floating despite the sobbing boy in her lap.

Interlude

Two for the price of one. And for only one rose. He hadn't expected the change in her as well. The boy wasn't saved, not how the Office would like, but he was away from the edge, so his job was done.
 

He couldn't count it as two officially. But using her had been a master stroke and he couldn't wait to tell Seph about it. For a week that had started so badly, he was feeling pretty good. He already knew who he was having tomorrow.
 

This one was tricky. He almost always felt sympathy for his subjects. There were always extraneous circumstances of some sort. No one counted love as an excuse, which was the most stupid thing he'd ever heard. If love didn't make you do stupid things, then what did?

But tomorrow's subject was nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with anything except greed. If he hadn't been made of pure energy, he might have considered not bothering. If.
 

Jackson Part One

Jackson woke and slid from his bed. Bitch was still sleeping. She could stay there. Better to not hear her bitching voice this early in the morning. Breakfast, comb through the beard thirty times, wax on the scalp and out to the van. He squeezed in, head brushing the roof and huge hands gripping the wheel.

Busy day. He checked himself in the rear view. Beard looked good, eyes not so much. He'd been drinking too much. Anything to block out the bitch moaning and whining at him every night. He had red bits around his dark irises, blood vessels that burst and spilled into the whites. He sniffed, hawked and spat out the window. It struck the dust of the yard and rolled into a tiny dirt-covered ball.

Shit game last night. Not one good player on the pitch. They fired the managers but it was the players getting the money to be shit every week. He spat again and pulled out of the yard to the road, yellow dust following in the van's wake.
 

He prodded his nose as he waited to pull out at the lights. Bitch had hit him a few weeks back and he was beginning to think she'd broken it. Not the first time, which was why it was so difficult to be sure. But it moved differently and felt even more spread out than usual.
 

He pulled out, giving the finger to the guy beeping him, and headed into town. He'd park up at Pavan's and the guy could like it. Too much to do to worry about the wardens. Far too bloody much to do. They were coming in tonight.
 

He bit his lip, the only sign he'd ever give he was worried. Worried was too strong a word for it. He wasn't worried about shit, 'cept maybe bitch sleeping around. She was too, no doubt. But still, it bore thinking about. Two years and seven months and now they were coming to visit. Why?

He'd ask them when they got here and if they couldn't give him an answer, he'd find someone else to sell to. There were plenty who wanted 'em. Hell, they were queuing up at the door. He stopped at the lights and checked the back. Ropes all present and correct.
 

He reached Pavan's without any of the wankers on the road driving into him. Always a bloody miracle, considering how many there were these days. He parked up and went for a walk. He strolled down to Embankment, checking out the tourists, watching for the weak spots.
 

There were a couple of girls, young, bag straps over both shoulders. He approached them with a warm smile but they hurried away. Too old anyway. He kept moving, watching, waiting. He headed for the South Bank. There were school trips there sometimes, but today it was empty. He did spot a couple of homeless kids, familiar territory. One was a young boy, long lanky black hair. The other was a girl, older than the boy and pretty in a skinny sort of way. Bob haircut and thin lips. He headed over but they spotted him and moved on quick enough.
 

It was fine. This was window shopping. He stomped over the Millennium Bridge and strolled back towards Embankment. Most of the way there when he smelled them. They took him back and he stopped dead, eyes watering. For a moment he was in Mam's garden, surrounded by rose bushes, watching her bustle about. She looked down and smiled at him and he opened his mouth. His breath came in short gasps and he placed one hand against his heart. Why did it hurt so bad? The smell faded and some semblance of reality returned. He stared at Mam until the rot appeared and she faded away.
 

He sneered and wandered over to the flower seller. The flowers were impressive. Mam would have loved them. He resisted the urge to buy them all and toss 'em in the river.

'Nice stall.'

'Thank you, sir, perhaps I can interest you in something?'

He was taking the piss. What was it with that stupid voice? 'I ain't buying no flowers.'

'Perhaps for a lady friend? Ladies always love to be given flowers.'

'Don't know no ladies.'

'I see.'

The flower seller looked down at his feet. He was a weird one, skin all messed up like he'd been burned or something. Jackson blinked and the skin was back to normal.
 

'How about one red rose then? The bitches love a red rose.'

He balled his hands into fists and leaned over the table between the flowers. 'You taking the piss?'

'Not at all, sir, merely meeting you in a place I thought you'd be comfortable.'

'I ain't never gonna be comfortable round a poofter like you, get it?'

'Absolutely, sir. I can offer you a sample. Here, take the rose for free, please.'

Jackson looked at the flower held out to him and the scent caught his nose and trapped it. He could see Mam, he could almost hear her. With a growl he lashed out and smashed the head of the rose, sending the petals flying. He stomped away, not wanting to look the flower seller in the eye, and not sure why.
 

He got a few paces before he stopped and checked himself. He always looked people in the eye. He turned, hands shaking from being clenched so hard and approached the man. He stood where he'd left him, the empty rose stem still clutched in his hand. As Jackson approached, he raised his head and their eyes met.
 

'That was unnecessary.'

'Screw you, offering me a rose.'

'What is so bad about offering you a rose?'

'What the heck? You think I'm a poofter or summink?'

'I merely thought you might like something to give your woman when you got home. I'm sure you have one, you carry yourself like a man used to getting what he wants.'

'Damn right. Why would I want to give her anything?'

'Not to put too fine a point on it, to keep her sweet. Sometimes it's easier to stroke than keep clear of the claws.'

What the hell was he talking about? He was right though, she wouldn't... he glanced at his watch and swore. They would be here in a few minutes and he was too far away. What the hell had he been thinking? And where had the bloody time gone?

He dashed down Embankment, leaving the roses on the stall.
 

Interlude

The flower seller watched him go, satisfied with the smear of water and rose petal on the back of Jackson's hand. It didn't count as receiving, not strictly, but it would do.
 

That was lazy. But if these were the only tools they gave him, what did they expect? He could probably have tried harder, but he'd tried and that's what counted. He turned back to the stall and started to pack up. There was work still to be done.
 

He tried to keep the smile from his face, but he couldn't help cracking a grin. What a singularly unpleasant man. His list entry had made it quite clear how nasty a piece of work he was, but he was all that and more in the flesh.
 

He felt it, his old life, at times like this. It had been centuries, but he couldn't help remembering the old thrill when an opportunity arose. It was, he thought, the creative part of himself, stifled from his time in the Flights. They didn't appreciate creativity in the Dome. They appreciated numbers and results.
 

Well, he could have both. He opened his jacket and one by one placed the bunches of flowers inside, where they vanished. He whistled quietly to himself as he worked.
 

Jackson Part Two

How had he lost so much time? Bloody tourists. He shoved his way through the traffic, growling under his breath. They were meeting in the park. Him and the two of them on a bench, all cosy and out the way.
 

He was sweating, a thick sheen of it all over his dome. Bloody, sodding bollocks. He ran over the road and into the park. They wouldn't want to wait. And they wouldn't be impressed. He hadn't thought he cared that much but turns out he did.
 

He slowed as he neared the centre of the park and followed the instructions. He spotted them before they spotted him and took a moment to examine. They were wearing suits. Should he have worn a suit? He spat, drawing stares from the people around him. Why did he care? Bloody Chinese bastards, he was better than them.
 

Jackson stomped over and stopped before the bench, arms folded. They looked up at him and for a brief moment his blood ran cold. Bitch had dead eyes, but they were nothing on these two.
 

'Hi, you Li and Han?'

They still stared at him. One of them, who knew which, lifted an arm and carefully examined his watch.
 

'Yeah, I know, bloody tourists in the way.' He stopped himself before he could say anything else stupid. Their eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth again, then shut it. He shifted from foot to foot.
 

'We do not appreciate being made to wait.'

Jackson blinked. The guy had an American accent, bang on. Weird.
 

'Yeah, like I said, tourists.'

The one who hadn't spoken patted the bench beside him. Jackson was sitting before he had time to think. This was that bastard flower seller's fault. He'd thrown him. He'd been having a good morning and now it was all over the shop because of him. Sodding roses. He scrubbed his hand on the knee of his jeans and turned to the two Chinese men.
 

'Let's put this little issue of lateness behind us, shall we, and begin again. I am Li, then is Hen.'

Jackson stuck out a hand and received the limpest handshakes known to man. What was he so worried about? These guys were creepy but he could snap them both without blinking. Hell, bitch could snap them.
 

'Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. We thought this would be a good time in our relationship to develop a deeper understanding. It is important that we are all on the same page, you understand?'

Jackson nodded, waiting. There was a
but
in this. He didn't know what it was, but it was definitely there.
 

'Tell me, Jackson, where do you see yourself in five years' time?'

Jackson blinked. He hadn't been asked that since school. When they asked him there, he told them he'd be robbing cars. Turns out he went a bit further, but they never expected anything from him, so cars seemed pretty big at the time.
 

'Dunno. Working with you, I suppose.'

Was that the right answer? His hands were in his lap and he rubbed them together.
 

'I see. You wouldn't want to be in our position, making people like you do all the work?'