Thirteen Roses Book Two: After: A Paranormal Zombie Saga (8 page)

His left arm jarred with every step, and he gasped for air, but he couldn't stop and he couldn't slow down. The sound came again and he glanced over his shoulder. A large part of the crowd from outside the burning shop were in pursuit, but they were still some distance away. The zombie he'd left by the fence was also heading his way and considerably closer.
 

But all that faded away when he saw the bus. It was a typical London bus, red and double decker. It was also moving, heading towards the crowd outside the shop and building up speed. He squinted, trying to see who or what was driving it, but the windows were covered in blood.
 

He had to keep moving. If he kept moving they couldn't catch him. He picked up his pace and reached the end of the street. The Houses of Parliament lay before him; filled, no doubt, with arguing, twattish zombies in badly-fitted suits who still didn't care what happened outside its walls.

He glanced back again and saw the bus hit the crowd of zombies. He heard the sound all the way down the street, like a JCB plunging its metal scoop into wet soil. Someone was driving it, someone alive.
 

He had to go back there.
 

The crowd were still heading towards him and he looked in both directions. He could go round, head to the river and come back up further down. But what if the bus was already gone? What if it picked up whoever was in the shop and drove away?

He put his back to parliament and faced the approaching crowds.
 

He was the wind.
 

He could do this.
 

A laugh broke free at the sheer insanity of it, but it was no less insane than a fortnight spent alone. With a cry, he broke into a run, heading straight for the zombies.
   

Bayleigh

The bed slipped. Her weight was too much and as the stairs crashed down, the flaming bed scooted away over the floor and smashed into a wallpaper display. Her impact with the floor drove the air from her body, and she grunted, gasping as tears sprang up in her eyes. The flames from the bed caught the rolls of wallpaper and they flew across the room as flaming torches, spitting fire as they twisted in the heat.
 

She'd just sat up when the windows upstairs blew out. Bayleigh ducked and covered her head, for all the good it did her, and squeaked in alarm for good measure. The phrase 'blow out' turned out to be false, as thousands of shards of glass fell like rain in the shop. Her hands caught the worst of it and she felt every shred dig into her skin.
 

But it was the least of her worries. The windows going helped clear the air, but the temperature was still building and her top was stuck to her skin with sweat. The zombies still clamoured at the door. She stared at them, wondering what it would take to drive them away.
 

Then she heard it. A man was shouting.
 

She gasped and charged across to the lone bed on this floor. Why did they put the beds on the top floor? Wouldn't it have been easier to have beds downstairs and light stuff upstairs? She'd do things totally differently if she ran this place.
 

She jumped onto the bed and peered out over the tops of the zombie's heads. A man with a beard and waving hands went racing straight past the shop, coming horribly close to the zombies. It was almost as though he wanted them to reach out and grab him. He disappeared and one by one the zombies turned to follow him. Inside of a minute there were maybe twenty left, still hammering at the glass.
 

So, her against twenty. The odds were better now. She choked back a sob and shook her head. He'd tried to save her. Some random stranger who had somehow miraculously survived out there had tried to save her, and she wouldn't even get to say thank you.
 

She clamped her jaws together. The upper floor was completely aflame, black smoke billowing from the windows. Down here the fire was spreading as well, flames licking greedily at the cots and baby blankets at the back.
 

She wasn't going to die here. She wasn't going to burn alive and she wasn't going to get eaten, not like Layla. Thinking of her friend made her stomach sick and her throat close up, so she shoved it down and blocked out the image of the blackening body on the bed. She had to think.
 

She still had her weapon. Despite the stairs coming down and her fall, she'd kept hold of it, and now she brandished it before her. At the least, she could kill a few before they got her. Except they wouldn't get her, because she'd kill herself before she let one bite her.
 

She took slow steps towards the front door. The zombies hammered harder, dead eyes following her every move. Another noise intruded, the sound of an engine. Was it him? Was he coming back? How was he still alive? She tried to peer past the zombies, but she couldn't get the angle. Then she saw it.
 

A London bus, going way faster than it had probably ever done on Whitehall before, charged towards the shop. She scampered back, still holding the long-handled shears before her like they could defend her from being hit by a bus. It turned and one set of wheels lifted from the ground. Whoever drove it was as desperate as she.
 

Then it struck the zombies and the front windows were splattered with blood like a slushy attack from
Glee
.
 

Jackson

Jackson unclipped the driver's internal door and leapt back. The zombie inside didn't know what had happened until it hit the relevant window and the door swung open. Like a ferret released from its cage, the thing sprang out and rushed him, waving bloody stumps in his face. It was quicker, far quicker than he'd expected, and he succeeded only in getting the axe between them.
 

It ran into it, but the blade was flat between them and for a moment its face was less than a foot from his own. He stared, paralysed by the deep, blackening eyes that saw him, yet seemed to see nothing.
 

He shoved and the zombie flew back to bounce off the luggage holder and tumble towards the front door. It was too cramped in here to get a good swing, so Jackson settled for driving the tip of the axe blade into its face.
 

It sank deep and felt like pushing a stick into pond weed, giving whilst trying to resist. He put his weight behind it and grinned as it burst through the zombie's face and into its brain. The body stiffened and, when he yanked the axe free, crumpled to the floor of the bus.

He put his back to the driver's door and pushed with both feet until the body slid out of the bus and thumped to the ground. Then he slipped into the driver's seat and pushed the button to close the front door. It hissed shut and he sat for a moment, taking deep breaths.
 

The crazy running man was past the zombies and heading for Big Ben. Jackson turned the keys and the bus roared into life. He fiddled with the gear stick for a moment, trying to get a feel for it, then put it in first and raised the clutch. It wasn't a million miles away from the van and he lurched forwards without stalling it. The bus bumped down from the pavement onto the road, swaying side to side, and he put his foot down.
 

It roared and began, very slowly, to accelerate. He fixed his eyes on the shop, now pouring thick black smoke from the upper floors, and changed gear. His only thought was to empty the shop front of zombies. Once he'd done that he could pick up whoever was in there and crazy running man, and they could get out of there.
 

Where would they go? London was his life, it was where he belonged. He couldn't imagine heading off into the country. The bus struck the kerb and dragged his thoughts back to the moment. The bus swayed as he hauled it round and narrowly avoided a lamp post. He caught the corner of a parked car and sent it skidding across the street.
 

A grin tightened the edges of his mouth. This thing was a beast. He put his foot to the floor until the revs picked up, then went up a gear. He was running parallel to the buildings now, hands gripping the wheel like it was the bitch's hips. He blinked, a sudden vision of dark, naked skin filling his mind.
 

Tears sprung up but he wasn't sure whether they were for her or himself. He was a sinner, black-hearted and lost. He could kill as many zombies as he wanted. He could never atone for what he'd done to her. And now she was dead. He could never apologise, never try and make it all right.
 

As he gripped the steering wheel and saw his girlfriend's face, he realised there was one thing he could do. He could kill her and stop her from being a zombie. She shouldn't have to live as an undead creature, constantly thirsting for blood and flesh. He could find her and kill her. He would. The first chance he got, he would go home and do the one thing that would make a difference.
 

That was what God wanted him to do. God wanted him to atone and he would do so, again and again, but it had to start with the person to whom he'd done the most wrong. He nodded and gritted his teeth. The bus swung from side to side and he wrestled with the wheel on the uneven pavement.
 

The mass of zombies outside the shop had seen him now, though they were too dumb to run. Instead they watched as he ploughed into them. The first few that struck the bus just vanished, burst apart like piñatas. Their blood spattered in all directions and his grin reappeared to stretch his cheeks.
 

The rest of them went beneath the wheels or broke apart. For a few moments he had one stuck to the front windshield, inches from him as its brains spread out across the glass. He found the windscreen wiper and flicked it on full, squeezing washer fluid at the same time. The window scuz dissolved and the mass of watery blood and brain matter grew steadily thinner as water gushed from the nozzles.
 

He stamped on the brake and ground his teeth as the bus tried to spin. A screaming sound made him jump as the side of the bus struck the edge of the building and scraped along it. Sparks rained down the side of the window and the doors rattled and popped. Then the bus stopped and he sat, staring through the mess on the windshield and panting deep breaths.
   

Krystal

Driving wasn't that difficult. The car kept lurching and stopping but she figured that would ease off as she got the hang of it. She'd get the hang of it any moment now. Ed had one hand on the dashboard, gripping the black with whitened fingers. She yanked the wheel and edged around another car parked right in the centre of the road. She cut it close, and a sound like tearing coke cans made her screw her face up and duck as the wheel jerked about in her hands.
 

'Sorry, my bad.'

Ed tried to smile but his face still had that plastic, dead look that gave her the creeps. Maybe if she drove faster she could scare him out of this horrible state. And if they crashed, he still wouldn't be dying alone.
 

The road was lethal. This would be so much easier if it wasn't covered in crashes and stalled cars. She was surprised there weren't more on fire. She remembered movies where cars burst into flames when they tapped a lamppost. They were driving past buildings with cars embedded half in them yet were still resolutely fire-free.
 

They left Shoreditch behind and reached Tower Bridge. She loved the bridge and the castle as well. They were from a time when half the people in London were homeless, or as good as. There weren't people in suits, driving flash cars to make you feel even worse than you already did. Everyone smelled and everyone ate crap, and it was just the way life was.
 

She wasn't sure that was true. There were bound to be rich people even then, but surely there were more like her. Didn't matter if it was true, she was sticking by it. And besides, there was no one around to tell her otherwise.
 

Tower Bridge was heaving with zombies, as though something had called them there. She slowed as they drove past the end of it, ignoring the thumps on the car boot as a zombie realised there was something edible inside.
 

The zombies stood in rows on the bridge, staring down river. Not super neat or anything, but organised enough to creep her out more than they already did.
 

She tapped Ed on the shoulder. 'What are they looking at?'

He craned round and peered out the back of the car, then shrugged. 'Don't know. Can't see anything.'

She accelerated, more smoothly this time, and resumed weaving as they drove down the river. She was just thinking how much fun it was, when a zombie lurched off the pavement in front of her and she slammed her foot on the wrong pedal. The creature bounced off the front and landed on the road. The sound of it going under the wheels made her stomach turn over and she retched.
 

'That's it, get another one.' Ed wasn't quite snarling, but he wasn't far off it. She glanced sideways and raised an eyebrow at the fierce look on his face. She looked in the rear-view mirror, which was an amazing invention, and saw the crushed body. Ed grabbed the wheel and tugged it, and she screamed and thumped him.
 

He released the wheel but she'd already smashed into another zombie. This one went straight under the car, accompanied by a series of thuds and wet crunches.
 

'What the hell are you doing?'

'We got one.'

'I don't give a toss, we nearly drove into that car.'

'We have to kill them, right? So we just killed one, end of story.'

'No, not end of story. Listen, suicide boy, I don't intend to die doing something stupid. If they get me then they get me but I'm not throwing myself in the way, alright? Leave the bloody wheel alone.'

He folded his arms and stuck his bottom lip out as he slouched back into his chair. She almost giggled but bit her lip instead. Laughing at him was unlikely to elicit the best response. She focused on the road ahead and not hitting anything. Seconds later, she swore and thumped the wheel.