Zom-B Angels (5 page)

‘Yhou were whatching that?’ I snarl.

‘Don’t worry,’ he grins. ‘I averted my gaze during the more sensitive moments. I’ve visited the great pyramids, Petra, the temples of Angkor Wat. Your bunghole
doesn’t rank high on my list of must-sees.’

I laugh despite myself. ‘Yhou’re a bashtard, Rheilly.’

‘Takes one to know one,’ he retorts. ‘Now step away from the Tube and let the twins escort you to your quarters.’

‘What ihf I shay shkroo the quahrters? What ihf I don’t whant anything to do with idiotsh who give shelter to a monshter like him?’

Reilly shrugs. ‘You need the Angels a lot more than they need you. Dr Oystein will be sad if you reject his offer of hospitality, but as for the rest of us, nobody will miss
you.’

I come close to leaving. I’m on the verge of telling Reilly that he can marry Rage if he loves him that much. Then Awnya steps up beside me and shakes her head.

‘Don’t do it, B. It’s horrible out there. Cian and I were lucky — we had each other. But we were lonely until we came here. And scared.’

‘We saw terrible things,’ Cian murmurs. ‘We
did
terrible things.’ He pulls his jumper aside to reveal a deep, moss-encrusted bite mark on his shoulder. ‘We
became monsters when we turned. Dr Oystein doesn’t care. He gave us a home, and he’ll give you one too if you let him.’

‘But thish guy ish a bruhte!’ I yell. ‘He’sh not like ush. He killed when he didn’t need to and kept the brain for himshelf.’

‘Are you pissed because he didn’t share Dr Cerveris’s brain with you?’ Reilly chuckles.

‘No,’ I sneer. ‘I’m pisshed becaush Mark was killed. Ihf Rhage had let the resht of ush eat, the othersh wouldn’t have needed to kill Mark. Maybe Josh would have
shpared them too.’

‘I doubt it,’ Reilly says. ‘I wasn’t privy to the decisions that were made that day, but I think all of the zom heads were scheduled for execution once it became clear
that we had to evacuate. They didn’t dare let you guys run wild. I don’t know why Josh let you go, but the others would have been eliminated no matter what.’

‘Maybe,’ I concede. ‘That doeshn’t change the fact that Rhage did whrong.’

‘No,’ Reilly agrees. ‘It doesn’t. But it’s part of my job now to look after those who need help, regardless of anything they did or didn’t do in the past. I
might not like it – in fact forget about
might
, I
don’t
– but we’re playing by Dr Oystein’s rules here. Maybe he sees potential for good in Rage that
you or I missed. Or maybe he’s taking a gamble and will come to view him as the sly, turncoat killer that we both know and loathe. If he does, and he asks me to handle the situation,
I’ll be only too delighted to pay back Rage for what he did to Cerveris and the others, but –’

‘Othersh?’ I interrupt.

‘Cerveris wasn’t the only one he killed while he was breaking out,’ Reilly says. ‘I didn’t have many friends in that place, but he murdered a couple of guys I knew
who were good men, just trying to do their job. I’ve no sympathy for him.’

‘Then why don’t you help me shettle the shcore?’ I whine.

‘Because I trust Dr Oystein,’ Reilly says simply. ‘I trust his judgement even more than my own. I’ve only known him for a month and a bit, so maybe that’s a crazy
claim, but it’s how I feel. I went along with orders underground because that was what I’d always done. Everything had gone to hell and I thought the only way to deal with the madness
was to carry on as if it was business as usual.

‘But I’m cooperating with Dr Oystein because I truly believe that he can lead the living out of this mess, that he can help those of us who survived to find a better way forward. If
he says that Rage has the same rights as the rest of the revitaliseds, who am I to question him?’

I swear bitterly, knowing I can’t win this argument. My choice is clear — walk away and return to the chaos and loneliness of the undead city beyond these walls, or play along and
see what Dr Oystein has to say for himself when he returns.

‘Thish ishn’t ohver,’ I tell Reilly. ‘Rhage and I have unfhinished bishness.’

‘Sure you do,’ Reilly laughs. ‘Just don’t try to sort it out while I’m guarding him — if we got into a fight and you scratched me, you’d turn me into a
revived, and I don’t think either of us wants that, do we?’

‘Don’t be sho shure about that,’ I jeer, showing him my fangs, but it’s an idle threat. I’d hate to have his blood on my hands.

I give Reilly a long, slow stare. Then Cian and Awnya drag me out of the lab. I leave reluctantly, finding it hard to tear my gaze away from Reilly and the devious, deceitful creep bobbing up
and down inside the grey, clammy solution of the Groove Tube.

I scowl and mutter to myself as I stomp through the courtyard. Cian and Awnya have to jog to keep up.

‘You really like that guy then?’ Cian jokes.

‘He abahndhoned me and my fhriends,’ I growl. ‘Lehft ush to be killed. Called ush a bunch of looshers. He’sh shkum.’

‘Dr Oystein will be able to help him,’ Awnya says confidently.

‘He doeshn’t need help,’ I sneer. ‘He needsh execy-ooshun.’

I shake my head, sigh and slow down. We’re still in the courtyard. I look up at the sky. It’s a cloudy, grey day, I’m guessing late morning or early afternoon.

‘Here,’ Cian says, handing me a small metal file. I think it’s one of the ones I was carrying when I arrived. ‘I was going to give you this in your room, but maybe
you’d prefer it now.’

‘Thanksh.’ I set to work on my teeth – it’s tricky without a mirror – and grind away at those which have sprouted the most. The twins wait patiently, saying nothing
as bits of enamel go flying across the yard. When I feel halfway normal, I lower the file, run my tongue around my teeth and say my name and old address out loud. I’m still not perfect, but a
lot better than I was before.

‘How long was I in the Groove Tube?’ I ask.

‘Just over three weeks,’ Awnya says.

‘Twenty-four days,’ Cian elaborates.

‘
Twenty-four Days Later
,’ I say sombrely, deepening my voice to sound like a movie announcer. The twins stare at me blankly. ‘You know, like
Twenty-eight Days
Later
?’ They haven’t a clue what I’m talking about. ‘Didn’t you watch zombie movies before all this happened?’

‘No,’ Awnya says. ‘They scared me.’

‘And we always watched movies together,’ Cian says. ‘So if one of us didn’t like a certain type of film, the other couldn’t watch it either.’

‘That’s why I never got to see any chick flicks,’ Awnya says, shooting her twin a dark look.

‘Life’s too short,’ Cian snorts. ‘Even if we live to be three thousand, it will still be too short as far as chick flicks are concerned.’

‘Well, I won’t let you watch any zombie movies either,’ Awnya pouts.

‘Like I want to watch any now,’ Cian laughs.

I study the twins. They’re about the same height. Both have blond hair and fair skin. They look similar and are dressed in matching, cream-coloured clothes. A chunk has been bitten out of
Awnya’s left hand, just above her little finger. I see bone shining through the green, wispy moss. In the daylight they look even younger than they did in the lab, no more than twelve or
thirteen.

‘Were you guys attacked at the same time?’ I ask.

‘Yeah,’ Cian says.

‘But I got bitten first,’ Awnya says. ‘He could have escaped but he came back for me. The idiot.’

‘I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known you were going to tuck into me,’ Cian sniffs, rubbing his shoulder through the fabric of his jumper.

‘She turned on you?’ I smirk wickedly.

‘It wasn’t her fault,’ Cian says, quick to defend his sister. ‘She didn’t know what she was doing. None of us did when we were in that state. At least she
didn’t rip my skull open, or that would have been the real end of me.’

‘Your nasty brain would have turned my stomach,’ Awnya says and the twins beam at each other.

‘Nice to see you don’t bear a grudge,’ I note.

Cian shrugs. ‘What’s done is done. Besides, this way we can carry on together. I wouldn’t have wanted to escape and live normally if it meant leaving Awnya behind. I’d
rather be a zombie with her than a human on my own.’

‘Pass me the sick bag,’ I groan, but grin to let them know I’m only joking.

It starts to rain, so we step inside and the twins lead me to my bedroom.

‘How long have you guys been here?’ I ask.

‘Ages,’ Awnya yawns. ‘We revitalised quickly, less than a week after we were turned.’

‘We were among the first to recover their senses,’ Cian boasts. ‘Dr Oystein says we’re two of his most incredible Angels.’

I frown. ‘This place was open for business that soon after the attacks?’

‘No,’ Awnya says. ‘We wandered for a couple of weeks before we noticed the arrows.’

‘That was a scary time,’ Cian says softly and the pair link hands.

‘Dr Oystein was based in Hyde Park when we found him,’ Awnya continues. ‘He put up a tent in the middle of the park and that’s where his first Angels joined him and
sheltered. He was already working on modifying this place, but it was another few weeks before we were able to move in.’

‘Did he have Groove Tubes in Hyde Park?’

‘He had one,’ Cian says, ‘but it was no good. There was a generator to power it, but the noise attracted reviveds. They kept attacking and knocking it out — they
didn’t like the sound. He wasn’t able to mount a proper guard, so in the end he left it until we moved here.’

‘A couple of revitaliseds died because of that,’ Awnya says sadly. ‘They were so badly wounded, in so much pain, that they killed themselves.’

‘I’ve never seen Dr Oystein look so miserable,’ Cian croaks. ‘If he could cry, I think he’d still be weeping now.’

There’s a long silence, broken only by the sound of our footsteps.

‘How did you end up doing this?’ I ask. ‘Taking people round and getting stuff for them?’

‘We’re good at it,’ Awnya smiles. ‘Dr Oystein says we’re like jackdaws — we can find a pearl anywhere.’

‘Our mum was a shopaholic,’ Cian says. ‘She dragged us everywhere with her. We got to be pretty good at finding our way round stores and tracking down items that she was
interested in. When Dr Oystein saw how quickly we could secure materials, he put us in charge of supplies. It didn’t matter that we’re two of the youngest Angels. He said we were the
best people for the job.’

‘Of course he was probably concerned about us too,’ Awnya says. ‘Being so young, I think he was worried that we might not be as capable as the others, and he wanted to find
something to keep us busy, so we didn’t feel out of place.’

‘No way,’ Cian barks. ‘I keep telling you that’s not the case. We train with the other guys and hold our own. Dr Oystein could send us on missions if he wanted. We just
happen to be better than anyone else at doing this.’

Awnya catches my eye and we share a secret smile. Boys always want to think that they’re able to do anything. We usually let them enjoy their fantasies. They’re happier that way and
do less whining.

‘What sort of missions do the others go on?’ I ask.

‘Dull stuff mostly,’ Cian huffs, and I decide to leave it there for the time being, as it’s obviously a sore point for him.

We come to a closed door and Cian pushes it open. We step into one of County Hall’s many huge rooms. There are six single beds arranged in a circle in the centre. The sheets and pillows on
four of them have the crumpled look that shows they’ve been used recently. The other two have perfectly folded sheets and crease-free pillowcases.

There are three wardrobes, lots of shelving and two long dressing tables, one on either side of the room, with mirrors hanging on the walls above them, stools set underneath.

A girl is sitting on one of the stools, my age if not a bit older. She looks like an Arab, light brown skin, a plain blue robe and white headscarf. She’s working on a model of the Houses
of Parliament, made out of matchsticks. It looks pretty damn cool.

‘Oh, hi, Ashtat,’ Awnya says. ‘We didn’t know you were here.’

The girl half waves at us without looking round.

‘This is Becky, but she prefers B,’ Awnya presses on.

‘Hush,’ Ashtat murmurs.

‘What’s your problem?’ I growl.

Ashtat scowls at me. ‘I do not like being interrupted when I’m working on my models. You cannot know that, never having met me before, but the twins do. They should not have admitted
you until I was finished.’

‘Like Awnya said, we didn’t know you were here,’ Cian protests. ‘We thought you’d still be training with the others.’

‘I tired of training early today,’ Ashtat sniffs.

‘Well, I’m here, so you’ll have to live with it,’ I tell her, determined to make my mark from the start. If I let her treat me like a dog now, I’ll have to put up
with that all the way down the line.

Ashtat raises an eyebrow but says nothing and returns to her model, carefully gluing another match-stick into place.

‘She’s OK when she’s not working on a model,’ Awnya whispers. ‘Let’s come back later.’

‘No,’ I say out loud. ‘I’m staying. If she doesn’t like that, tough. Which bed is mine?’