Zom-B Gladiator (4 page)

I think about dumping the book in the bin, but that would make me look childish and ungrateful. Besides, Van Gogh
is
one of my favourite
artists and it sounds like a good read. Grumbling softly, I head to bed and settle down for a few hours of solitary reading.

I quickly get into the letters and time flies by. Carl has picked a winner. On the one hand that annoys me, because it means I won’t be able to jeer at him for giving me a piece of crap to read. But on the other hand I’m delighted to have discovered a brilliant new
book, and I soon forget about Carl and having to say thank you and everything else.

A soft voice brings me back to the real world. ‘I never thought I’d see B Smith lost in a book.’

I jump slightly – I had no idea that anyone had entered the room – and glance up. It’s my old teacher, Mr Burke, standing in the doorway, beaming at me. ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for nutters who cut their
ears off,’ I growl, carefully closing the book and setting it aside. ‘Besides, this is a great read. I might have studied harder if I’d been pushed towards these sorts of books in school.’

‘No,’ Burke laughs. ‘You wouldn’t have given it a chance. You were a busy girl, so many slacker friends, so many things not to do with them. They wouldn’t have been impressed if you’d started reading
books instead of hanging out with them on street corners.’

Burke crosses the room, picks up the book and flicks through it. He looks much older than he did in school, bags under his eyes, hair almost completely grey now. I never had a crush on Burke, but as teachers went, he was a bit of all right. Now he looks like a broken old man.

‘I always meant to give this a try,’ Burke says.

‘You’d heard about it?’

‘Yes. I was never much of an art buff. Biographies were my poison.
Seven Pillars of Wisdom
—now
that
was a book. But Van Gogh’s letters were famous. I don’t suppose I’ll get time to read them now. I can’t stay up all night like some undead people I can name.’

‘I could always bite you,’ I joke. ‘Get Dr Oystein to vaccinate you first. You might turn into one of
us. Then you can stay up as late as you like.’

‘I’ve already been vaccinated,’ Burke says, sitting on the bed next to mine, the one Jakob sleeps in.

‘You have?’ I sit upright and stare at him.

‘I asked Dr Oystein to give me the shot not long after I started working for him.’

‘Why?’ I cry. ‘You know what it means, don’t you? Unless you get infected, the vaccine will attack your
system and melt you down. You’ll be dead within the next ten or fifteen years.’

Burke shrugs. ‘It’s unlikely I’ll last that long. There’s a far greater probability that I’ll be snagged by a zombie. If they don’t eat my brain and I turn, I’d like the chance to revitalise. I know most adults don’t, but still, better some hope than none at all.’

I shake my head. ‘And what if you don’t
get bitten or scratched?’

Burke smiles. ‘Then I’ll miss out on old age. I wasn’t looking forward to it anyway. I’d rather go in my prime, young, virile and full of life.’

‘Too late,’ I mutter. ‘You missed that boat years ago.’

Burke laughs out loud then leans forward. ‘How have you been, B? I haven’t seen much of you since you returned.’

It’s my turn to shrug. ‘Fine. I’ve settled
in. Learning lots. Training hard. Doing my bit for the cause.’

‘Have you been on a mission yet?’

‘Only scouting or training missions close to County Hall.’

The Angels do a lot of routine scouting, searching the streets and buildings of London for survivors—if we find any, we offer them a safe home at County Hall. We’re also on the lookout for Mr Dowling and his mutants, as well as
any human soldiers who might be on patrol. And, of course, we hunt for brains. We need regular supplies if we’re to stay in control of our senses. Certain Angels do nothing except scour hospitals, schools and public buildings in search of corpses whose skulls they can scrape clean of brains to bring back for the pot, but all of us are expected to pitch in to some extent. One of the less exciting
chores which everyone has to share.

I like getting out of County Hall when we go scouting, but it’s an unpleasant sensation at the same time because we never know what we’re going to run into, if Mr Dowling or his mutants will pop up, or if human hunters will set their sights on us. I crossed swords with some of them before I found my way here, the American Barnes and his buddies. There
are others, bored survivors who pass the time by notching up kills. Not that they consider it killing. I mean, zombies are already dead, so it’s no big deal to them.

The others in my group have been on more serious missions, where they’ve escorted humans out of London, or gone into dangerous areas with orders to carry out specific tasks. But Rage and I haven’t been allowed on any of those
yet.

‘What about in your down time?’ Burke asks.

I nod at the book. ‘I’ve been making up for all those years when I never read anything other than porn stories online.’

Burke blinks. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’

‘Nothing wrong with a bit of sauce,’ I smirk.

‘Only if you’re an appropriate age,’ Burke huffs.

‘Don’t get all grown-up on me,’ I snap. ‘I had unlimited access
to the internet from the age of ten or eleven. You think I wasn’t curious? You think anyone my age didn’t have a look to see what all the fuss was about? It wasn’t like when you were a kid. The world was our oyster. We could find out about anything.’

‘I suppose,’ he sighs, then smiles again. ‘
The world was our oyster.
You never used a phrase like that in the old days. All that reading must
be rubbing off on you.’

‘Of course it is. I’m not thick.’

‘No,’ Burke agrees. ‘And never were. Even when you acted it.’

Burke picks up the book and looks at it closely again. He’s obviously come to discuss something with me. I’ve an idea what it is but I don’t say anything. I’m not going to make things easy for him. That’s not my style.

‘I don’t want this to come out the wrong
way,’ Burke says hesitantly. ‘And I’d hate to be classed as a teacher who ever discouraged reading. But are you maybe spending a bit too much time here on your own with your head stuck in a book?’

‘No,’ I answer shortly.

Burke chuckles, then sets the book aside and gets serious. ‘What’s wrong, B?’

‘Nothing. I’m peachy.’

‘No. You’re not. Dr Oystein noticed and brought it to my
attention.’

‘Noticed what?’

‘You returned to the fold after that incident with the baby,’ Burke says, ‘but you haven’t made any effort to fit in with the other Angels. You don’t socialise or hang out with your room-mates.’

‘Maybe I don’t like them,’ I sniff.

‘I doubt that’s the case,’ he says. ‘If it was, you could simply ask to move in with a different group.’

‘I thought
that wasn’t allowed. Dr Oystein tells us where to bed down.’

‘When you first come here, yes. But if Ashtat and the others are still getting on your nerves after this much time, he’ll be happy to let you switch. But they’re not the problem, are they?’

‘Rage is a pain,’ I mutter.

‘You don’t get on with him?’

‘I don’t trust him. Never have, never will.’

‘But the others?’ Burke
presses.

I shrug stiffly.

‘If you tell me what’s troubling you, I might be able to help,’ he says kindly. ‘A problem is never as bad as it seems if you share it with a friend.’

‘But I don’t need a friend,’ I mumble. ‘I don’t
want
one. I don’t mind working with the Angels, but I don’t want to make friends with them.’

‘Why not?’ Burke asks, surprised.

‘I’d rather be alone,’
I say quietly.

Burke frowns, trying to make sense of me.

‘It’s not that complicated,’ I snicker.

‘It is to me,’ Burke says. ‘I’d have thought that someone in your position would give anything to find a friend.’

‘What’s so bad about my position?’ I bark.

‘Well, you’re undead,’ he says. ‘Living people want nothing to do with you. Regular zombies have no interest in you either.
There aren’t many people left who could ever be tempted to give a damn about you. If you spurn the advances of the Angels, you’re unlikely to find a friend anywhere else.’

‘But I just told you I don’t want any friends,’ I remind him.

‘You must,’ Burke insists. ‘You can’t want to be all alone in the world.’

‘I bloody well do,’ I snort.

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s simpler that way.’
I reconsider my words and try again. ‘Because it’s safer.’ I look down at my hands, at the bones sticking out of my fingers, remembering the blood that has stained them. ‘You weren’t there in the school when the zombies attacked. You were off sick that day. You didn’t see us as we raced for freedom. You didn’t see so many of my friends die, Suze and Copper and Linzer and . . .

‘You weren’t
there when Mr Dowling invaded the underground complex either. You didn’t see the zom heads tear into Mark or hear their death screams when Josh caught up with them. You didn’t smell their burning flesh in the air.

‘You weren’t with me when all those people were killed in Trafalgar Square. Or when Sister Clare and her supporters marched into the belly of Liverpool Street Station. Or when
Timothy was butchered.’

‘I’ve seen terrible things too,’ Burke says sadly.

‘I’m sure you have. But I’ve
only
seen terrible things since I regained my mind. I’ve found death everywhere I’ve turned, or death has found me. I’m not saying I’m a jinx—I don’t think I’m that important. But this is death’s world now and I’ve run into the Grim Reaper every time I’ve turned a corner or paused
for breath. Well, not actual breath, obviously, but you get the picture.’

I meet Burke’s gaze at last. ‘Pretty much everyone I’ve known and cared about has died or been taken from me. I’m sick of it. I don’t want to endure the pain again. The Angels will be killed, I’m sure of it. Dr Oystein will get ambushed by Mr Dowling and his mutants. You’ll be turned or slaughtered. It will all go
tits up somewhere along the line.

‘I don’t want to feel anything when that happens. I don’t want to lose friends or loved ones. I want to be able to get on with things and find somewhere else to hole up until death swings by again. I’d rather be a loner than feel lonely.’

Burke’s eyes fill with pity. ‘B . . .’ he croaks.

‘Don’t,’ I stop him. ‘You came for answers and I’ve given
them to you. Now leave me alone. It’s all I ask of you. It’s all I ask of anyone.’

Then I pick up the book, open it and stare at the words until Burke gets up and silently slips away, leaving me by myself. Not the way I like it really. Just the way it has to be if I’m not going to go crazy and lose myself to grief and madness in this harsh, unforgiving abattoir of a world.

Getting ready to head out on another scouting mission. I was hoping Master Zhang would give us something meatier to deal with, but no, it’s just another sweep of the area, this time around Covent Garden. There are lots of streets set back from the market, crammed
with flats. We’ve been through there before, but repetition is nothing new.

We don’t take any weapons when we head out, but we dress in heavy clothes and gloves to protect our skin from the sun. We also slap on loads of suntan lotion. Our clothes have been individually prepared for us, holes cut away to reveal our wounds and the wisps of green moss which signify to other zombies that we’re
undead like them.

I study the hole in my chest as I twist my jacket round. I’ve got so used to it that I can’t really remember what it was like before. I hated being one tit short of a full set to begin with. Now I couldn’t give a toss.

‘I have said it before but I will say it again,’ someone murmurs behind me. ‘You are a most remarkable example of a zombie, Becky Smith.’

I turn,
smiling, to face Dr Oystein. The doc never changes much. He favours a light grey suit, neatly ironed white shirt and a snazzy tie. His thin brown hair is shot through with grey streaks and carefully combed. His deep brown eyes are as calm and warm as always.

‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ I chuckle.

‘Only you,’ he vows, then reaches out to adjust my coat around the hole where
my heart used to be. ‘There. Perfect.’ He cocks his head to examine my face.

‘Burke told you what I said, didn’t he?’ I pout.

‘Of course. If it is any help, I understand. You are not the first to stand alone, to avoid the complications of company. I went through such a spell myself. It lasted several years. I figured, if I could train myself to feel nothing for anyone, I could never
be hurt again, the way I was hurt when my family was so savagely taken from me.’

‘How’d you get on with that?’ I ask.

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘I found it surprisingly easy to sever all emotional ties and distance myself from those I worked with.’

‘Then why did you start caring again?’ I frown.

‘Instinct compels many reviveds to stay with those they knew in life,’ Dr Oystein replies. ‘But
I do not think they truly care about those people. They have lost their souls, so they have no reason to give a damn. After a time, I realised I was behaving the same way as a revived. I came to think that God would not have restored my senses only for me to act as if I was still an unfeeling beast.