Zom-B Angels

by Darren Shan

  ‘We’re not suicidal,’ the boy snorts.

  ‘Do you feel the same way?’ I ask Ingrid.

  She looks uncertain. ‘Part of me wants to be a hero. But some of the Angels who go on the more dangerous missions don’t make it back.’

  We enter another building, a block of flats set behind a row of shops. We start up the stairs, the plan being to work our way down from the top. We’re coming to the top of the fourth flight when Ingrid stops abruptly and presses herself against the wall.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, as she makes some gestures to the boys in her team.

  ‘I think I heard something,’ she whispers.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But we were here just a week ago. The place was deserted then.’ She points to Ivor and another of the boys and sends them forward to check.

  We wait in silence for the pair to return. I feel out of my depth. I want a weapon, something to defend myself with. Although, looking round at the others, I see that they don’t have any weapons either. I want to ask them why they came out without knives or guns, but I don’t want to be the one to break the silence.

  There’s no sign of Ivor and his partner. Ingrid gives it a few minutes, then signals to the other two boys to go and look for them.

  ‘This is bad,’ Cian groans quietly.

  Ingrid fries him with a heated look and presses a finger to her lips.

  The seconds tick away slowly. I keep checking the time on my watch. I want to push forward to find out what’s happening, but I’m a novice here. I don’t have the right to take control.

  Ingrid waits a full five minutes, then swears mutely, just mouthing the word. She looks at me and the twins. Makes a gulping motion and licks her lips. Nods at us to backtrack and follows us down to the third floor.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but it can’t be anything good,’ she says quietly. ‘Wait here for me, but no more than a couple of minutes. If I don’t come back or shout to let you know that it’s safe, return to County Hall and send others after us. Do not follow me up there, no matter what, OK?’

  ‘I’m scared,’ Awnya whimpers.

  Cian hugs her, but he looks even more worried than his sister.

  Ingrid casts a questioning glance at me.

  ‘I’ll take care of them,’ I tell her.

  She nods, then pads up the stairs.

  Time seems to slow down even more. I fix my gaze on my watch, willing the hands to move faster, wanting Ingrid and her crew to appear and give us the all-clear. But when that doesn’t happen, and the time limit passes, I look up at the twins.

  ‘We’re leaving?’ Cian asks.

  I shake my head. ‘I can’t. I’ve got to help them if I can. You guys go. Don’t wait for me. Go now.’

  ‘No,’ Awnya says, horrified. ‘Come with us, B. You can’t go up there by yourself.’

  ‘I have to. Don’t argue. Get the hell out of here and tell the others what has happened.’

  ‘But . . .’ She looks like she wants to cry, but being undead, she can’t.

  I start up as the twins start down. They go slowly, hesitantly, unable to believe that I’m following Ingrid and her team. I can barely believe it either. I must be mad. I hardly know them. I don’t owe them anything. I should beat it with the twins.

  But I don’t. Maybe it’s because I want to be a dumb hero. Or maybe it’s because I don’t think anything can be as scary as Mr Dowling and his mutants. Or maybe it’s the memory of Tyler Bayor, and what I did to him, that drives me on. Whatever the reason, I climb the steps, readying myself for battle, wondering what can have taken the Angels so swiftly and silently. I didn’t even hear one of them squeak.

  As I get to the top step and turn into the corridor, there’s a sudden, piercing scream. It’s Ingrid. I can’t see her, but I hear her racing footsteps as she roars at me, ‘Run, B, run!’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ I yell, and I’m off, tearing down the stairs like a rabbit, running for my life, panting as if I had lungs that worked.

  I catch up with the twins. They’re making sobbing sounds.

  ‘What –’ Awnya starts to ask.

  ‘No questions,’ I shout. ‘Just run!’

  We hit the ground floor in a frightened huddle and spill out on to the street. Our legs get tangled up and all three of us sprawl across the road. I curse loudly and push myself to my feet. I grab Awnya and pull her up. I’m reaching for Cian, to help him, when I hear . . .

  . . . laughter overhead.

  I pause, a familiar sickening feeling flooding my guts, and look up.

  Ingrid and the boys are spread across the fourth-floor landing, and they’re all laughing their heads off.

  ‘Suckers!’ Ivor bellows.

  ‘Run, fools, run,’ another of the boys cackles.

  ‘Those sons of bitches,’ I snarl.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Cian asks, bewildered. ‘Was it a joke?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I snap. ‘And we fell for it.’

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ Awnya sighs. ‘I thought they’d been killed.’

  ‘Arseholes!’ I roar at the five Angels on the landing, and give them the finger.

  ‘You’ve got to be alert when you’re out on a mission, B,’ Ingrid cries. ‘Wait. What’s that behind us? No! Help us, B. Save us. There’s a monster coming to . . .’ She screams again, high-pitched and false.

  ‘Yeah, laugh it up,’ I shout. ‘You won’t be laughing when I stick my foot so far up your arse that . . .’

  I shake my head, disgusted. But I’m disgusted at myself for falling for the trick, not at the Angels for pulling it. I should have known better.

  ‘Come on,’ I grunt at the twins. ‘Let’s leave them to their precious mission. We’ve better things to be doing back at County Hall.’

  ‘That wasn’t nice, Ingrid,’ Awnya shouts.

  ‘It was horrible,’ Cian agrees.

  ‘I know,’ Ingrid says, looking contrite. Then she cackles again. ‘But it was fun!’

  We head off, pointedly ignoring those who made fools of us, but I stop when Ingrid calls to me.

  ‘B!’

  I turn stiffly, expecting another insult.

  ‘All joking aside, we respect that you came back to try and help.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ivor says. ‘That took guts.’

  ‘We’ll be seeing you again soon on a mission, I think,’ Ingrid says. ‘But next time you’ll be one of us, in on the joke, not the butt of it.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I sniff.

  I carry on back towards County Hall with the twins, as if what Ingrid and Ivor said meant nothing to me, but it’s a struggle to maintain my scowl and not smile with stupid pride all the way.

  TWELVE

  We head back over the river. We can laugh about what happened in the building by the time we’ve crossed the bridge.

  ‘We’ve got to play a joke on them now,’ Cian says. ‘Not straight away, but within the next day or two. I’ll think of something good. Maybe make them believe we’re being attacked in the middle of the night, so that they panic and rush outside.’

  There’s a strange buzzing in the air as we step off the bridge and start towards County Hall. ‘What’s that?’ I ask, grimacing as I draw to a halt.

  ‘The speakers,’ Awnya says. ‘There are lots of them positioned around the area, to stop reviveds coming too close. They play this high-pitched noise all the time.’

  ‘We’ll slip past them as we get closer to the building,’ Cian says. ‘The speakers all point away from it, so we’ll be fine once we’re through.’

  ‘How come I didn’t hear it before?’ I ask.

  ‘Most of them have a small button that you can press to temporarily disable them,’ Awnya says. ‘I did that as we were leaving.’

  ‘I didn’t notice.’

  Awnya shrugs. ‘No reason why you should have.’

  The twins show me the speakers as we get closer, and show me how to turn them off if I’m ever passing by myself. Then we head on into
the building. They take me to my bedroom – I’m still not sure of the layout of the building, and where everything is – and I lay my gear on the shelves. There’s no sign of Ashtat or any of the others.

  The twins go off on their own for a while, leaving me to sort through my stuff and rest. Then they return and guide me to a dining room, close to the kitchen that I passed through earlier. Circular tables dot the room and groups of teenagers are clustered round them, chatting noisily. I do a quick count — there are just over thirty Angels.

  ‘That’s yours,’ Awnya says, pointing at a table of three boys and Ashtat.

  ‘Are those my room-mates?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are they like?’

  Awnya shrugs. ‘Ashtat can be moody, like you saw, but she’s not so bad. Carl and Shane are OK. Jakob doesn’t say much.’

  ‘Which one’s he?’ I ask.

  ‘The thin, bald one.’

  ‘Carl’s the dark-haired one,’ Cian adds. ‘Shane’s the ginger.’

  I wince, recalling the fate of the last redhead I knew, poor Tiberius.

  ‘Go on over,’ Awnya says. ‘You don’t want to eat with us. It’ll look strange if you avoid them.’

  I nod. ‘Thanks for showing me around today.’

  ‘That’s our job,’ Cian smirks.

  ‘All part of the service,’ Awnya grins.

  They slip away to their own table and I stare at the teenagers seated at mine. Carl’s dressed in designer gear, real flash. Shane’s wearing a tracksuit, but with a gold chain dangling from his neck, like a wannabe rapper. Jakob is wearing a white shirt and dark trousers which look about two sizes too big for him. He’s one of the unhealthiest-looking people I’ve ever seen, even by zombie standards. If I didn’t know he was already dead, I’d swear he was at death’s door.

  And then there’s Ashtat, dressed as she was when I saw her earlier. She spots me and says something to the others. They look at me curiously. I feel nervous, like I did on my first day of school.

  ‘Sod it,’ I mutter. ‘They’ve got more reason to be scared of me than I have to be scared of them. I’m badass B Smith, and don’t you forget it!’

  With a scowl and a disinterested sniff, I cross the great expanse of the dining room, walking big, trying to act as if I belong.

  ‘All right?’ I grunt as I take a seat at the table.

  Everyone nods but nobody says anything.

  ‘I’m B.’

  ‘We know,’ Carl says, checking out my clothes. He nods again. I think I have his approval on the fashion front.

  ‘Have the twins been taking care of you?’ Shane asks.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘They’re good at that.’

  ‘Yeah.’ There’s an uncomfortable silence. Then I decide to wade straight in. ‘Look, I don’t like being told who my friends are. If it was up to me, I’d mix with the others, chat with different people, make up my own mind who I like and who I don’t. I’ve already met Ingrid and her team, and I’d be happy to hang out with them. But I’ve been stuck with you lot for the time being, so we’re just going to have to live with it.’

  Carl laughs. ‘You were never taught how to make a good first impression, were you?’

  I shrug. ‘This is me. I won’t pretend to be something I’m not.’

  ‘And what are you exactly?’ Ashtat asks quietly.

  ‘That’s for you to work out,’ I tell her, meeting her gaze and not looking away.

  ‘We’ve got a live one here,’ Shane chuckles.

  ‘So to speak,’ Carl adds, then sticks out a hand. ‘Carl Clay. Kensington born and bred.’

  ‘I was wondering about the posh accent,’ I say as we shake hands.

  ‘You should hear it when I’m trying to impress,’ he grins.

  I haven’t had much contact with people like Carl. Kids from Kensington didn’t wander over east too much in my day, unless to see some grungy art gallery or to go shopping in Canary Wharf. I don’t like his accent, and I don’t want to like him either, but his smile seems genuine. I’ll give him a chance — just not much of one.

  ‘Shane Fitz,’ the ginger introduces himself. Shane doesn’t offer to shake hands, just nods at me. I nod back. The chain-wearing Shane’s the sort of bloke I’d have kicked the crap out of if our paths had crossed in the past. But times have changed. We’re in the same boat now. As with Carl, I’ll wait to pass judgement, see what he’s made of.

  ‘Ashtat Kiarostami,’ the girl says softly, tilting her head. ‘I would like to apologise if I was rude to you earlier. I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m working on my models and sometimes I react more sharply than intended.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I sniff and look to the last of the four, the thin, bald kid with dark circles under his eyes.

  ‘Jakob Pegg,’ he wheezes and that’s all I get out of him.

  ‘So what’s your story?’ Carl asks, settling back in his chair. ‘Where are you from? How were you killed? When did you revitalise?’

  I tell them a bit about myself, the East End, the attack on my school, regaining consciousness in the underground complex. They’re intrigued by that and pump me for more information. They haven’t heard of anything like it before.

  ‘I bet Dr Oystein was furious when you told him about that place,’ Shane remarks.

  ‘He knew about it already,’ I reply. ‘He said he had contacts there.’

  Shane frowns. ‘It can’t have been anything to do with Dr Oystein. He wouldn’t approve of revitaliseds being imprisoned and experimented on.’

  ‘Dr Oystein’s approval doesn’t mean much to the army,’ Carl snorts. ‘They do what they like. He has to keep them onside or they’ll target us.’

  ‘Bring ’em on,’ Shane growls.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Ashtat chides him. ‘They could level this place from the air. We would not even see who killed us.’

  ‘So how’d you get out of there?’ Carl asks as Shane seethes at the injustice of the world.

  ‘Ever hear of a guy called Mr Dowling?’

  Carl’s eyes widen and Ashtat shivers. Shane pulls back from me, while Jakob leans forward, looking interested for the first time.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ I say drily.

  ‘We have heard rumours,’ Ashtat murmurs, shivering again. ‘Terrible rumours. If we could sleep, we would all have nightmares about him.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Shane snorts, but he looks uneasy.

  I tell them how the crazed clown and his mutants invaded the complex and slaughtered many of the staff. But they didn’t harm me or any of the other zom heads. Mr Dowling freaked me out – I wince as I recount how he opened his mouth and spat a stream of live spiders into my face – but he set me free once he’d made me tremble and shriek.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Shane frowns. ‘Why did he free you? I thought Mr Dowling was our enemy.’

  ‘He is,’ Ashtat says. ‘But he must have use for the living dead too. His mutants are clearly not enough for him. He wishes to recruit our kind also.’

  ‘He should be so lucky,’ Shane says witheringly. ‘If he ever tries to sign me up for Team Dowling, I’ll shove those spiders where the sun don’t shine.’

  ‘I’m sure that will make him quake in his boots,’ Carl sneers.

  ‘Do you know anything about Mr Dowling?’ I ask before a fight breaks out between the snob and the chav.

  ‘Not much,’ Ashtat answers. ‘And it is not our place to tell you what we know. Dr Oystein will do that when he returns.’

  ‘You’re all in love with that bloody doctor, aren’t you?’

  ‘He has given us a home,’ Ashtat says. ‘He has given our lives meaning. He has rescued us from an unliving hell and made us feel almost human. Of course we love him. You will too when you realise how fortunate you are to have been taken in by someone as accepting and forgiving as Dr Oystein.’

  ‘I don’t need his forgiveness,’ I snort.

  ‘No?’ Ashtat asks quietly,
eyeing me seriously.

  I think about Tyler Bayor. Sister Clare of the Shnax. How I wasn’t able to save Mark.

  I go quiet.

  ‘Grub’s up!’ someone calls out brightly. Looking up, I spot a smiling lady in a flowery apron entering the room, pushing a trolley loaded with bowls. It’s the woman I noticed when Dr Oystein was first showing me around, the one who was scooping brains out of heads.

  The Angels around me cheer loudly, as do all the others. The elegantly dressed dinner lady beams and takes a bow, then starts handing out the bowls.

  ‘This is Ciara,’ Ashtat says as she approaches our table. ‘Ciara, this is Becky Smith, but she likes to be called B.’

  ‘Pleasure to meet you, B,’ Ciara says cheerfully. She looks more like a model than any dinner lady I ever met, with high cheekbones, carefully maintained hair, and clothes you’d only find in exclusive boutiques. Even the apron, white cap and green plastic gloves look more suited to a catwalk than a kitchen. But there’s one thing about her that’s far more extraordinary than her glamorous appearance.

  She has a heartbeat.

  ‘You’re alive!’ I gasp, the beat of her heart like a drum to my sensitive ears.

  ‘Just about,’ Ciara grins. ‘But don’t go thinking that means you can eat my brain. There should be more than enough for you there.’

  She hands me a bowl filled with a familiar grey, gloopy substance. It’s what the zom heads were fed in the underground complex, human brains mixed up in a semi-appetising way.

  ‘For afters,’ Ciara says, slamming a bucket down in the middle of the table. She winks at me. ‘Don’t be offended if I don’t stick around, but I can’t stand all the vomiting. Come and have a chat with me later if you want. I used to work in Bow long ago, which – if I’m any judge of an accent – isn’t too far from your neck of the woods. I’m sure we’ll find plenty to talk about.’

  Ciara sticks out a hand and pretends to ruffle my hair, only she doesn’t quite touch me. Can’t, since she’s human and I’m not. I’d probably contaminate her if one of my hairs pierced her glove and stabbed into her flesh. I’m pretty sure that every cell of my body is toxic.

  ‘I didn’t expect to find living people here,’ I remark as Ciara leaves.