by Darren Shan
‘Great. I’ll need some new clothes too — my dress is a wreck. Once I’m good for the road, we’ll get the hell out of this place. I’m sick of London and the lunatics who control it. I want to get as far away as I can from Dr Oystein, Mr Dowling and the rest.’
‘Do you have your sights set on anywhere in particular?’ Barnes asks.
‘New Kirkham,’ I reply instantly.
‘I know that place,’ Barnes nods. ‘Coley and I swung through there a few times. Decent people for the most part, but some bad eggs in among the mix.’
‘It’s changed since you last saw it. The racists made a play for power but failed. They were all hanged for mutiny. One of my friends helps run the town now. He’ll give us shelter. We can draw up a more concrete plan, then set off into the wide blue yonder.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ Barnes stretches and yawns. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to rid you of the rest of those old rags, wrap you up good and tight with clean bandages, do a bit more reading, then turn in for the night. You can keep watch. I might as well make use of you now that you’re here.’
‘I’m not a guard dog,’ I growl.
‘Of course not,’ he says sweetly. ‘You’re far uglier and way more vicious than any common mongrel.’
‘That’s right,’ I huff, ‘laugh it up. We’ll see if you’re so clever when I bring you your slippers in the morning and accidentally scratch your ankles when I’m helping you put them on.’
Barnes laughs and says, ‘That’s my girl.’
‘If only,’ I whisper to myself, remembering my real father and thinking what a pity it is that we don’t get to choose who our parents are. ‘If only.’
TWENTY-TWO
A few hours later, Barnes is snoring lightly. He fell asleep almost as soon as he turned in. He’d told me that would be the case. He also said he’s a light sleeper and would probably wake up if there were unusual noises, but, even so, not to hesitate to disturb him if I thought there was a suggestion of trouble brewing.
Barnes sleeps in a sleeping bag on the bar, out of the way of any rats or insects. His guns rest close by, as well as a collection of knives. He didn’t take off his boots or clothes, saying he liked to be able to hit the ground running. When I joked about his smell, he said it was no laughing matter. Zombies have an easier time sniffing out a clean human than a filthy one.
I tried reading to pass the time, but I wasn’t able to concentrate. I kept thinking about Dr Oystein, what he’s done to the world, why he hates the living so much, if there’s even the slightest chance I might be wrong about him. Brooding about the past. Worrying about the future.
I want to go sit on the balcony, but I’d wake Barnes if I got up, even if I tried to tiptoe. He said not to worry, that he snaps awake several times most nights, but I don’t want to be a disruptive guest. He came to my rescue today, when I was sure all was lost, so I want to repay him as best I can.
Am I foolish to hope that things might work out? Will Dr Oystein anticipate my return to New Kirkham and send Angels there ahead of me? Should we take a random route out of the city, avoiding any places that either of us has ventured to before? And afterwards, if we escape, where do I want to wind up? An island free of zombies? If so, what would I do about getting hold of fresh brains?
Even if we could go somewhere by ourselves, where there was a ready supply of brains, surely Barnes would pine for human company. I’m limited in what I can give him. Conversation, yes, but we can’t touch. No hugs or high fives. I can never give him a bunk-up if he needs it. No contact sports. I’d even have to be wary playing a game of cards, in case I got excited, reached for a card at the same time as him and scratched him by accident.
Maybe I’ll let Barnes go his own way once he’s escorted me to safety. Perhaps I could settle in a town or city in another country, where I could raid the morgues for years to come, lonely but safe. Leave Barnes to live with others of his kind. Pop by for a visit every so often, to let him see that I’m OK and cheer myself up.
I don’t contemplate suicide. That’s off the agenda. I only toyed with that idea when I thought I was alone in the world. Now that I have someone who cares about me, who might need my help just as I need his, I’m giving no thought to my ultimate end. The grave can’t have me as long as I have the interests of a friend to consider.
I smile warmly in the dim light of the old pub, feeling like I’ve turned a corner, despite everything else that has happened.
And that’s when I hear a sniffing sound outside.
TWENTY-THREE
I’m too wise to the ways of the world to dismiss the noise. As soon as I hear it, I jerk bolt upright and hiss, ‘Barnes!’
He wakes instantly, sits up, grabs a gun and looks at me questioningly. I point to my ears, then at the front door.
Barnes slips out of the sleeping bag, slides off the bar counter and stares at the door. We stand where we are, listening. I can’t hear anything now, but I know the sound was real.
Barnes slowly, softly crosses to my side and whispers, ‘What was it?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I reply quietly. ‘Something snuffling. Maybe a zombie with a blocked nose, but it didn’t sound like one.’
‘An animal?’ Barnes asks.
‘Possibly. But big if it was. Not a rat. More like a . . .’
I stop, suddenly realising what the noise reminded me of. A dog. There are still dogs in London. They usually lie low at night, only coming out when the sun is up. I suppose some of them break that rule, creeping forth when it’s dark, to forage for food if they feel like they can outwit or outrun the undead. Maybe the noise came from one of them, a hungry mutt on the prowl.
But there’s another type of dog. A unique specimen. One which has followed me before.
As a wave of panic rises within me, I turn to Barnes and start to tell him that we have to get out of here immediately, that we must not take any risks.
Before I can say a word, the lock in the door clicks as someone fiddles with it.
‘The balcony,’ Barnes says calmly, raising his rifle and pointing it at the front door.
‘I think I know who it is,’ I mutter, grabbing a knife from the counter.
‘Not a friend, I assume?’ he says bleakly.
‘No.’
The door starts to open. Barnes pulls the trigger and the top half of the door explodes into splinters. There’s an angry howling noise. Some of the splinters must have caught the dog.
‘Run!’ Barnes grunts, slowly backing up, ready to fire again if he catches sight of anyone.
I hurry to the rear door, throw it open and step on to the balcony. I look around to make sure there’s nobody waiting to pounce, then move to the edge of the platform to jump down into the boat.
It isn’t there.
I stare at the space where the boat should be, then out across the river. I spot it bobbing up and down in the middle of the Thames. There’s a large, familiar figure on board. He waves heartily to me.
‘Hi, Becky,’ Rage hollers. ‘Fancy bumping into you here.’
Barnes hears and looks back at me. ‘Are we screwed?’
‘Pretty much,’ I growl. ‘Any other way out?’
‘The roof. There’s a ladder on the balcony. Set it up and –’
‘Becky,’ a man on the street shouts. ‘This does not have to end badly. We can cut a deal.’
‘Who’s that?’ Barnes asks.
‘Owl Man,’ I wince. ‘The dog is Sakarias, his pet hound. It must have tracked my scent. I never anticipated that. I should have. It’s not the first time the thing has hunted me.’
‘No point blaming yourself now,’ Barnes says coolly. ‘The boat?’
‘Rage has taken it.’
‘Is there anybody with him?’
‘Not that I can see.’
‘Do you think they’re likely to have brought backup?’ he presses.
‘I’ve no idea. But hopefully not. I think I’d have heard more noises if the mutants were w
ith them.’
Barnes sniffs. ‘If it’s just them, then it’s three against two if you count the dog. Those are the sort of odds I like.’
‘Becky?’ Owl Man calls again. ‘You won’t gain anything if you try to run. I only want to chat. We’ll let your friend walk away unharmed if you come out without a fight.’
‘I’m going nowhere,’ Barnes replies before I can answer. Then he whispers to me, ‘Scram. I’ll stall them as long as I can.’
‘No,’ I groan. ‘I won’t leave you.’
‘You don’t have a choice,’ he says.
‘Of course I do,’ I argue. ‘I can stay and fight.’
Owl Man pokes the front door open and it swings inwards. Barnes fires again, but there’s no one there. Light from the moon spills into the bar.
‘Please, Becky,’ Owl Man says. ‘I won’t hurt you. If you value your partner’s life, lay down your weapons and tell him to depart.’
I look at Barnes and grimace. ‘He’s offering you a way out. I think he’ll honour his pledge if I surrender.’
‘I won’t abandon you,’ Barnes says stiffly.
‘But we’re trapped.’
‘No we’re not. Get up on that roof and hotfoot it out of here like I told you.’
‘And I told you I won’t leave you.’
Barnes glowers at me, then shrugs. ‘In that case let’s hit the street and take the fight to them.’
‘Becky?’ Owl Man asks.
‘Give me a moment,’ I call sweetly, then move ahead of Barnes.
‘What are you doing?’ he snaps.
‘The dog could rip your head off with one bite. And it can move quicker than anything you’ve ever seen. If you go first, Sakarias will attack.’
‘What makes you think it won’t attack you?’ Barnes asks.
‘They want me alive. I’ll act as a shield, confuse them, buy you a few seconds. You can use that time to blow their stinking heads off.’
Barnes grins grimly. ‘I like it. OK, you lead, I’ll follow. Just don’t forget we’re a team. I’ll be watching your back all the way. Don’t feel that you have to cut me loose to protect me. We escape or go down together. Agreed?’
‘You’re the boss, Dad,’ I smile.
Barnes returns the smile, then slips up close behind me. We start to advance.
‘Oh, Becky,’ Owl Man sighs, sensing rebellion in the air. ‘If you had trusted me, we could have avoided this unpleasantness.’
‘I do trust you,’ I shout cheerfully. ‘I’m coming out now. I’ve laid down my weapons, honest I have, and so has Barnes.’
I’m nearly at the door. I get a firmer grip on my knife.
‘You think that you can fool me, but you’re only making a fool of yourself,’ Owl Man says wearily. Then he clicks his tongue. ‘Here, Sakarias. I want you by my side. Good dog.’ He raises his voice. ‘One last chance, Becky. Turn yourself over to us. Let Barnes walk away from this.’
‘Ignore them,’ Barnes growls in my ear. ‘They can’t hurt us, not if we work as a team.’
‘Here we come, Owly,’ I chirp. ‘Time for tea and crumpets.’
‘Silly girl,’ Owl Man murmurs. ‘Will you never learn?’ He clears his throat and his voice changes, becomes deeper, more commanding. ‘I want you to do something for me, Becky.’
‘Yeah?’ I sneer. ‘What’s that?’
‘Kill Barnes.’
I start to laugh, but before the sound can form, I find myself turning swiftly. Barnes isn’t expecting it. He backs up and stumbles. My hand snakes out towards him. He probably thinks I’m trying to steady him. But he’s wrong. Because it’s the hand holding the knife. And, as Barnes stares at me with shock and disbelief, I drive it through the side of his head, all the way up to the hilt.
TWENTY-FOUR
I let go of the knife and stare with horror at Barnes as he blinks dumbly, lips moving mutely. He reaches for the handle of the knife, to pull it out, but his strength deserts him and he slumps. I catch him as he falls and lower him to the floor, moaning over him as he starts to shake.
It doesn’t take long for Barnes to die. His eyelids soon stop twitching and his mouth goes still. I set his head down and turn it sideways. I’d like to pull out the knife and kill myself with it, but Barnes looks peaceful. I don’t want to make a mess and disturb his body.
I push myself to my feet and glance at the doorway. Owl Man is standing there, Sakarias by his side. The dog is panting. Owl Man looks grim.
I throw myself at the bar, scrabbling for another couple of knives, one for the creep in the pinstriped suit, the other for myself.
‘Stop,’ Owl Man snaps, and I come to a trembling standstill.
‘Hands by your sides,’ he commands, and my treacherous limbs obey.
Owl Man and his dog move into the bar. Sakarias trots over to Barnes and sniffs his face, making sure he’s dead. Owl Man stays focused on me.
‘You forgot that I could bend you to my will, didn’t you?’ he asks softly.
‘I’ll kill you,’ I snarl.
‘I will not give you the chance,’ he says, then sighs. ‘I am sorry about the soldier. He might have proved a useful ally. You should have come out when I gave you the opportunity.’
I try forcing my hands to rise, my feet to move, so that I can launch myself at Owl Man and rip his face to pieces. But I’m a statue. He has complete control over me.
‘The end is nigh, Becky,’ Owl Man says, coming closer, touching my left cheek tenderly. ‘Our suffering is almost over. Once the final hand has been played, we can start afresh. It will be the beginning of a whole new era. Life will be easier for us then.’
‘I’ll kill you,’ I snarl again.
Owl Man tuts. ‘I could try to convince you to see things our way, but I know you would not heed my protestations. It is time for action, not words. However, before we push on, there’s someone who has more faith in words than I do, and he would like an audience with you.’
I stare questioningly at Owl Man. In response, he points towards the door, and I realise someone is with him. A third figure steps into the room, a slight, neatly dressed man with greying hair and a kindly face which has been recently scratched and bruised. I have to do a double take, because I never would have expected to see him in the company of Owl Man, but there can be no mistake — it’s Dr Oystein.
‘You!’ I cry. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I nod at his large-eyed companion. ‘With him?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be with Tom White?’ Dr Oystein replies calmly, referring to Owl Man by his original name. ‘He is, after all, my nephew.’
As I stare at the doc incredulously, mind reeling at the revelation which has been so casually tossed my way, he takes a seat, calmly runs a hand through his hair and regards me solemnly. ‘Becky Smith,’ he says heavily, ‘it is time for you and I to have a little talk.’
To be concluded . . .