Zom-B Circus

by Darren Shan

  Jules was pushed down into the cannon. She tried to wriggle out, but one of the mutants said something to her–Cat supposed it was a threat to torture her son–and she let herself slide into it with a wretched, heartbreaking howl.

  Mr. Dowling patted George’s head as he passed the distraught boy, then shoved Claudia aside–the crowd booed, but in a lighthearted way–and took hold of the control panel. He locked gazes with Cat and squealed shrilly.

  “Bombs away!” Kinslow translated.

  Then Mr. Dowling pressed the button and Jules Bearman, Cat’s sister, the person she had loved most in all the world since their parents passed on, was fired through the air and out into the stadium to be ripped to pieces by the ranks of living dead in the stands.

  TWENTY

  Cat buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly. To find her sister alive after all this time, and then to lose her so sickeningly… She’d never thought the world could be this cruel. Then again, until today she’d never known that this was a world of mutants and telepathic, homicidal clowns.

  Kinslow tapped her on the shoulder repeatedly until she moved her hands away and glanced up at him through her tears.

  “Mr. Dowling wants you,” the mutant said pleasantly.

  Cat looked across at the clown. He was smiling and nodding at her while her nephew was being carried up to the cannon.

  Cat wailed and covered her face with her hands again.

  “Don’t be like that,” Kinslow cooed. “Maybe he wants to cut a deal. Maybe you can save the little boy if you hurry.”

  “You really think so?” Cat moaned, peering at Kinslow through the cracks in her fingers, not daring to believe there might be any hope.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Kinslow said with a twinkling grin.

  Cat was certain that she was being toyed with, but regardless of that she got to her feet and staggered into the ring. If there was any possibility that she could save poor George, she had to take it before it slipped away. After all, there were no second chances in life.

  “Auntie Cat!” George cried with shock when he spotted her.

  She cringed but forced herself to look up at the shrieking boy and smile. “It’s OK, George. I’m going to sort this out.”

  “Mummy?” George roared. “Daddy?”

  “They’re fine,” she lied. “They’re waiting for you outside. But I’ll see if I can get the clown to let you walk out to join them, so that you don’t have to be fired through the air like they were.”

  She didn’t know whether or not George believed her. Before he could ask any questions, he was pushed down into the cannon by the mutant who had carried him up to it.

  Cat faced the smirking Mr. Dowling and said, “What do I have to do?”

  The clown held out the cannon’s control to her.

  “You’re out of your bloody mind!” Cat shouted. “I’m not going to execute my own nephew!”

  Mr. Dowling cocked his head, his eyes darting wildly around his sockets, and he made a series of whining noises.

  “He says you can swap places with the boy if you wish,” Kinslow said behind her.

  Cat shuddered, but she had anticipated this and resigned herself to it. “Okay,” she sighed. “If that’s what it takes.”

  She started forward, to climb up and rescue her nephew, prepared to sacrifice herself for him. She had seen other people do this when attacked by zombies, give themselves up in an attempt to save a loved one. She’d always considered them the most foolish of fools, but it was different when it was one of your own.

  As Cat took hold of the ladder, she paused and turned.

  “How do I know that you’ll let him go?” she asked.

  Kinslow laughed. “We never said we’d let him go.”

  Cat’s face fell. “But you promised…”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Kinslow tutted. “Mr. Dowling only said you could swap places with the boy. He never said anything about what would happen to him after you were dead.”

  “What will happen to him?” Cat asked.

  Kinslow shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Mr. Dowling might let him go, or turn him into a mutant like me, or send him back up to be fired out of the cannon after you.”

  “I need to know,” Cat groaned.

  “You can’t,” Kinslow said. “We’re not offering you a deal, just a chance to buy the boy some time. After that, his destiny lies in the lap of the gods. Well, in the lap of Mr. Dowling.”

  Cat stared at the mutant with horror and her hands fell by her sides.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “Save your breath,” Kinslow sniffed. “Are you swapping places or not?”

  “I will if I can save him,” Cat wept. “But if you’re going to kill him anyway…”

  “We might not,” Kinslow reminded her.

  “I need a guarantee,” she shouted.

  “Mr. Dowling isn’t in the guaranteeing business,” Kinslow replied coolly. “Now, are you climbing up there or not?”

  Cat shook her head uncertainly. “I need a minute to think about it. I…”

  Mr. Dowling made a low, guttural noise.

  “What did he say?” Cat asked.

  Kinslow chuckled heartlessly. “He said he would grant you a favor and do your thinking for you.”

  And with that, Mr. Dowling pressed the button and George Bearman, Cat’s eight-year-old nephew, was sent shooting to his doom, leaving his aunt to collapse to her knees in the center of the ring and wail wretchedly while mourning all that she had lost.

  TWENTY-ONE

  An uncontrollably sobbing Cat was led back to the throne and once again placed on Mr. Dowling’s lap. He cradled her this time and hummed to her as she wept, while Kinslow rounded up a small group of mutant violinists to play sad tunes.

  The circus acts continued while Cat was crying. An undead knife thrower threw knives at a nervous mutant, who ducked and shimmied out of the way of the blades until one caught him in the thigh and put him down—he hopped out of the ring to a chorus of catcalls. A zombie plate spinner proved surprisingly nimble and managed to keep most of her plates aloft, even when three of them were topped with heads from some of the trapezists whose bodies had been smashed earlier. Two zombies parading around on stilts drew a warm round of applause, but a third member of the troupe kept falling over—the crowd booed until the stilts were set afire and the flames engulfed the clumsy zombie.

  The grieving Cat didn’t even notice when an undead sword swallower came forward, and Mr. Dowling plucked all of Cat’s knives from her, to be used in the act. In her stunned state she could only obsess about Jules, Paul and George, replaying the moments when they had been shot from the cannon over and over inside her head.

  Finally there was a lull and a silence fell over the crowd. The lack of noise eventually registered with Cat and she looked around in a daze, wondering if all of the mutants and babies had slipped out and left her.

  No such luck. They were still here, but now they were leaning forward and staring mutely at her, as if waiting for her to do something.

  “Here,” Kinslow grunted, handing her a handkerchief. “Wipe your cheeks. You look a mess.”

  “I don’t care,” Cat whispered, letting the handkerchief drop.

  Kinslow scowled, picked up the hankie, spat on it, then wiped Cat’s cheeks clean. “That’s better,” he said. “Though a touch of lipstick and mascara wouldn’t be a bad idea. Do you have a handbag?”

  He laughed at his little joke. Cat just stared at him numbly.

  Mr. Dowling whined and Kinslow stopped laughing. “He says this isn’t a time for laughter,” Kinslow muttered. “Rather, it’s time for the main performance. It’s a serious act, deserving of our respect.”

  “I don’t care,” Cat said again, staring at the hole in the roof, wishing she had climbed up into the cannon and been fired off into oblivion.

  “You should care,” Kinslow said with a smirk, “because you’re the star of this particular act.” />
  And with that he took her hand, helped her to her feet, then led her forward into the spotlights, where both her future and her past were waiting.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Cat blinked with confusion as Kinslow positioned her in the center of the ring. It seemed much bigger than it had earlier. Everything had been cleared away and it was just the two of them, Mr. Dowling and all of the mutants and babies looking on from outside with fascination.

  “You wanted to know why we chose you,” Kinslow said softly. “Why, out of all the survivors in London, we selected you for special treatment. This is where you find out.”

  Zombies advanced into the ring, several of them, no handlers in sight. Catching the scent of Cat’s brain, they set their sights on her and began to close in for the kill. Then Kinslow pressed a whistle between his lips and blew commandingly. The zombies drew to a halt and held their ground, eyeing Cat hungrily.

  “We were at your school on Z Day,” Kinslow said, stepping away from Cat to slowly circle the zombies. “We’d been keeping tabs on one of your students.”

  “Who?” Cat frowned, trying to think which of her useless pupils might be of interest to creatures such as these. “Why?”

  “We saw you sacrifice some of the children to the zombies in order to escape,” Kinslow went on, sidestepping her question. “We admired your ruthless streak. We kept an eye on you after that, to see how you’d develop. We thought you might make a valuable addition to the team.”

  “Your team?” Cat’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “Never.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure you’d join us if the offer was put before you,” Kinslow snickered. “Even given what we did to your sister and her family, I still think you’d do anything necessary to spare your own neck. And we might yet make that offer. Mr. Dowling is weighing it up even as we speak.”

  Cat’s gaze flickered to the seated clown. He was looking all around the place and scratching an armpit. It was impossible to tell what he might be thinking.

  “What would I have to do?” Cat asked warily.

  “Tame the savage beasts,” Kinslow giggled, then blew his whistle again. At his command the zombies shuffled out of the ring and returned with steps and hoops that they set in place, reacting to Kinslow’s orders. Claudia reappeared, adjusted some of the props, then set one of the hoops alight, before taking a little bow.

  When the girl retreated, Kinslow blew his whistle shrilly and the zombies all climbed the steps, one per set, to balance on a single leg at the top. The mutants and babies applauded.

  Kinslow blew again and a couple of the zombies did handstands. More applause. He then had the zombies descend to trot around the hoops and jump through one at a time, building up to the fiery hoop, which he kept until last.

  A few of the zombies singed their heads or arms coming through the hoop of flames, but none suffered any serious injuries, and soon they were all standing in a line in front of Kinslow again, awaiting his next command.

  “See?” Kinslow smiled. “It’s easy, isn’t it?” He produced another whistle and tossed it to Cat. His face went flat and he said in a low voice, “Your turn.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Cat stared at the whistle, then looked up at the zombies, who hadn’t moved.

  “I can’t control them,” she said.

  “Then you’re in trouble,” Kinslow laughed.

  Cat gulped. “I don’t know how. You’ve got to help me, show me, give me advice, something.”

  Kinslow shook his head. “No help. Sink or swim. That’s the way it is with us.”

  Cat looked pleadingly to Mr. Dowling. “You can’t do this to me,” she yelled. “You went to all the trouble of tracking me, putting on this show, dragging my sister’s family into it. You can’t just let me be ripped to pieces now. What’s the point of that?”

  “Mr. Dowling doesn’t always need a point,” Kinslow said. “But in this case he does have one. You might be able to figure out what it is if I tell you that the name of this act is ‘Cat Ward’s Apt Finale.’”

  Cat stared at Kinslow at a loss. He waited for the lightbulb to go off When it didn’t, he sighed and put his whistle between his lips to blow one last time and set the zombies free of his influence.

  Mr. Dowling made a high wailing noise and stopped him.

  Kinslow listened to his master, then nodded obediently. “You’re in luck,” he told Cat. “Mr. Dowling is granting you a lifeline. He’s prepared to free you from your role in the act and offer you a place among his most trusted handservants.”

  “What if I don’t want it?” Cat asked.

  “Then you’ll die,” Kinslow said.

  “Maybe I’d prefer to die,” Cat croaked.

  Kinslow shook his head. “You’d enjoy life as a mutant. We’re the same as you—hard, cold, merciless killers. In fact, you’re harder and colder than most of us. You’re better suited to life as one of Mr. Dowling’s assistants than just about anyone else in the gang. We would have automatically recruited you ages ago if not for your association with somebody else we’ve been keeping an eye on.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cat asked.

  “Mr. Dowling has a question for you,” Kinslow answered indirectly. “Your response will determine what we do with you, whether we accept you as one of us or leave you to see out the act.”

  “What question?” Cat cried, hating the mystery.

  Kinslow waited a heartbeat, then said slyly, “What did you think of your student Becky Smith?”

  Cat blinked. Of all the questions in the world, that was one of the last she had expected. “Becky Smith?” she repeated.

  “Yeah,” Kinslow said. “You remember her?”

  “Of course.”

  “What was your opinion of her?”

  Cat thought about answering truthfully, telling them that the girl had been a horrid little beast, arrogant, rude, disruptive, a bully and a borderline racist. But the mutants seemed to approve of people with antisocial tendencies. If they were thinking of signing up Becky Smith, Cat wanted to do whatever she could to dissuade them. She could tolerate serving a master like Mr. Dowling, and she was willing to work hand in hand with an army of mutant killers, but teaming up with a wretch like Becky Smith… a girl who had openly mocked her in class… that was a bridge too far.

  “She was a weak, pitiful nothing,” Cat said dismissively. “A mouthy, ignorant little scumbag who was clearly never going to amount to anything. I taught a lot of lousy kids over the years but she was one of the most pathetic. I can’t even say that I despised her, because she wasn’t worthy of contempt.”

  Kinslow hooted. The mutants in the audience gasped. The babies made an angry hissing noise and their eyes suddenly turned a deep red color. On the throne, Mr. Dowling sat bolt upright and glared at her, his eyes steady in their sockets for the first time since Cat had been introduced to him.

  “Wait,” Cat cried, realizing she had made a mistake. “I didn’t mean that. Becky was a wonderful girl, an exemplary student. She–”

  “Too late,” Kinslow interrupted. “Your first answer is the only one that we’ll accept, and it was about as wrong as wrong could be.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Cat roared as Kinslow raised his whistle again. “What was so special about Becky bloody Smith?”

  “You’ll find out,” Kinslow crowed. Then he smiled mockingly. “Or, rather, you won’t.”

  Then, as he stepped backwards into the shadows, disappearing from sight, he stuck the whistle between his lips and blew, and the zombies in the ring were unleashed.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The undead shook their heads, bunched together, fixed their sights on Cat and advanced. She blew her whistle several times, as loudly as she could, but the zombies ignored her, as she’d guessed they would.

  Spitting out the whistle, Cat reached for a knife, only to find all of her scabbards bare. In a panic she scrabbled for her gun but that was gone too. She glanced with horror at Mr. Dowling on his throne and
spotted him idly twirling the gun around. He must have smoothly removed it when he rid her of her knives, though she couldn’t remember when exactly that had happened.

  Despite her desperation Cat backed up slowly, not wanting the zombies to break rank and race after her. She looked around for anything that she might be able to defend herself with but the floor had been swept clean.

  There was a gap in the barrier around the ring to Cat’s left and that was what she edged towards. If she could get out of the enclosure, she would duck into the crowd. The mutants and babies might lose their composure if the pack of zombies came racing towards them. In the ensuing chaos she might be able to sneak free and escape from the tent. Of course there were the tens of thousands of zombies outside to deal with, but she would cross that bridge if she came to it. One crisis at a time.

  Cat kept expecting the zombies to attack. Those she’d encountered before had always reacted the same way in the presence of the living, hurling themselves at people, in a hurry to rip their skulls open and scoop out their brains. But these creeps held their formation and closed in slowly, steadily.

  Cat was almost at the gap when a couple of figures stepped forward to block her way. They were girls in school uniforms. The uniforms were ripped, bloody and dusty, but Cat recognized the colors and the crest. They were from her old school.

  Cat drew to a halt and stared at the pair of grim-faced zombies who had blocked her way. She’d spent a lot of her time since the fall of civilization remembering these faces, so she identified the girls immediately.

  They were two of the students she had thrown to the zombies in the laboratory at her school.