Zom-B City (9 page)

Something about these people unsettles me. They don’t seem to be carrying any weapons, yet they’re walking around openly. Hasn’t anyone told them about the zombies?

I follow the group on to the bridge, wait until we’re halfway across – St Paul’s Cathedral towers ahead of us – then call out to them, ‘Hey!’

They stop but don’t turn. I edge closer, skin prickling, ready to dive over the side of the bridge if they produce guns from beneath their robes and open fire. But although the men and women glance at me as I slip past them, nobody reacts in any other way.

The woman at the head of the group studies me with a solemn expression as I stop before her. She’s pretty, but has a pinched, stern face. Her hair is pure white – all the others have white hair too, which makes me think it’s dye – so it’s hard to judge her age.

‘You are one of the restless dead,’ the woman says, having noted the hole in my chest.

‘Yeah.’

She cocks her head. ‘I did not know that the undead could speak.’

‘Most can’t. I’m an exception.’

The woman nods, then spreads her arms wide. ‘I am Sister Clare, of the Order of the Shnax. Have you come to attack us, foul creature of the lost?’

‘No.’

‘You have not come to slice open our skulls and feast on our brains?’ she presses, pale blue eyes hard in the glaring sunlight.

‘Not unless you want me to,’ I joke.

‘There!’ the woman exclaims to those behind her. ‘The blessings of the Shnax are with us, as I told you they would be.’

The people in the robes mutter appreciatively and bow their heads. Sister Clare basks in their adulation, then trains her gaze on me again.

‘Are you a vile imp sent to guide us?’ she asks haughtily.

‘No,’ I growl, resisting the urge to punch her on the nose. ‘I saw you getting out of the boat and was curious. I wanted to warn you as well. It’s dangerous here. The zombies –’

‘We know all about them,’ she interrupts. ‘They are why we have come, to test our faith against theirs.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I frown. ‘Zombies don’t have any faith. They’re brainless.’

‘They are instruments of the dark forces of the universe,’ she corrects me. ‘By walking without fear among them, we will challenge those who work through their pitiful forms and reclaim this ground that they would steal from us. If you mean neither to help nor hinder us, then step aside or face the wrath of the Shnax.’

The woman waves a hand at me and glides past imperiously. The others follow, nodding and mumbling. A few smirk at me. One of the men touches the symbol on his forehead, then points at me as if to say, ‘I’ve got my eye on you!’

I don’t care much for Sister Clare or her sneering tone, but these weirdos have caught my attention. I can’t resist following, to find out what they’re up to. So, ignoring the fact that they don’t care for my company, I trail after them as they cross the bridge and wander into the zombie-infested bowels of the city.

SEVENTEEN

The fearless members of the Order of the Shnax march to St Paul’s and stop outside, chanting happily, beaming at one another. The sun is shining brightly and no zombies are on the streets. It’s as if we have the city to ourselves.

Sister Clare leads the group on a full circuit of the cathedral, then heads east. I try to wring more information out of her as they proceed.

‘You know you’re all going to be killed.’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘You might wish for our deaths, vulgar beast of the otherworld, but you will be disappointed. We have the power of the Shnax on our side. No harm will befall us.’

‘What
are
the Shnax?’ I press. ‘Some sort of religious group?’

‘We are of the true religion,’ Sister Clare tells me and points a finger at the sky. ‘The religion of the stars.’

‘The stars . . .’ the others echo dreamily, all pointing upwards.

‘Celestial beings have always gazed down on us,’ Sister Clare continues. ‘Since the dawn of mankind they have encouraged us, rewarded us when we are deserving, punished us when we have sinned. They are the Shnax.’

‘Aliens?’ I laugh. ‘Pull the other one!’

She smiles condescendingly. ‘Like so many others, you can only mock. That is why you were turned into a pitiful mockery of the human form while we were spared. This world was disgusting, overcrowded with vain, petty humans. It needed clearing so that a fresh, clean civilisation could grow out of the ashes of the old.

‘The Shnax would never have done this to us, since they are creatures of love, but there are other forces at work in the universe, agents of destruction. The Shnax protected us from them in the past, but this time, for our own good, they let their foes wreak havoc. But they shielded the believers and kept us safe, so that we can guide the others who survived.’

I gawp at Sister Clare and the lunatics who follow her.

‘You think that you know better than us,’ Sister Clare smirks. ‘I see it in your eyes, as lifeless as they are.’

‘Come on,’ I chuckle uneasily. ‘You can’t really believe that aliens did this or that they’re guarding you.’

‘If not the Shnax, then who?’ she asks.

‘The government . . . scientists . . . terrorists . . . take your pick.’

She shakes her head. ‘This apocalypse was not the work of humans. No mortal could have subjected the world to terrors on such a diabolic scale. Mankind has been culled. The weak have been cut down and set against the strong. It is the result of a godly hand, but there are no gods meddling in our affairs, only the Shnax.’

‘Who told you about these aliens? Did you read about them in a magazine? See a show on TV?’

‘They contacted me directly,’ she sniffs. ‘They spoke to me in dreams to begin with. Later I learnt to put myself into a trance and speak with them that way.’

‘So you hear voices,’ I murmur.

‘Go ahead,’ she snaps, her smile vanishing. ‘Laugh at me. You won’t be the first. But I told people this would happen. Nobody believed me until it was too late. Now that the worst has come to pass, people are starting to see that I was right. These are the first of my disciples, but they will not be the last. When we emerge from these haunted streets, alive and untouched, more will flock to our side. The survivors will see that I am the mouthpiece of the Shnax, and the world will finally offer us the respect which we are due.’

Sister Clare turns to the others and cries, ‘Out of the darkness of the skies came the Shnax!’

‘Out of the darkness!’ they respond, heads bobbing, fingers twitching.

The fanatics carry on, wandering aimlessly. I think about abandoning them – I should be heading west, not wasting my time on these maniacs – but I’ll feel bad if I leave them without at least trying to make them see sense.

‘You can’t really believe that aliens will save you from the zombies,’ I challenge them.

‘How else are we protected?’ Sister Clare retorts smugly, waving a hand at the buildings around us. ‘These are the homes of the damned, populated by the lost and vicious hordes, yet no monster comes out to attack us.’

‘You’ve been lucky,’ I argue. ‘Sunlight hurts zombies. They rest up in the daytime. If you’re still here when night falls . . .’ I draw a finger across my throat.

Sister Clare scowls at me. ‘You know nothing of these matters, child of the lost. Leave us be.’

‘I know that you’re mad,’ I snap. ‘And I know you don’t truly believe what you’re preaching. You’d put your lives fully on the line if you did.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Sister Clare asks, drawing to a halt.

‘It’s brave of you to come here,’ I drawl, smiling tightly at the men and women in the robes. ‘But you’d have come when it was dark if you wanted to prove beyond doubt that you were under heavenly protection. Or you’d go into one of these buildings, packed with the living dead, stand in the middle of them and chant away to your heart’s content. But you don’t because you know deep down that you’d be eaten alive.’

I flash my sharp teeth at them. Sister Clare’s face reddens and she opens her mouth to have a go at me. But then one of the men says, ‘The girl speaks the truth.’

Sister Clare’s eyes fill with rage. ‘You doubt me, Sean?’ she shrieks.

‘No,’ the man called Sean says without lowering his gaze. ‘I believe. But we must face our enemy. If the Shnax are looking down on us kindly, as I’m sure they are, we can walk through the ranks of the undead and the whole world will know that what we say is true. Otherwise people will sneer at us, as she has, and claim it was merely good fortune that we passed through these streets unharmed.’

Sister Clare licks her lips nervously. I catch a glimpse of uncertainty in her expression. Part of her knows this is madness.

‘I can lead you back to your boat,’ I say softly. ‘You can return to wherever you were hiding before. You’ll die if you go on.’

She stares at me for a long moment. Then she spits in my face. As I pull back, shocked, she faces her followers. ‘The demon wants to lure us back to our boat and send us on our way. She is afraid of us, afraid of the Shnax.’

The other men and women start jeering and spitting at me. My temper flares and I flex my fingers, ready to rip them to pieces. I take a step forward, snarling. I think, if Sister Clare stepped away, I’d go for her. But she doesn’t retreat. Instead she takes a step towards me, tilting her head back, offering her throat.

‘Go ahead, servant of the darkness,’ she hisses. ‘Kill me if that is what your foul masters demand. I will die happily in the service of the Shnax.’

The others fall to their knees and offer their throats too. I shake my head and lower my hand, remembering Tyler Bayor, recalling my vow to be a better person.

Sister Clare tuts. Then her features soften. ‘No, it is wrong of me to blame you for what you have become. You were weak, as so many were, but it is not for us to condemn you. You are suffering enough.’

Her gaze settles on something behind me. She starts to smile again. ‘But the imp is right about one thing, brothers and sisters. We
do
need to confront the forces of darkness directly, to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that we are blessed. Let us face our destiny and show the world that ours is the one true way. Follow me!’

Sister Clare sets off at a jog. The others rise and hurry after her, chanting even faster than before, buzzing now, ready to follow their leader into the jaws of Hell if she demands it of them.

Turning to see where they’re going, I realise she’s leading them to a place even deadlier than the fabled gates of the underworld. We’ve come to the threshold of Liverpool Street Station. There are probably scores of zombies down there on the concourse, sheltering from the sun. Sister Clare is at the top of the steps which descend into that murky den of the dead.

‘No!’ I yell. ‘Don’t do it. I didn’t mean to dare you. I believe. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Come back.’

But Sister Clare only flashes me a smile of twisted triumph. Then she heads down, followed by the others, into the zombie-friendly gloom.

EIGHTEEN

I can’t bear to let them go off by themselves, so I race after them, down the steps into the stomach of what was once commuter heaven.

It’s not as dark down here as I thought. The station lets in quite a lot of light, so most of the zombies in residence have avoided the concourse. Still, there must be a hundred or more of the beasts who were resting in the shade around the main ring of the station. And every single one of them is now pushing forward, closing in on the nine robed, doomed humans.

Sister Clare acts as if she’s unaware of the threat and marches to the centre of the concourse. Her chant turns into a song and the others take it up, a dull tune about stars and aliens and how the chosen will be spared the wrath of the skies.

The deluded humans come to a halt in the middle of the station and form a circle, hands linked, feet planted firmly, singing joyously. The zombies push in closer . . . closer . . .

Then stop about a metre away.

I stare with disbelief at the white-haired men and women singing loudly, the zombies massed around them but not moving in for the kill, swaying softly as if held in place by the sound of the song. Or by something else?

It’s crazy, but I find myself starting to wonder. As I slip through the ranks of the living dead, into the empty space around Sister Clare and her followers, I’m ready to believe. Why not? Their story makes as much sense as anything else in these bewildering times.

‘You see?’ Sister Clare whispers ecstatically. ‘They’re held in place by the power of the Shnax. They cannot raise a hand against those who are true.’

‘This is incredible,’ I croak.