Unfed (16 page)

“Xanthro has been tinkering with them,” Pete tells Smitty. “They were developing them to use as weapons; it’s incredibly clever, really. These new zoms can work together as a team. They understand some language. They can think ahead — plan, even.”

“Great.” Smitty gives a low laugh. “Reckon that was just the ones at the hospital, or do you think they’ve been crop-dusting the general populace with Osiris Version Two-point-Oh? Because if these zoms are intelligent, we shouldn’t go anywhere near the city.”

“Some streets look clear.” Russ squints. “They seem to all be grouping in specific areas. Maybe they’re contained?”

“Nice eyesight, Superman,” Smitty snarks.

“No matter.” Pete waves a hand in front of him. “I’ve been thinking about it, and we need to go south, anyway. The new coordinates are south of Smitty’s hiding place. Before I, er,
killed
the GPS, we could see that Edinburgh looked north of us. So this isn’t the right direction. We need to head away from the city, not into it.”

“I’m fine with that,” I say. “But we still need a map.”

Pete nods. “Most places we passed that might have had maps were burnt-out, or it was too risky to stop. But now that we know the score here we should head south and try every garage and corner shop until we strike lucky.”

“Agreed,” Russ says. “Back to the Jeep.”

I nod. “We need to check on Alice, too. She’s been out an awfully long time …”

Russ smiles. “Always thinking of others. That’s what I love about you, Bobby.” He squeezes my arm, and hurries away down the path, with Pete following.

Smitty chuckles mockingly. “That’s what I
lurve
about you, too, Bobby.”

I turn on him. “Shut up!” I say. “So what if he’s actually nice to me. It makes a great change to have someone around who actually gives a damn.”

Smitty shakes his head. “So why did you even come and look for me, then, Roberta? If you were so happy with the Terminator there, why give a crap about me?”

“Because my mother told me to,” I hiss at him. “She didn’t lose a wink of sleep about dumping me in that frickin’ Xanthro nuthouse, but she was oh-so-desperate that they didn’t get their hands on you!”

“You’re wrong,” Smitty says. “She was worried about you.” He jumps down off his perch, winces as he starts to straighten his leg, tries to cover it up, then walks to the edge of the hilltop.

“How’s the leg, anyway?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “Beats your head scar any day.”

I touch my head. I forget the scar is even there sometimes, forget my bald head and the things they stuck in me at the hospital, forget that piece of paper in Martha’s office that said they were testing Alice and me. But I shouldn’t. Because all these things are confirmation that I’m different. And maybe that’s why they’re after me. After me, and now after Smitty.

“I don’t remember much about the first couple of weeks at the shelter, I was out of it a lot.” His face is glowing in the morning sun. “Your mum took care of me, then she was gone. Then she came back and told me to wait for you, she had to go on ahead and sort things out.”

“What things?” I say.

“Make a plan so we could escape Scotland, I suppose. She told me not to leave, not even to poke my head outside, whatever happened, until you or she came for me. So I hung out as long as I could.” He shakes his head. “Do you know how mind-numbingly dull it is in an underground shelter on your own for days on end? What was I going to do?” He gives me a halfhearted wink. “There is a limit to how much self-abuse I can handle.”

“How long did you last?” I gulp, and flush red. “In the shelter, I mean.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Course you do. There were a few days where I really didn’t know if it was night or day. But when the fever died down, I started counting the days. Two weeks of eating out of tins. Then the food started running low and I was having whole conversations with
myself. After that, I reckoned I’d rather be out there with the hordes. I started going out, trying to see where I was. Spotted the men in black and a few zoms a couple of times, but always managed to stay hidden.”

I watch a seagull fly into the light, imagining Smitty breaking out from his shelter. We both escaped our underground hell, and we found each other. That is the main thing.

“Did you see any of those Undead cows?”

He gives me a look. “You been hallucinating again, Roberta?”

“For real,” I say. “And a goat.” I shudder. “The goat was the worst, I had to —” I nearly say “shoot it,” but then I remember the gun is my big secret. Smitty gives me a weird look, but as he does I’m distracted by the seagull again, as it swoops low — too low — and makes a swipe for Smitty’s head with its huge claws. It’s no seagull. It’s big, dark, and evil-looking.

I run at him and push him out of the way at the last moment, and we both fall to the ground and he yelps, thinking I’m giving him a bit of rough-and-tumble for that last remark. For a brief moment we hold each other in our arms, and then the flying monster appears again, a bloodcurdling scream in its throat while it tries to rip out ours.

“What the hell?” Smitty kicks up at it with a boot, sending it to the ground a few feet away from us. I spring to my feet and pull him up just in time for the thing to recover and make a run at us, wings flapping.

“What’s going on?” Pete arrives at the top of the path with Russ, who doesn’t ask but just acts, kicking the huge creature so that it tumbles away from us again. “Good lord, that’s an Egyptian vulture.”

“I don’t care if it’s Big Bird, we’re out of here.” Smitty grabs me and we all run down the path; Russ has found some rocks and is flinging them at the vulture with all of his might.

“Where did it come from?” I pant.

“Must be Edinburgh Zoo,” Pete says as we reach the Jeep. “Vultures eat carrion. Dead things. Probably feasted on a zombie. I wouldn’t be surprised if many of the animals have escaped and eaten infected flesh.”

“Like what?” I say.

Pete shrugs. “Lions, tigers, and bears, oh my!”

“Wonderful.” Smitty slams his door, and Russ flings himself into the front seat as the vulture makes a swoop at the roof of the Jeep. “Not only do we have humans live and dead to contend with, we’re on safari with Zombie Simba, Timon, and Pumbaa? That’s the Circle of Life all right.”

Pete revs the engine, reverses down the track at speed until he finds a place to turn, and then we zoom downhill, the vulture circling now, waiting for the next victims.

“Pete, mate,” says Smitty, a jovial tone in his voice, “remind me exactly why we’re heading
into
the city. Anyone would think you’re leading us to our certain death.”

There are Undead rats running down the streets, hideous and screeching and fighting one another. The bigger ones chomp on the smaller ones, who scream, their guts spilling out onto the road before being greedily gobbled by their friends. Makes you want to keep your hands and feet inside the moving vehicle at all times.

“We’re really
not
going into the city,” Pete says, his hands gripping the wheel. “It’s just the fastest route out of town is the start of the A1 — I remember it from the numerous times we’ve driven here with my family — and I’m following the signs, OK?” He turns round, and I see the veins standing up at his temples, the muscle in his neck. “Look, the alternative is I fanny around trying to make my own way there, and to be frank, I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Calm down, Pikachu.” Smitty puts a reassuring paw on his shoulder.

“He’s doing a great job,” Russ says. “So far, no crazies. And we trust him. Just let’s not dawdle, Pete, eh?”

Pete looks like he’s going to cry, but nods and takes a deep breath.

We head up the wide, dark street. Every flicker of a streetlamp, every shadow cast across a storefront makes us jump. It’s so damn eerie. But at least the zombie rats have gone. Maybe the zombie cats ate ’em.

The road is littered with debris; some we can push out of the way with the Jeep, some we have to drive around. A couple of times we even have to run out onto the road to pull a bunch of tire-bursting trash out of the way so that we can continue. Every car is burnt-out, useless. It’s a mess.

A lot can happen in six weeks; it doesn’t take long for people to turn criminal. As we get farther into the city center, all the stores have smashed windows and look like they’ve been looted. Food shops and restaurants — yeah, I can see why — but also electrical stores and jewelers. Makes no sense to me. And this being Edinburgh — cashmere shops have been raided, places that sell tartan, and a fudge kitchen. OK, I get the last one. It’s calories. But, really, you’re telling me that the apocalypse strikes, and you take the opportunity to get that wide-screen you’ve been jonesing after or a pashmina or a kilt? People are friggin’ weird.

“Whoa!” Russ puts a hand up. “Slow down.”

In front of us is a pile of cars in the middle of the road. Not just left there or crashed or whatever, but deliberately placed. We crawl closer. There is a park bench on the pile, too. Some wheelie trash cans. A supermarket cart.

Smitty whistles. “It’s a barricade.”

Instinctively we all glance behind us. I look out of my window to the side — on the street there’s a church to my left, and a mixture of houses and shops and offices along the rest of the street.

“History repeating,” Pete murmurs to himself.

“Whazzat?” I know he wants to share.

“In plague times, hundreds of years ago, the stories go that they closed this area off. They bricked up the streets and wouldn’t let anyone in or out. Left the infected run mad and die within the city walls.”

“Nice,” Smitty says. “And effective. Let them go unfed, unless they want to take a bite out of one another. Leave them to hunger and die.”

The Jeep is dawdling. I do not like this scene.

“Pete, make a
U
. Now,” I urge.

Pete stops and cranks the gear stick.

“Hang on,” Russ says. “Do you reckon there are survivors here? If this was an army barricade it wouldn’t be a bunch of crap on the road, it would be a proper barrier.”

“Yeah, but why would survivors build a barricade?” I say to him. “Think about it. They’re either keeping zoms away, or they’re stopping other survivors — and not to shake their hands and give ’em a cup of tea. This could be a trap.”

Pete nods, and he’s about to make the turn when I see a figure step out into the road. My hand shoots out to stop Pete. The four of us sit there in silence as the figure walks slowly toward us. It’s a young woman, I think. It’s too shadowy to see her face, and she’s wearing jeans and a jacket and some kind of headgear. She’s skinny, but she’s female-shaped.

“Zom?” Russ whispers.

“Doesn’t look that way,” Smitty says. “Pete. Get ready to move, bro.”

As she gets closer, there’s another movement by the barricade. This one is unmistakable. Pure zom. Short and stocky. Bent almost double, stumbling, clothes ripped. And it’s seen her or seen us, because it’s heading this way.

“Oh, dear,” says Pete. “You see it?”

“Course I do,” I say. And then there’s another movement. Another figure — another male — this time a tall teen with straggly hair, dragging a leg, stumbling.

“One more!” Russ cries.

“We’re going,” Smitty says. “Pete!”

Pete flicks on the headlights.

The girl, blinded, holds up a hand to shade her eyes. She’s not much older than us. Dark hair spilling out of a woolly beret.

Pete lowers the window. “Hurry!” he shouts. “They’re behind you.”

“Pete!” I lean over and try to get the window up. “Turn around. We don’t know who she is.”

He smacks my hand away. “You’re going to leave her? To be eaten?”

Damn. He has such a great way of putting things.

“There are more …” Russ points to the barricade, where a couple of zombinos have appeared.

Whoever this girl is, she’s got quite a following. And suddenly she realizes it. She turns, sees them, and starts running toward us. Waving her hands desperately.

“Keep the doors locked,” I say.

“Bobby, no!” Pete starts, but he closes the window anyway, because anything running toward you has a tendency to make you do that. The girl reaches us and slams into the car, rounding the hood and slapping on the windshield, screaming.

“Help me! Let me in!”

Pete stays where he is. The girl starts to cry, tugging at Pete’s door handle. Meanwhile, the Undead posse are fast covering the ground between them and all of us.

“Don’t let her in, Pete.” My Spidey Sense is firing off on all cylinders. This just ain’t right. And when something smells off in this world, it’s generally well dead and stinking to the heavens.

“She’s going to die,” he says, but I think we’ve convinced him. He’s about to make the turn when someone runs out of the barricade. A smaller figure and moving fast. It’s a boy, maybe nine years old. A live one. He dodges a couple of zoms, heading toward us, doing really well.

“Zac!” screams the girl. “You can make it.”

And then, just as he’s almost clear of the posse, he slips, and he’s down.

“Zac!” the girl screams again, rushing to him.

“Oh, shit it.” Smitty flings open his door and runs after her.

“Damn!” Russ opens his door, too. “Bobby” — he turns round to me — “stay here.” And then he’s gone.

Smitty and the girl seem to be struggling to help free the boy from something he’s caught a leg in, while Russ circles them, waiting for the zoms to descend. Then the girl does something weird. She leaves the boy, runs up to our car, and beckons for Pete to get out. Some of the zoms decide to follow her. Flummoxed, Pete opens his door.

“Get out,” she shouts at him. “We need your help.”

Pete bends low to pick up a piece of wood, preparing himself to hit the nearest zom. The girl grabs him.

“Don’t try, they’re strong ones,” she says. “Just save my brother.”

Pete nods and takes off, and the girl slips into the driver’s seat.

I look at her. “What are you doing?”

She looks me up and down, and speaks with a quiet but firm voice. “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You heard me. Get out.”

“But …” I gesticulate toward the monsters. And then they do an even weirder thing. They stop moaning. They straighten up. They start to laugh, and they leg it toward us.

And suddenly, the boy who was so very trapped a moment ago is sprinting back to the Jeep.

I knew it. I frickin’ knew it. And still I got duped
.

“That’s your cue to leave,” the girl says to me calmly. I look at her and realize she’s holding something in her hand. A shiny, pointy thing. Looks like something she’d use to break up ice. Or my face. “Get out now, or my friends will hurt you.” She winks at me. “And so will I.”

At that moment, the nearest “zom” flings open the door and pulls me out. I think about fighting them — they’re only teens — but there’re four of them, plus the girl and the little boy, and I can’t take them all. Smitty, Russ, and Pete are running back to me, but they’re going to be too late. The girl has already started the Jeep, and the kids are piling in.

Doors slam, and I jump out of the way of the Jeep as it turns with a screech.

“We’re survivors like you,” yells Pete at them. “We’re all in the same boat.”

The girl lowers her window and shakes her head. “Ner, we’re not in the same boat. We’re in the car, and you are walking.” With that, the boy leans over and blows us a raspberry, and the Jeep powers off down the road.

“Bloody kids,” splutters Smitty.

“We would have done the same,” Russ says.

I turn to him, eyes blazing. “We would not!”

“You wanted me to drive off and leave the girl,” Pete says to me accusingly.

“I was only trying to protect us,” I shout at him. “I knew something was off!”

I
could
have protected us. I have my gun. As soon as I’d seen that barricade I’d remembered it, had even put my hand on it. But what was I going to do, shoot a bunch of kids like us in cold blood?

“Shit,” says Pete. “Shit and shit and shit!” He throws himself down on the cold, wet street and has a little gurning fit. Russ kicks a trash can. Only Smitty and I stand silent, looking into the distance where the Jeep has gone.

“Jesus,” Smitty mutters. “Oh, sweet Jesus Christ.”

“I know,” I answer. “I cannot believe they took our ride.”

“Forget about the car,” he says. “They took Alice.”

He runs, flat out and furious, after the Jeep.

I wait for a minute to pick my jaw off the floor, and then I run, too, just as the Jeep turns down a steep side alley. We follow, not caring about the slippery ground or the prospect of Undead joining the chase. Russ and Pete have realized what’s going on and they run after us. As the Jeep reaches the bottom of the alley and is forced to make a sharp turn, we gain on it, and I can see the kids in the back flipping us the bird and sticking their tongues out. They think they’ve got us beat, but I’m counting on all the detritus littering the road to slow them down some.

The hill gets steeper, and now with added cobbles.

“We can cut through — climb over,” Russ shouts, pointing to a barricade to our right. “They’re heading down the other side of the hill.”

We race to the barricade. I can see what he means. We can cut them off if we take the shortcut; it’s a quicker route on foot.

“What if this is keeping the zoms out?” Pete shouts as we start to climb.

“I think that’s the point,” I shout back.

Pete shakes his head. “No! We haven’t seen any for streets and streets. Maybe they’re all on the other side.”

As we reach the top, we see a giant zombie playpen below, filled with lumbering bodies.
Gah
.

They see us and flood toward the barricade, roaring. Some are able to climb the first few feet up, using each other for support, looking for the best route, working it out. They reach up to us, anger on their faces, screaming, spitting, popping sinew, and wrenching muscle to try and get to us.

Smitty shakes his head, shouting above the cacophony. “What happened to them?”

“Told you,” I say. “They’re clever now. And wicked hungry.”

But there are thick rolls of barbed wire halfway up the barricade, and this proves their downfall. Not that the barbs deter them, but they simply get caught in the wire and stick there, unable to climb any farther, thrashing in frustration, moldy old fish caught in a net.

Russ is already down and shouting for us to follow him. We go the long way, pedaling feet down the narrow road, not daring to think about how much distance the Jeep will have gained on us by now. But as we round the corner, the road widens and we see it.

Weirdly, it is coming toward us.

We skid to a halt; the surprise on our faces is matched by the look on the faces of the kids in the Jeep. They look shocked out of their lives and terrified. Now I can hear a familiar thundering noise, and I watch as a black shadow swings round a tall building.

The helicopter is back.