by Darren Shan
‘It’s a hell of a world,’ Barnes says bitterly, then heads back inside. I stay on the balcony a few minutes longer, listening to the howls of my brethren, wishing I could cry or, failing that, cast aside my consciousness and join them. But since I can’t and won’t, I turn my back on the tortured shrieks of the city’s damned souls and follow Barnes into the pub, where we can shut the door on the night and act for a while as if all is as it was when the world was the domain of the living.
NINETEEN
‘So tell me about Dr Oystein,’ Barnes says.
‘You mean Dr Dowling,’ I correct him.
When Barnes raises an eyebrow, I explain about the folders, how Dr Oystein’s surname is Dowling, how the doc confirmed that he’s Mr Dowling’s brother, that he was the main figure behind the release of the zombie virus.
I don’t think Barnes is often left speechless, but he can’t say anything for a long time after I finish. He stares at me as if I have two heads. That doesn’t surprise me. I find it as bizarre as he does.
‘I don’t understand,’ he finally mumbles. ‘Oystein has saved so many people. All of his time is dedicated to trying to eradicate the undead and hand control back to the living.’
‘That’s what he says,’ I snort. ‘But I think it’s a sham. He’s been looking to get his hands on Schlesinger-10. We thought –’
‘What’s Schlesinger-10?’ Barnes interrupts.
‘A virus he concocted. It can wipe out every living person, leaving the zombies free to rule the world alone. Owl Man stole it from him before he could put it to use, and gave it to Mr Dowling.’
‘Hold on,’ Barnes stops me. ‘I’m getting confused. Owl Man and Mr Dowling are the villains here, aren’t they?’
‘Well, they’re definitely not the heroes,’ I laugh, then shake my head. ‘It’s complicated. Mr Dowling loves chaos, so he wants to keep things as they are, the undead pitted against the living, him in the middle, relishing the bloodshed. He’s not good or bad as we see it, just totally bonkers. But at least he wasn’t planning to wipe out humanity. That much we know for sure, since he could have uncorked his vial of Schlesinger-10 at any time.’
‘OK,’ Barnes nods. ‘Not an ally, but not a direct foe either.’
‘Oh, he’s definitely a foe,’ I disagree. ‘Just not a foe who wants to kill all of the living.’
‘What about Owl Man?’ Barnes asks.
I purse my lips. ‘He’s more difficult to pin down. I’ve no idea what his motives are. He was involved in the spread of the zombie virus – his name was all over the files – but at the same time he didn’t release the sample of Schlesinger-10 when it was in his possession, so I guess he’s not trying to annihilate every living human either.’
Barnes frowns. ‘So you’re saying Oystein is the only one who wants to use this virus to kill us all?’
‘It looks that way,’ I shrug.
‘Then why didn’t he simply recreate it after the first batch had been stolen?’ Barnes asks.
I make a small humming noise as I think about that. ‘Maybe he couldn’t. Mr Dowling was his partner before they fell out with one another, and Owl Man was their assistant. Maybe one of those two was instrumental in figuring out the formula, and the doc couldn’t replicate it without their help. He was able to make Clements-13, but that was no good to him.’
‘Clements-13?’ Barnes echoes.
I tell him about the other virus, the one that can put the undead back in their coffins where they belong.
‘Dr Oystein told us it was a stand-off. He said that if he released Clements-13, killing all the zombies, Mr Dowling would release his sample of Schlesinger-10, dooming all of the humans in return. Now, based on everything I learnt today, I guess it must have been the other way round, that Dr Oystein was the one who wanted to unleash Schlesinger-10 and eradicate humanity. That’s why he was so eager to retrieve Mr Dowling’s sample, not to neutralise it, but to use it.’
I feel a lump in my throat as I give words to my thoughts. It hurts me, condemning Dr Oystein out loud like this, but it’s the truth, so how can I turn away from it? I’ve been fighting a war against evil ever since I linked up with the Angels, but all this time the enemy has been in our midst, trying to trick us into helping him get his hands on the ultimate weapon.
‘What about this Clements-13 you mentioned?’ Barnes asks, distracting me from my melancholy. ‘Does Owl Man or the clown have that too?’
I scratch one of my metallic ears thoughtfully, finding it hard to focus. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think they’d be bothered about it. I mean, even if Dr Oystein released Schlesinger-10, they wouldn’t use Clements-13 against him, because it would kill them too.’
‘So nobody’s going to use the Clements-13 virus?’ Barnes presses.
‘I doubt it. Maybe the doc doesn’t even have a sample any more. Hell, maybe he never developed it in the first place. That might have been a bluff, to make us believe that he was on the side of the living.’
Barnes thinks about that for a long time. I leave him to it. My head is hurting. I wasn’t made for mental acrobatics of this kind.
‘Of course, this is all pure conjecture,’ he finally says, not content to let it lie. ‘Any chance the doc might have been framed, or that you misunderstood him, that he really does want to help the living?’
‘Possibly,’ I sniff. ‘Bloody unlikely, I’d say, but I didn’t hear him out. I didn’t dare. I was afraid he might convert me if I gave him a chance.’
‘Wise girl,’ Barnes chuckles, then pulls a confused face. ‘This is messed up. I’ve dealt with double-crosses and intrigue for most of my life, but nothing on this scale.’
‘It’s simpler than it seems,’ I tell him. ‘Schlesinger-10 is the key. Dr Oystein used the zombie gene to bring the world to its knees. Now he’s looking to get hold of the thing he needs to crush the last of the living completely.’
‘Unless you’ve got the wrong end of the stick,’ Barnes says.
‘Unless I’ve got the wrong end of the stick,’ I admit.
‘But where do you come into the equation?’ Barnes asks. ‘Why does the doc want you so badly? It can’t be just because you know about his true role in this. He would have told his Angels to kill you if that was the case. But he gave them orders to bring you back alive.’
I start to tell Barnes about my marriage to Mr Dowling, but before I get to the part where I pinpointed the location of the vial of Schlesinger-10 and smuggled it out in the lining of my stomach, I have a nasty thought and I pause.
What if Barnes is here on Dr Oystein’s business?
I’m pretty sure he’s on the level. I think he really did help me because he likes me. But I’ve been taken for a ride by an apparent Good Samaritan before. Maybe it’s a trick. Maybe Dr Oystein told him to stage a betrayal, to con me into trusting him, so that I’d tell him what I did with the stolen vial — and I’m sure the doc knows that I did steal it, because that’s the only reason why Mr Dowling would have invaded County Hall. This could be part of a cunning plan.
‘B?’ Barnes asks when I fall silent.
I stare at the ex-soldier, wanting to trust him, but wary after what happened with the last person I had faith in. Should I take him into my confidence or keep him at arm’s length?
‘You know what?’ I mutter in the end. ‘All this talking has made me hungry. I didn’t realise how famished I was. Could I have more brains, please?’
Barnes’s eyes narrow. He can tell I’m suspicious. For a dangerous moment I think he’s going to attack me. But then he smiles and says, ‘What the hell. I might have a few more biscuits myself while we’re at it. We deserve a treat after what we’ve been through.’
He goes to fetch us some grub, leaving me to gaze at the back of his head and wonder miserably — friend or foe? Have I found sanctuary here or walked into a trap of Dr Oystein’s making?
TWENTY
I don’t need the extra helping of brains, but go through the motions, still mulling t
hings over, trying to work out my next move. Whatever I decide, it will pay to keep Barnes sweet. As a zombie, I can’t sleep. If I get the sense that something’s rotten, all I have to do is play along, wait for him to nod off, then slip away while he’s snoozing.
Barnes brews a mug of coffee and sips from it after finishing his biscuits. He’s obviously not a dunker.
‘The offer still stands, you know,’ he murmurs over the rim of his mug.
‘What offer?’ I ask.
‘You can leave any time.’ He nods towards the back door. ‘The boat’s yours if you want it. You can sail off down the river by yourself, go wherever your path leads you. I won’t try to stop you. You’re not beholden to me.’
‘I wouldn’t get very far on my own,’ I mutter.
‘Bullshit,’ Barnes snorts. ‘You’d get further than just about anyone else I know, even though half of you has been snipped away. I’ll give you all the brains that are stored here, and you have the syringes you took from Oystein to help top up your energy levels.’
‘How do you know about those?’ I snap.
‘The doc told us. The twins had said you were dead on your feet — no pun intended. Oystein informed us that that was no longer the case. Warned us to be cautious.’
I chew at my lower lip, studying Barnes’s face for the least hint of a lie. He must see the worry in my gaze because he smiles lazily and extends his hands.
‘Tie me up if you want. Then make your getaway.’
I stare at his hands and frown uncertainly.
‘Damn it, B, I can’t make my position any clearer,’ he growls, losing patience. ‘It’s obvious you don’t trust me, and I understand why you feel that way. But I’m not going to have you scrutinising my every word and gesture. Accept me as an ally or cut me off and go your own way. But don’t hang around and doubt me. I deserve better than that.’
‘Do you?’ I ask bluntly.
‘I risked my life for you,’ he snarls.
I shrug. ‘I didn’t ask you to.’
His nostrils flare and he points an angry finger at me. Then he squints, takes a second to think about it and sighs.
‘You’re right. You didn’t. And I’m doing what I said I wouldn’t — trying to persuade you to stay. Make up your own mind. I’m not going to try to charm you.’
Barnes gets up, roots through a pile of books on a shelf, chooses one and sits again, opening it quietly and carefully, as if in a library.
I watch him reading for a couple of minutes. It’s some old spy novel. I think my dad had a copy of it at home.
‘Tell me I can trust you,’ I say softly.
‘No.’ Barnes lowers the book slightly. ‘But I’ll tell you this, even though I’m probably wasting my breath. I wasn’t sure if life was worth living after I buried Stuart. I didn’t sob or howl at the moon. That’s not the sort of guy I am. But I sat in a quiet corner of a deserted church when I got back to the mainland, a can of beer in one hand, a gun in the other. And I thought long and hard about if I could be bothered carrying on.’
Barnes goes back to reading the book, but his hands are trembling now – not much, but a little – and I’m sure he’s not concentrating on the words.
‘Why did you choose to continue?’ I ask, remembering my own decision to end it all as I trudged away from County Hall, certain that everything was lost.
‘Believe it or not, I thought about you,’ Barnes replies. ‘It wasn’t intentional. I was sitting there, remembering Stuart, mourning all that I’d lost, figuring there was no reason for me to go on fighting and struggling now that he was gone.
‘Then I found myself thinking about brave Becky Smith, how she didn’t give in when she was a prisoner, how she fought the good fight, how she’d have surely been killed if I hadn’t interceded and led the Angels to her rescue. I knew she was the sort who was going to get into trouble again, and I had a niggling feeling she might need my help further down the line.
‘I spent a long time drinking that beer,’ Barnes says, his voice a bare croak. ‘Trying to decide if helping you mattered to me that much. In the end it was something I’d said to Stuart when I first left him on the island that swung it. He didn’t want to stay. He didn’t care that he was safe there. He cried and begged me to take him with me, said he couldn’t stand it if I abandoned him and never returned.
‘I told him that if he truly loved me, he wasn’t to think that way. If I fell to the forces of darkness during my travels, I said the best way he could honour my memory was by living his life to the full. I told him to look for a father figure on the island, find someone who could take my place. He said he could never do that. I told him that if he didn’t, it would mean he’d never loved me as much as he claimed.’
Barnes is still holding the book, but he’s looking at the ceiling now. There are no tears in his eyes, but I think he’s probably as close to them as he has ever been, or is ever likely to be.
‘You’re my replacement for Stuart,’ Barnes says hoarsely. ‘I lost my son, the only person on this dirt-ball of a planet that I loved, and I’ve replaced him with a foster daughter, to do for him what I hope he would have done for me.
‘I lived because of you, B,’ he finishes softly. ‘If I can save you, I’ll keep the ghost of my son alive a while longer. When I pass from this world, I’ll take the last loving memory of Stuart with me, and I want to put that off for as long as I can. Protecting you gives me the willpower to endure the pain and heartache, to limp on when it would be so much easier to just stop.’
Barnes clears his throat and scowls. ‘Believe me if you want, or believe I’m full of crap if you prefer. I don’t give a damn. Just let me read my book in peace.’
And, having said that, he returns his gaze to the novel and acts as if I’m not there, leaving me free to choose.
TWENTY-ONE
‘My dad died in Battersea Power Station,’ I murmur after a while.
Barnes squints. ‘What was he doing there?’
‘He was in the Ku Klux Klan. One of their shining lights.’
The ex-soldier blinks. ‘I didn’t know you were of racist stock.’
‘Oh yeah. The very worst. I used to be that way inclined myself once, eager to please my daddy.’
‘And now?’ Barnes asks.
I smirk. ‘These days I figure, live and let live.’
Barnes laughs out loud, then smothers it with a palm, not wanting to attract the attention of any sharp-eared zombies who might be lurking nearby.
‘I’d like to have a father I could love and respect,’ I tell him when the fit of laughter passes.
‘B . . .’ he says, his voice crackling with deep emotion.
‘But since there’s no one like that around, I suppose you’ll do,’ I add.
He shoots me the finger. ‘You’re not what I expected from a daughter either,’ he chuckles.
‘What?’ I act shocked. ‘I’m not Daddy’s little princess?’
‘Daddy’s little monster more like,’ he smirks, then lays his book aside. ‘Does this mean you don’t think I’m angling to betray you?’
‘I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt,’ I mutter. ‘For now.’
‘I feel privileged,’ Barnes says with a straight face. ‘In that case what’s our next move? Since you didn’t kill Oystein when you had the chance, I’m guessing you aren’t interested in revenge.’
‘Nah. What would killing him achieve? If he was just a nasty sod like Dan-Dan, I might go after him. But someone who devotes his life to bringing down an entire species is a nutter of a different order. If I thought he still posed a threat, I’d have to act, but I’m pretty sure he can’t do any more harm.’
‘You’re not concerned that he’ll get hold of Mr Dowling’s vial of Schlesinger-10?’ Barnes asks.
‘No,’ I grunt, not telling him any more than that. I do trust him, but, even so, there’s no point being a silly bugger about it and sharing more than I need to.
‘So what next?’ he asks again.
‘Do you think you can fix me?’ I ask, pointing a finger at my shredded midriff.
Barnes leans over and studies the damage. Looks at the stumps of my shorn-off ribs, the places where Mr Dowling screwed in attachments which the babies later ripped away.
‘How do you talk without lungs?’ he asks.
‘Mr Dowling inserted a pump in my throat before he removed them,’ I explain.
Barnes unwraps some of the bandages that are holding me together and surveys the rest of the damage, the holes in my arms and legs, my lacerated cheeks. His face saddens as he stares.
‘Less of the pity,’ I huff. ‘I don’t need it.’
‘They really did a number on you,’ he notes.
‘Yeah, well, we can’t do anything about that. I took the abuse and I’m still taking it. No point moping. Focus on my stomach. That’ll be a major drawback if we can’t patch it up.’
‘There’s not a lot I can do,’ Barnes says. ‘I’ll wrap some fresh bandages round you — proper bandages, not these useless strips of cloth.’
‘Hey,’ I scowl, ‘they were all I had.’
‘And I guess they did the job,’ he admits, ‘but they’re not the long-term solution. Tomorrow we’ll screw in bolts to give you the rough shape of a ribcage, then cover them with a plastic sheet or a strip of leather. It needs to be something more durable than bandages, but easy to remove at the same time, because you’ll have to go on eating like you did tonight, mashing up brains and smearing them in.’
‘Mr Dowling was able to build an artificial digestive system for me,’ I sniff.
‘Bully for him,’ Barnes retorts. ‘Go back to him if you were that impressed with his handiwork.’
‘What, and abandon my daddy?’ I grin. ‘OK. First we’ll sort out my stomach. Can you fetch what you need in the morning?’
‘Not a problem,’ Barnes says. ‘I can have you ready to go before midday.’