Zom-B #12

by Darren Shan

  “Say nothing,” Owl Man murmurs as the glaring Angels gather around us.

  “Good news, my children,” Dr. Oystein says brightly. “B has returned. Rage has too, as you can see, along with another unexpected guest.”

  There’s an uneasy silence. The Angels are looking at me dubiously, at Owl Man fearfully, at Rage with outright hostility.

  “He killed Pearse and Conall,” Ivor mutters.

  “Yes,” Dr. Oystein says evenly.

  “Are you saying that doesn’t matter, that he’s one of us again?” Ivor presses. Ivor has a great talent for picking locks, but right now his fingers are twitching in a very different way, and I bet he’d love to drive them through Rage’s eyes.

  Dr. Oystein chuckles wryly. “Sadly, no. I had high hopes for Rage, but I was wrong to trust him. He is no longer an Angel.”

  Rage stiffens. He gets the sense that he might be a sacrificial lamb and he glances about, looking for a place to run. My spirits perk up at the thought of seeing Rage getting his comeuppance. But then the doc spoils it all.

  “That being said, he can still serve a noble purpose. While I can never forgive him for what he did to Pearse and Conall, we need his assistance in the battle to come. He will help us, not because he cares for our cause, but because it suits him. He is here to serve his own selfish needs and that is why we can trust him for the moment.”

  The doc turns in a circle to address all of his Angels. “We will have to make many uneasy alliances today. The end is in sight, but we must strike swiftly and fiercely. We cannot achieve victory by ourselves. Deals must be struck with people who have been our foes in the past. Mr. Dowling has always been our main target, the force we must defeat if we’re to ultimately triumph over evil. His downfall is within our grasp, but only if we unite with other enemies of his.”

  The Angels frown and murmur among themselves. Dr. Oystein gives them a few moments to air their doubts, judging their mood perfectly, ever the skilled manipulator. In the end he raises a hand for calm.

  “I must beg you to trust me,” he says with fake, sickening earnestness. “I have sought your blind obedience before, but this is the last time I shall request it. I hate asking so much of you while revealing so little, but if we defeat Mr. Dowling’s dark forces today, I’ll be completely open with you from this point on. The time for secrecy will have passed, and I’ll be heartily glad to see it go.”

  The Angels start muttering again, but with excitement this time.

  “You think we can defeat Mr. Dowling today?” Ashtat asks skeptically.

  “Yes,” Dr. Oystein says firmly. “B has gone through hell, but emerged to lead us forward. She wavered in the brewery when we went to collect her yesterday, for reasons that I’ll reveal later. But now she’s back on our side. She knows where Mr. Dowling’s base is, and she can lead us to him. Also, she has rid him of his greatest weapon. He no longer possesses his vial of Schlesinger-10.”

  There are cheers and some of the Angels swarm forward to embrace the doc and me, giving Rage, Owl Man and his dog a wide berth. Not all of them have been told about Schlesinger-10 and Clements-13, but those in the know quickly fill in the others, telling them that Schlesinger-10 is a virus that can wipe out all human survivors, that Mr. Dowling has had it in his possession for many years, that we were never able to directly attack him in case he made good on his threat to uncork the vial. The cheering increases and the others crowd in around the beaming Dr. Oystein. It’s like we’re celebrating at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

  Of course, it’s all lies. The doc is the one who wants to use Schlesinger-10, to wipe out the last of the living. Owl Man’s gagging order is driving me insane. I want to scream, warn them about their beloved doctor, tell them not to believe a bloody word he says. But my lips are sealed. I can only stand in the middle of the crowd and grimace, a muted dummy in the hands of my owlish master.

  Having secured the backing he needs, Dr. Oystein dismisses his Angels, telling them to return to their rooms and make ready for battle. He says that Master Zhang will send for each of them in turn, to issue them weapons and instructions. As they set off for their quarters, buzzing and babbling, he looks at them with genuine sadness.

  “Not all of them will survive the coming battle,” he sighs. “I’ll grieve for each one who falls. But we must push on and accept our losses. It has always been so.”

  Shrugging off his apparent unease, he departs to his own chambers to organize things ahead of the final push. Rage heads off after the doc, whistling merrily.

  “This is for the best,” Owl Man says when we’re alone. “My uncle wants only what is good for this poor, tormented world. I know it doesn’t seem that way to you, but future generations will look back on this time as an essential period of revolution. Today’s living humans will be to them as our ape-like ancestors are to us. Evolution is all about those who rise to the top, not those who fall by the wayside.”

  He gazes at me solemnly, awaiting my response. When I’m silent, he remembers that I’m mute because of his command and he chuckles. “My apologies. You may speak now, Becky.”

  “You’re wrong,” I spit, with built-up fury. “The apes weren’t wiped out. They gave way naturally to our kind over millions of years. There’s nothing natural about what you two are planning. You’re playing God and nobody will thank you for that, any more than they thanked the Nazis when they tried to shape the world in their image.”

  “We are nothing like the Nazis,” Owl Man snaps.

  “No,” I agree. “You’re worse.”

  He looks troubled by that accusation. He considers a retort, then shakes his head and lets it slide.

  “It’s a moot point,” he mutters. “The die has been cast. Perhaps you’re right. Maybe historians will look on us as monsters who interfered when they shouldn’t have. But there is no pulling back from the precipice now. All we can do at this stage is jump and pray that we are the creatures of flight that we believe ourselves to be.

  “Come,” he says wearily. “Let’s find a room for you and get you settled down. We have a busy night ahead of us. The world is about to end. We need to freshen up ahead of the catastrophic climax.”

  ELEVEN

  Owl Man sticks me in one of the complex’s many free apartments. Before he goes, he tells me that I don’t have to stay close to him anymore–I’d automatically follow him otherwise–not to leave the flat until summoned, not to harm myself or anybody else, and not to say anything about what I’ve learned over the last twenty-four hours to anyone who might pay me a visit. Then he clicks his tongue at Sakarias and off they trot.

  I should probably prowl the confines of the rooms like a caged tiger, plotting and scheming, but I’m too tired for anything like that. So I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, letting my weary limbs relax, while trying not to think at all.

  After a few hours, there’s a knock on the door. I think about not replying or shouting at whoever it is to get lost, but I want to know who’s there, so I call out gruffly, “You don’t need to knock. I’m a prisoner here. Just come in if you’re bloody coming.”

  The door opens and Ashtat, Shane and Carl slink into my bedroom. The three stand at the bottom of my bed and take their time studying me.

  “You have been in the wars,” Ashtat finally notes.

  “There’s an understatement,” I grunt, and she smiles, relieved to see that I’m still as grumpy as I was before.

  “Who did this to you?” Carl asks, nodding at my injuries. “Mr. Dowling?”

  “No. Most of it was the work of Dan-Dan, but the babies tore me up too, when I got on the wrong side of them for a while.”

  “You poor thing,” Ashtat says.

  “Shut it,” I snap. “I’m not looking for sympathy.”

  “Just as well,” Shane snickers. “We never liked you much anyway.”

  I flip him the finger and we grin at each other. I start to relax, remembering what life was like when these guys were my roommates and friends.<
br />
  “Want to tell us about it?” Carl asks, sitting on the bed.

  “Not really,” I sniff. Of course that’s a lie. I’d love to tell them everything that has happened, but since I’m under a restraining order, I figure it’s easier to ignore the recent past completely, rather than clam up every time I come close to a taboo revelation, like a malfunctioning ventriloquist’s dummy.

  “Can we get you anything?” Ashtat wants to know. “Brains? Fresh bandages?”

  “I’m good. I ate last night.”

  There’s a short silence. Nobody’s sure what to say next.

  “So,” I croak, stretching my arms and pretending to crack my knuckles. “What have I missed?”

  They smile and fill me in. They tell me how upset the doc was when he found out that I’d trailed Rage and the others to County Hall, his anger at hearing the news of Rage’s treachery and the deaths of Pearse and Conall. Many of the Angels wanted to go on the attack and rescue me, but he told them to bide their time. They weren’t strong enough to target a fortress like Battersea Power Station, to take on the combined might of the KKK, the army and the members of the Board. The doc said they had to wait, hope and pray.

  “Pray!” I jeer, shaking my head with disgust.

  The others stare at me oddly. I want to tell them about the doc’s warped pact with God, and exactly where his prayers have led us. But I’m under Owl Man’s spell. Even if I wasn’t, I’m not sure I’d spill the beans. I don’t want to be the one who robs them of their faith in Dr. Oystein. I know from experience how much that hurts.

  The Angels searched the old Power Station after Mr. Dowling and his mutant army had swept through it and moved on. They escorted the survivors to safety, mostly those who’d been held captive, though they helped some of the Klanners too.

  “I wanted to let the bastards rot,” Shane growls. “After what they’d done, I would have happily strung them up, like we did in New Kirkham.”

  “We didn’t do that,” Carl reminds him. “The people who lived there made that decision.”

  “It is not our right to pass judgment on the living,” Ashtat nods.

  “So you keep telling me,” Shane scowls. “But I think there are some crimes that even a zombie is fit to judge. If I’d had my way…”

  As Shane grumbles to himself, Carl and Ashtat tell me how Dr. Oystein and Master Zhang decided to move most of the Angels out of County Hall. The doc told them that although my capture was a dark hour for us, it might work in our favor. Having been taken under Mr. Dowling’s wing, he hoped I’d find the killer clown’s vial of Schlesinger-10 and slip away with it.

  “I thought he was saying that just to keep our spirits up,” Ashtat says, “but he has been proved right, as he usually is. I suppose he knew something that we did not.”

  He sure did. Since Owl Man was reporting back to him, the doc knew that Mr. Dowling was infatuated with me, that he wanted me to be his bride. He’d helped Owl Man prepare me for a sneaky mental attack on my husband. But I can’t tell them any of that. My tongue twists on itself every time I try to form the words.

  “The doc would have taken us all with him,” Carl says, “but Master Zhang said it was important not to tip off Mr. Dowling. We needed to leave some Angels behind, to make it look as if we were still based in County Hall. He asked for volunteers to remain, telling them there was a good chance that Mr. Dowling would attack and slaughter everyone.”

  “Almost all of us offered to stay,” Shane says proudly. “In the end we drew straws. At the time I wanted to draw one of the short straws, so that I could tackle the clown when he struck. But now I’m glad I didn’t. We’re going to get another shot at him, and this time we’ll hit him where it hurts.”

  “Maybe you’ll be the one who wrings his neck,” Carl smirks.

  “Maybe,” Shane says seriously, unaware that Carl is teasing him.

  I smile at the trio and we spend the next half hour chatting about ordinary stuff, like what they’ve been up to in my absence. Ashtat has been hard at work on a model of the Bow Quarter–she makes replicas out of matchsticks, so the ex-factory, where they once manufactured matches, seemed like an especially appropriate subject–while Carl and Shane have been scouring the boutique stores of the East End, Shane in search of flashy jewelry, Carl looking to replace the designer gear he had to leave behind in County Hall.

  I cherish my short time with my friends, knowing this will probably be the last chance I get to shoot the breeze with them. I rarely appreciated our downtime before. Like the others, I was always looking forward to adventure, and taking the battle to Mr. Dowling. I thought that hanging around was boring.

  Now I see it for the gift that it was. This is a hard world. Adventure comes at a cost. The quiet moments are gold. Idly discussing a TV show or a band, gently bitching about people you don’t like, or just sitting on a bed and staring out of a window while a friend sits by you and stares too…

  Those are the best moments.

  But I can’t explain that to Ashtat, Carl and Shane. They wouldn’t believe me. I don’t think anyone ever realizes how wonderful ordinary life is until something bad happens to them and they can’t get back what they’ve lost.

  I want to carry on chatting, but my ex-roommates have to leave. There’s a war to prepare for. They can’t sit here gossiping all day. I’d like to tell them to get out, go to New Kirkham or somewhere like that, forget about the battle with Mr. Dowling. But I’d be wasting my breath. Or whatever it is that passes for breath when you’re a zombie.

  So I say nothing as they file out, only watch silently, sadly, and wearily offer up a prayer, for whatever it’s worth, asking God to go easier on them than He did on me.

  Then I lie back, stare at the ceiling again, and wait.

  TWELVE

  I’m expecting to be here a long time, but to my surprise Rage turns up about an hour after my other old roommates have departed. He doesn’t bother knocking, just pushes straight in and grins lazily at me. “Time to get your arse in gear.”

  “Leave with you?” I snort. “I don’t think so.”

  “Owl Man sent me,” he says. “You’re to consider yourself summoned.”

  I get up and follow Rage to the door. I pause when I get there and stare at the space beyond. I try to step through, but my feet won’t move. Rage watches me with a sly smirk.

  “Try taking baby steps,” he says.

  “Get stuffed,” I grunt, then shake my head. “This is useless. I can’t leave.”

  Rage’s smile widens. He spreads his arms like a magician and says in a deep voice, “Alakazam, alakazoo, Becky Smith, come on through.”

  I try again, but it’s like there’s an invisible barrier between me and the corridor.

  “This is stupid,” I spit, taking a step back. “You’re just messing with me.”

  “Yeah,” Rage chuckles, then his smile fades. “But I’m not anymore. The truth is in the eyes.”

  “What does that mean?” I frown.

  “It means I’m saying it’s okay for you to leave the room now.”

  I stare at Rage suspiciously, not wanting to be taken for a fool again.

  “Seriously this time,” he says. “Trust me.”

  “Never,” I reply automatically, but take a couple of steps forward regardless, and this time I cross the threshold without any problems.

  “Told you so,” Rage says smugly.

  I scratch my head. “How did you do that?”

  He shrugs. “The words are a control mechanism. They put you under the thumb of the person who says them.” He turns and thrusts his bum in my direction. “Get down on your knees and kiss it, Becky.”

  For a horrified second I think I’m going to be compelled to obey his command, but the urge to kneel doesn’t take me. “Up yours,” I retort with relief.

  Rage laughs. “Owl Man told me I wouldn’t be able to manipulate you the way he can, but I thought I’d give it a go. He said I can’t use the phrase to pull your strings, only co
unter an order that he’s already given.”

  “Any order?” I ask.

  “I guess so,” Rage says.

  “Let’s try it,” I smile. “Tell me I’m in complete control of myself again, and we’ll see what happens.”

  Rage laughs. “You wish! No, you’d knock me out and take off. We’re not letting you slip through our fingers that easily. Owl Man’s been a lot of fun to work for. We have a beautiful relationship. I don’t want to ruin it.”

  “Seems like he doesn’t trust you as much as you trust him though,” I sneer.

  “What are you talking about?” Rage huffs.

  I nod at the corner of a building across the way. Sakarias is there, watching us intently.

  “Owly sent his dog to keep an eye on you,” I chuckle.

  Rage’s face darkens. Then he sniffs. “I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust me too much either in his shoes.”

  “How does it feel, having a lower place in the pecking order than a dog?” I ask, looking to wind him up.

  “Doesn’t bother me in the slightest,” Rage says. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world, so as long as the hound doesn’t attack me, I’m happy to be its second. I’ll even snap it a salute and call it sir if Owl Man tells me to.”

  “Brownnoser,” I grumble.

  “And loving the smell,” he laughs, and leads me on.

  I try to strike the back of his head, hatching wild plans of killing him, then dealing with Sakarias–even though I know I wouldn’t stand a chance against the mutant dog–and fleeing. But my hand won’t rise. I’m still under orders not to hit anyone. Rage hasn’t countermanded that instruction.

  I could simply turn and run, but I wouldn’t get very far—there are too many people around. If I try to break free, Owl Man might place even more restrictions on me. Better to wait until the odds are in my favor before I make my move.

  I notice lots of new faces as we’re working our way through the cluster of buildings. Most are soldiers, but there are some Klanners among them too. I stiffen when I spot the creeps in the white robes and hoods.