by Darren Shan
‘You’re the only one I’d stab,’ I smirk. ‘I’d leave the others for the clown and his posse.’
‘Then you have been thinking about it,’ he challenges me, bristling.
‘I think about all sorts of things,’ I purr, baiting him, unable to resist the opportunity to get under his skin.
‘If you ever –’ he starts to say, raising a finger to point at me warningly.
‘Rage,’ Ashtat interrupts.
‘Don’t stick up for her,’ Rage barks. ‘We won’t have girl power here. If this little –’
‘Shut up,’ Ashtat says calmly, ‘and look to your right.’
Rage glares at her but does as she commands. I see his eyes widen, so I look too.
There are a couple of people on the street, no more than ten metres ahead of us. They’ve come out of the remains of a shop. It’s a woman and a young child. The woman is holding the child in her arms. I’m not sure if it’s a boy or a girl.
But I’m sure of one thing, by the way their chests rise and fall, by the smell of the perfume they’ve coated themselves with, by the terror in the woman’s eyes when she spots us.
They’re alive.
For several seconds nothing happens. We stare at the woman and her child and she stares back. The child’s face is turned into the woman’s chest. I don’t know if it’s aware of us or not.
Ashtat lifts her hands over her head and calls out softly, ‘We’re not going to hurt you.’
The woman bolts the instant Ashtat moves. Not back into the shop, where we could trap her. Instead she turns and dashes along the street.
We start after her as a pack, acting instinctively. Carl stops us with a curt and commanding, ‘Wait!’
As the rest of us pause, Carl jogs forward a couple of steps, then leaps. He lands not far behind the fleeing woman and immediately bounces into the air again, like a frog. He lands a few metres in front of her and she comes to a halt. Turns frantically, looking for an escape route. She spots an open door in a building and starts towards it.
‘That’s not a wise move,’ Carl says calmly. ‘There could be a dozen zombies on the other side of that door.’
The woman stops and stares at Carl. Then looks back at the rest of us. We’re all standing still.
‘What are you?’ the woman gasps, taking another step away from Carl, edging closer to the door, caught in two minds.
‘That’s a long story,’ Carl chuckles. ‘All you need to know right now is that we mean you no harm. We’re not going to attack you. We won’t even detain you. If you’re suspicious of us and don’t want to talk, you can carry on down this street and we won’t lift a finger to stop you. I’ll just say two words to you before you go. County Hall.’
Carl shuffles out into the middle of the road. The woman licks her lips nervously, then starts to run. She thinks this is a trick. I don’t blame her.
Nobody moves, even though we’ll all hate it if we lose her. I say a silent prayer that she’ll stop and look back. But then she turns a corner and disappears from sight. I feel my spirits sinking. I look around and everyone is staring glumly at the spot where she vanished, even Rage.
‘Hard luck, Carl,’ Ashtat says. ‘At least you tried. I thought –’
‘Wait a minute,’ Carl hushes her. He’s smiling hopefully. The fingers of his left hand are flexing slowly, as if trying to beckon the woman back. I don’t think there’s any chance of that, but I hold my peace along with the other Angels. I count inside my head, determined to give Carl the full minute he asked for. After that, I’ll tell him to forget it, we can’t win them all, maybe next time luck will be on our . . .
The woman edges back into view. First it’s just her head, as she stares at us. Then she steps on to our street. She’s still holding the child. It’s looking at us now and I see that’s it’s a boy. Just four or five years old, but well drilled, silent as a butterfly.
The woman slips closer, studying the houses on either side, eyeing us uneasily. She stops a good distance away from Carl. She’s trembling.
‘You could have leapt through the air again and stopped me,’ she says.
Carl nods.
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘We don’t want to trap you,’ Carl says. ‘If I tried to get in your way, you might run into me and scratch yourself. That would be bad.’
‘Then you are a zombie?’
‘A certain kind, yes.’
‘Not the kind that eats brains?’
Carl laughs softly. ‘Oh, we definitely eat brains, we have to. But we don’t take them from the living. And we don’t kill. We’re your friendly neighbourhood kind of zombie.’
The woman doesn’t smile but she stops shaking so much. ‘And County Hall?’ she asks. ‘What did you mean?’
‘It’s where we’re based,’ Carl explains. ‘If you don’t want to come with us, that’s cool, we won’t force you. But if you’re ever in need of allies or shelter, or looking for a way out of the city, come to County Hall and we’ll help. You’ll be safe there. It’s the safest place in London.’
‘Nowhere’s truly safe,’ the woman says.
‘Not truly,’ Carl concedes. ‘But if you seek refuge there, and anyone wants to do you harm, they’ll have to cut through us first.’
‘What are you?’ the woman asks again, frowning now.
‘Like I said, that’s a long story. But if you want to know who we are, I’m Carl Clay and these guys will be more than happy to introduce themselves if you let them.’
The woman wavers, takes a step back, thinks about it some more, then makes up her mind. ‘I’m Emma,’ she says. ‘This is my son, Declan.’
‘A pleasure to meet you, Emma,’ Carl says, smiling broadly. ‘Now, do you know any place around here where we could get a decent cup of coffee?’
And when he says that, despite herself, Emma returns the smile, and as sappy as it might sound, it’s one of the most heart-warming things I’ve ever seen. Even for an undead, heart-deprived monster like me.
Carl wasn’t joking about the coffee. He tells us that one of his uncles ran a small espresso bar in Kensington. Carl used to work there occasionally at the weekends, learning the trade. His parents thought it would be good for him, help keep his feet on the ground—he comes from a wealthy background and I guess they didn’t want him losing touch with us common folk.
We find a deserted café, Carl takes Emma’s order and heads in, delighted with himself. The rest of us wait on the street. Emma stands apart from us, still unsure she made the right choice when she came back. Declan is ogling us. He seems particularly fascinated by the hole in my chest.
‘I’d let you poke about in there,’ I smile at him, ‘but it’s dangerous.’
Declan blushes and hides his face. Emma laughs and rubs his head. ‘No need to be afraid,’ she coos. ‘These people aren’t going to hurt us. He was always shy,’ she tells me. ‘I used to encourage him to be more outgoing, but in this climate shyness isn’t a bad thing. I haven’t had any trouble keeping him quiet.’
I nod understandingly. ‘Noise attracts the zombies.’
‘Smells attract them too,’ Ashtat mutters, looking around, worried. ‘If any nearby reviveds get a whiff of that coffee . . .’
‘Don’t brick it,’ Rage laughs. ‘We can handle a few dumb reviveds if we have to.’
‘But I’d rather not risk it,’ Ashtat says and goes to see how Carl is getting on.
‘Do other zombies attack you?’ Emma asks me.
‘Not usually,’ I reply. ‘But if we got in the way of a feed, they would.’
‘Then we’re putting you in danger.’
I shrug. ‘We don’t mind a little danger. It’s what we’re here for.’
Carl emerges with a mug of steaming hot coffee, beaming as if he’d delivered a newborn baby. Emma thanks him and reaches for it.
‘Uh-uh,’ he stops her and carefully lays the mug down on the ground for her to pick up. ‘Best not to take any chances.’
&nb
sp; ‘This is so weird,’ she says, pulling a face as she retrieves the mug. ‘If anyone had told me this morning that a zombie would be serving me coffee before the day was out . . .’
We all laugh, but quietly, so as not to draw attention. Then we head for Leicester Square, talking softly as we progress. We tell Emma about ourselves, how we differ from reviveds, the way we try to help living survivors, Dr Oystein and the set-up at County Hall. By the time we get to the small park at the heart of the West End and make ourselves comfy on a few of the benches, Emma is shaking her head with wonder.
‘I never would have dreamt this was possible. I thought you were all killers.’
‘Most of us are,’ Ashtat says. ‘Do not make the mistake of thinking you should give zombies a chance from now on. If you ever see one coming towards you, run. There are very few of our type around.’
‘What about you guys?’ Shane asks. ‘How did you survive this long?’
‘By being very careful,’ Emma sighs. ‘And with a lot of luck.’
‘Are there more of you?’ Carl asks. ‘Do you want us to fetch the others and take them back to County Hall? Assuming you want to go there,’ he adds quickly. ‘No pressure. We’ll understand if you’d rather stick to what you know.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Emma says bitterly. ‘I hate what we’ve had to endure, the places we’ve had to stay, the loneliness. Of course we’re coming with you. If I’d only known about you before . . .’
She starts to cry. The rest of us say nothing and look away awkwardly, waiting for the tears to pass. Declan makes a small whining sound and, when I glance at him, I see him stroking his mother’s hair and kissing her cheek. I recall the monstrous babies from my dreams, and the all-too-real baby at Timothy’s, and suppress a shudder.
‘Sorry,’ Emma moans when the tears finally pass. ‘I’ve been holding those in for so long. I didn’t want to cry before this. I was afraid I might not be able to stop once I’d started, that I might start howling with grief and rage.’
‘Howling’s not good in this city,’ Shane notes. ‘It draws a crowd.’
‘Yes.’ Emma wipes tears away and grins at us, embarrassed. ‘Sorry,’ she says again.
‘No need to apologise,’ Ashtat smiles. ‘We would love to cry if we could.’
Emma blinks. ‘You mean you can’t?’
‘Unfortunately not. We are, in most respects, dead. There are many things the undead can no longer do—cry, sweat, breathe.’
Emma shakes her head, amazed, and drains the last of her coffee. ‘That was so good,’ she says.
‘I can make you some more if you’d like,’ Carl offers.
‘Not right now,’ she says. ‘Maybe in a while. I don’t like to drink too much. I’m always afraid the smell might tip off the zombies. Does it?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Carl says. ‘Most reviveds aren’t good at association. That’s why they don’t link the smell of perfume or aftershave to the living. But I’ve seen some react to the scent of food before. I think they remember that only a living human would bother with food, since the walking dead don’t eat. Well, except for brains obviously.’
‘But you’re safe with us,’ Shane brags. ‘You can have a barbecue if you like, here in the Square. We’ll run off any nosy buggers who come sniffing round.’
Emma giggles. ‘A barbecue! This is like a dream. I wish . . .’ She pauses and her expression darkens. ‘I wish Shaun could have been here. He practically lived for barbecues. He was Australian. He grew up cooking outdoors.’
‘Was Shaun your husband?’ Ashtat asks delicately.
‘No,’ Emma grunts. ‘He left the picture long before the zombies struck, and good riddance to him. I hope he was one of the first to die and that it was painful and slow.’ She glowers, then chuckles. ‘I don’t mean that really. But I certainly wouldn’t shed any tears if I found out he was dead.
‘Shaun was a friend of mine. We were together the day the zombies took over. He was a survival expert, he loved challenging himself in harsh terrains, he’d spend his holidays cheating death in hellholes around the world. I thought he was crazy, but he used to say a beach holiday was his idea of purgatory. He wasn’t happy when he went away unless he staggered back bloody, bruised and exhausted.
‘I was glad of his skills after the attacks,’ she goes on. ‘We wouldn’t have lasted long without him. He taught us how to hide and forage. He studied the zombies, learnt about them, helped us stay one step ahead. I wanted to flee the city, but Shaun said we stood a better chance here, at least to begin with. I kept urging him to take us to one of the settlements in the countryside, or to try for an island, but he was sceptical. He didn’t believe all of the reports on the radio. He wanted to let things settle. I also think he was reluctant to put his life in the hands of anyone else. He liked his independence.’
‘Did the zombies get him?’ I ask.
Emma nods. ‘We picked up other survivors along the way. We numbered eight at our maximum. Shaun always told me not to let myself get too attached to them. He said if we ever got backed into a corner, we had to abandon the others and look after ourselves. He said we couldn’t afford the luxury of friends any more.’
‘Sounds like he knew what he was doing,’ I mutter, thinking about my talk with Mr Burke.
‘Yes,’ Emma sighs. ‘But he couldn’t follow his own advice in the end. We lost a couple of members to attacks over the months. Another couple struck out for the countryside by themselves. A few more joined up. Shaun was always in command. He was a natural leader. Nobody in the group ever challenged him.
‘One of the new guys was diabetic. He needed insulin. We were in a chemist’s. Zombies were nesting on the upper floor. They chased us. The guy with diabetes got trapped. Shaun went back for him. He shouldn’t have. If I’d done it, he would have bawled me out. But you could never tell Shaun anything.’
Emma starts weeping again but softly this time. ‘That was a couple of months ago. Those of us who were left stayed together for a few weeks. Then the others decided to leave London. I hung on, remembering what Shaun had said. We’ve been alone since then, haven’t we, Declan?’
The little boy nods stiffly. He’s crying too now, but quietly, shivering in his mother’s arms.
‘You’ve done well to survive,’ Jakob says softly. ‘Shaun would be proud.’
Emma nods and sniffs. Carl chews on his lower lip, wanting to say something more to comfort the pair. Then he has a brainwave.
‘Does Declan have any toys?’ he asks.
Both Emma and Declan stop crying and stare at Carl. ‘No,’ Emma says. ‘I pick up some things for him every now and then, if we’re staying in one spot for a few nights, but we move around a lot and we can’t carry much with us when we travel. Toys are pretty low on our list of priorities.’
‘I figured as much,’ Carl says, getting to his feet. ‘We’re not that far from Hamleys. Why don’t I pop over there and find some really cool toys for him to play with in County Hall?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Emma says. ‘I’ve passed by Hamleys a few times. It’s full of zombies. I never dared go in.’
‘They won’t bother me,’ Carl laughs and sets off, excited at the thought of exploring the different levels of the famous old toyshop.
‘Do you want us to come with you?’ Ashtat asks.
‘No,’ he says. ‘Stay here and enjoy the sun. Emma and Declan will be safer in the open, with plenty of escape routes.’
‘Hold on,’ I stop him. ‘I’m coming.’
‘I don’t need back-up,’ he snorts.
‘I’m sure you don’t. Still, it can’t hurt having someone to look out for you. And I can give you a hand bringing stuff back.’
Carl thinks about that and shrugs. ‘OK, if you want. Just as long as we’re clear that I’m the one who gets to choose.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say drily. ‘I know better than to come between a boy and his toys.’
Carl starts to retort, then remembers that ther
e’s a young child present. He catches himself, grins sheepishly at Emma, then off we head in search of some toys that will hopefully bring a smile to the solemn boy’s face.
‘You didn’t need to tag along,’ Carl says as we exit the Square and head towards Regent Street.
‘You shouldn’t go off solo,’ I grunt. ‘Anything could happen to you.’
‘Would you be bothered?’ Carl asks.
I shrug. ‘I don’t want to have to explain your loss to Master Zhang.’
Carl smiles. ‘You went off by yourself after you fell from the London Eye.’
I haven’t told them that Rage pushed me. They think I fell. I didn’t even tell Dr Oystein. I’m not a tattletale. What happened on the Eye was between Rage and me.
‘I’m a special case,’ I mutter.
Carl looks at me sideways and smirks. ‘I think you fancy me.’
‘In your dreams.’
‘That’s why you’ve come. You can’t bear to be parted from me.’
I fake a yawn. ‘Yeah, that’s it.’ Then I tell him, ‘Actually it’s because of the book.’
He frowns. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The book with the Van Gogh letters. It’s great. You gave it to me, so I wanted to repay you.’
‘It’s no big deal,’ he says. ‘You could have given me a book in return.’
‘I couldn’t be arsed looking for one.’
He grins. ‘Or you could have just said thanks.’
‘Nothing says thank you better than saving a person’s life,’ I drawl.
Carl shakes his head. ‘You’re a strange one, Smith.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes. I can’t figure you out. I try being nice to you, and you clearly appreciate that or you wouldn’t feel compelled to repay me. But instead of just accepting me as a friend, you have to turn it into something weird.’
‘Nothing weird about it,’ I grunt. ‘I liked the book. This is my way of doing something nice for you in return.’
‘You could simply be my friend,’ Carl says.