Thirteen Roses Book Four: Alone: A Paranormal Zombie Saga (14 page)

She drew her sword and raised it above the cot. She couldn’t watch so she lined the tip up with the baby’s head and squeezed her eyes closed. She shoved as hard as she could and barely felt it as the blade went through. She yanked it out and wanted nothing more than to run from the room, but she had to be sure.
 

The baby’s eyes were closed, the front of its forehead caved in. Krystal staggered from the room. She made it into the third bedroom before she collapsed completely. She thought she’d forgotten how to cry, then the thing with Ed had taught her how all over again. Now she sobbed, huge racking bursts that she thought would never finish and made her whole body ache.
 

They did end, eventually, once she was too tired and her eyes had dried up. She checked all the doors again and laid down. Despite the afternoon sun coming in the windows, she was soon asleep.
 

The night woke her with a chorus of moans and groans and growls. She sat with a jolt, from sleeping to wide awake in moments, and held her breath. The sound was all around and made her shiver and hug herself. What the hell was going on?
 

She knew where she was and she knew Luke was passed out on the sofa downstairs. She also knew she had the most horrendous headache. And she knew there was a baby with a hole in its head in the cot in the next bedroom. She glanced at the door as though the sad little creature was going to come crawling through on all fours.
 

The groaning sounded like an army of the dead just outside. But the zombies weren’t an army. She clambered off the bed and sneaked to the window, hands reluctantly reaching for the curtains. She twitched them aside and peeked out. The dark of the night was disturbed by rows of street lamps. Even with everyone dead there was still too much light to see the stars.
 

But she wasn’t looking for stars. She stared into the front lawn where a horde of zombies pressed themselves against the windows and front door. Their arms were raised and she saw the clawed hands, made yellow by the lights, thumping and banging against the windows.
 

She scampered through to the back bedroom, wiping the sweat off her forehead, and peered out. The story in the back was the same, a row of zombies two deep pushing at the house as though they could knock it over. She clapped her hand over her mouth before she could scream. She didn’t want to wake Luke. They were safe in here. But how had they found them? How the hell did they even know there was anyone in here for them to eat?
 

She was about to close the curtains when she heard a different growl, louder and higher-pitched than the others. As one, the zombies stopped and turned. From out of the group came one dressed in a mini skirt and leather jacket. She had her hands above her head but as soon as she stood alone on the lawn, she pointed at the side gate.
 

The zombies broke away from the house and Krystal ran into the side bedroom. The window was smaller here and she had to press her face up against it to avoid the glare. The zombies charged from the side gate and she spotted their target only seconds before they reached him. A lone zombie weaved side to side down the pavement outside. They hit him like a rugby tackle and how he was still in one piece as they dragged him back through the gate was a mystery.
 

She swapped bedrooms as they brought their prey back into the garden. They dumped him at the feet of the women zombie in the miniskirt and set up another round of growls. The woman put her foot on the zombie’s face and grabbed his arm. Then, to the increasingly loud shouts of the crowd, she twisted it until it ripped from its socket. She brought it to her mouth and took a huge bite, then raised the arm above her head as blood streamed from her teeth.
 

The crowd growled in appreciation and fell on the zombie, tearing it apart. The woman set to work on the arm, tearing chunks of rotting flesh out with her teeth.
 

Krystal watched because she couldn’t look away.
 

There was nothing she wanted more but she couldn’t. They were getting smart, learning things, following others. Alex had said they couldn’t, that their brains wouldn’t work like that, but they were. And she was leading them. There was a, what was the word Luke used? A hierarchy.
 

She closed the curtains and sat on the bed. They were trapped in a house by a pack. She’d brought them here and they were trapped. She dashed down the stairs into the lounge and gasped. The sofa was empty. She raced through to the kitchen and let out a long breath.
 

Luke was by the window, the blinds pulled slightly apart.
 

‘Morning.’

‘No, it’s not, it’s the middle of the bloody night. You should be lying down.’

He turned and grinned at her. ‘You’re as bad as Bayleigh.’

‘How’s your shoulder.’

He rolled it slowly and grimaced at the movement. ‘Not great. Certainly not going away. But then,’ he waved at the window, ‘it doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere anyway.’

‘Did you see it all?’

‘I didn’t see them take the guy out but I can imagine it. They’re learning.’

She snapped her fingers together. ‘That’s just what I thought. It’s horrible.’

‘Yes it is. I think we’re safe in here, but we can’t have both of us sleeping again. I’m feeling quite awake if you want to lie down?’

She barked a laugh. Like sleep was ever going to come with that noise outside the windows.
 

Krystal spent the rest of the night sat on the edge of the sofa, jumping every time the groaning grew louder. The feeding occurred twice more before the sun came up, the zombie leader making a sort of growling scream that made her skin crawl the same way it had when certain business men smiled at her. Why was that one stronger than the rest? Why was it smarter?

They wouldn’t ever know. She and Luke discussed it in hushed tones. Talking loudly, despite the creatures already knowing they were here, just seemed wrong. The conclusion they reached was that they would never know. They also decided it didn’t matter. There was nothing they could do to stop it or change it, so why worry?
 

She was surprised at how easy it was to accept. It was like her mind had created a switch. Once she’d stabbed a baby through the head, there weren’t many things that were going to trouble her.
 

They also decided they needed guns. The swords were great for a tight spot, but not having something more powerful was daft. So on the way home they were going to stop outside Buckingham palace and try and get some guns. There was no talk of not making it home and she was grateful. In her heart of hearts, she didn’t think they were ever leaving this house, but Luke didn’t seem to get the idea of doubt.
 

The sky was lightening when she drifted off again, head lolling side to side on the back of the sofa.
 

She didn’t know what woke her the next time, but she was bathed in sweat and curled up tight on the cushions. A nightmare perhaps, a sleeping one this time. Her eyes drifted slowly closed then opened wide as she saw Luke, slumped in the chair opposite. His eyes were closed and his chest moved in the slow steady breaths of sleep.
 

She sat up, blinking and rubbing her eyes.
 

Then she heard it. She knew what it was straight away, despite wishing it was anything else. She peeled herself from the sofa and trudged into the kitchen, hands gripping her trousers.
 

She pressed her knuckles against her teeth and tried not to scream. She watched with her chest tightening as the handle on the back door moved slowly down. Weight came against the door and pushed. It was locked, of course, but they tried again and again. Still she was frozen, watching blankly as her mind ran in circles.
 

Finally the handle stopped moving and she waited. Nothing. She crept closer and listened, holding her breath. Nothing. She let out a long sigh, turned and jumped as something hit the lounge window. The crack that followed forced a scream from her. As she dashed out of the kitchen, another thing hit the window and it shattered, scattering shards of glass across the floor.
 

Jackson

He stepped out and smelled the air. The familiar tang of London was blemished by the rot. He hadn’t noticed it in the hospital, but out here the smell was everywhere. It was food and vegetables, going off in the shops. It was bags of rubbish that would never be collected. It was the bodies, or what was left of them, once the packs had been through. Everything was rotting.
 

He blinked and glanced behind him. The glass reflected his face and he stared at it. He was thinner and leaner. More wolf than bear now. The way the Lord wanted it. Harriet said he was God’s chosen. She’d said it almost the minute they left the hospital and his chest had swelled as he walked before them down to the river. He felt like a XXX version of the pied piper, leading his women to a new world.
 

He turned away and the memories fled. That had been three days ago and the feelings were quite different now. He was alone. High above him, in the tip of the Shard, his ladies spent their time chatting and reading and doing each other’s hair. He spent it sitting in his own room, alternating between masturbation and self-flagellation. His feelings were sinful. He recognised them now, not as the normal urgings of a man for a woman, or women, but as the desperate cravings for something beyond him.
 

He was God’s chosen and that meant a life dedicated to the Lord. Everything given up for the Lord. He sniffed and thumbed his nose. He stomped down to the river and stood beside the HMS Belfast looking across at Tower Bridge. This wasn’t why he left. God had sent him here to keep them safe, but they were too safe. Their device kept the zombies at the bottom of the stairs and even when it ran out he would fill the stairwell with furniture and bolt the doors and they could live there for a very long time.
 

There was a garden just along from where he stood and they were looking at it as a place to grow food. He spat into the river and watched it float atop the brown water. What was he doing? Why was he here? He wasn’t killing zombies, that was for sure. He wasn’t doing anything to end the plague or bring life back to the Earth.
 

He knew where the frustration came from. He knew it but however hard he beat himself and however many times he drove the nails through his arms, still he couldn’t get rid of it. If he could just have one of them. It didn’t even have to be Harriet. She made his dick hard just thinking about her, and she would bear him sons, he knew it, but any of them would do. He growled and spun away from the river. There were zombies on the Belfast, lurching along the side. He pulled his gun from his waistband and leant against the rail.
 

He took careful aim, shot, and smiled as a zombie tumbled into the river. He shifted slightly, shot again, and another went down. This one crumpled against the wall behind it and other zombies closed in, biting into the dead flesh. Jackson turned away from the river and made his slow way back to the Shard.
 

Where was he? Who was he? He paused before the glass and stared at himself. He was a better person now, he knew that, but at least before his rebirth he’d known who he was and what he was doing. The pursuit of money wasn’t evil or wrong. Now he knew nothing except the frustration in his trousers and the ever-strengthening belief he should be doing something else.
 

And where was Az? The bastard had promised to send soldiers but he was nowhere and no soldiers had arrived. He hissed and pushed through the door. The zombies in the lobby growled but were pushed back by the field as he headed for the lift. Minutes later he stepped out into the hotel.
 

The Shard had been an excellent idea. The top few floors were a hotel, and a nice one at that. They’d spread out and were living in luxury. There were kitchens up here and the electricity was still on so the fridges were stocked full. Apparently the electricity could go off at any moment, but he would enjoy it while it lasted.
 

They’d seen an explosion in their first day here, down south way. Something big went up and there was a plume of black smoke for a good few hours. A couple of the ladies who seemed to be thinking about this stuff said it would happen more and more as equipment wasn’t maintained and pipes got corroded. The Shard was brand new, though, so it should take longer to corrode. That’s what he told himself anyway. Right now, he didn’t care all that much.
 

And that was sinful. His life was a gift and not caring about it, even for a second, was the worst thing he could do. He stomped for his room, determined that this time he would beat the thoughts from himself. He was halfway down the corridor when another door opened and Harriet’s head poked out.

‘Jackson, where have you been?’

He almost snapped at her, but the part of him that refused to believe he wouldn’t ever have her, stopped him. ‘Went down to the river, get some air.’

‘Well, come in here.’

She waved him in and he swallowed. She spoke to him like he was some leader or other and he liked that plenty, but she’d never invited him into her room. He walked in and stopped. She was wearing a blouse and panties and nothing else. She waved at the chair, then sat herself on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest with her arms across them. Every time she shifted he caught sight of her pussy pressed against the white cotton of her panties.
 

‘I need to talk to you. But first, I think there’s something else we need to do.’

She rose from the bed and began undoing her blouse. He tried to speak, to explain that his life was given to God. But all that came out was a low growl. When he picked her up and threw her on the bed, all she gave him in reply was a look that made him even harder. Her panties snapped as he tried to haul them off and she didn’t care.