Zom-B Mission (2 page)

‘No, that’s OK, come in. I’ll give you the grand tour.’

Burke used to be my biology
teacher. He was the best we had in our school, one of the few teachers I respected. He also saw the real me long before I did. He told me I was heading down the same racist path as my dad, warned me that I needed to change. I ignored him. Back then I thought I knew myself better than anybody else did.

I’ve often wondered how things might have turned out if I’d listened to him. Maybe I wouldn’t
have thrown poor Tyler Bayor to the zombies. Maybe I’d have survived the zombie apocalypse. Maybe I wouldn’t be spending my nights staring at the ceiling, thinking about the blood I have on my hands, wishing I was truly dead.

Burke hooked up with Dr Oystein after London fell and worked as a spy in the underground complex where I was being held when I recovered my senses. That’s where we
met again. He convinced the soldiers to feed me brains to keep my senses intact. I’d be a mindless killer zombie if not for his help. He saw something in me worth fighting for. Even though I thought I was worthless, he didn’t agree, and he did all that he could to save me and steer me right.

In an ideal world, if we were able to choose our parents, I’d pick Billy Burke for my father without
a second’s hesitation. Not that I’ll ever tell him that, or even hint at it. I don’t want him thinking I’m a soppy git.

I show Burke round the gallery. He’s fascinated by the paintings, though he finds some of them hard to look at—the living are far more sensitive about these things than the undead. Rage is less impressed and keeps yawning behind Burke’s back, trying to wind me up. I treat
him with the contempt he deserves and don’t even reward him with another flash of my finger.

‘There are so many,’ Burke murmurs after a while, shaking his head at the piles of paintings resting against the walls. ‘He must have painted like a machine.’

‘Yeah,’ I nod. ‘It was his entire life. He knew his time would probably be cut short, so he crammed in as much as he could.’

‘Have
you looked at them all?’ Burke asks.

‘Most of them, though there are still a few buried away in places that I haven’t got to yet.’

‘And did he arrange the paintings on the walls or have you hung them?’

I fight a proud smile. ‘He hung a lot of them, but I’ve been switching them and alternating the display.’

‘Are you looking to get a job as a curator?’ Rage asks sweetly.

‘Get
stuffed,’ I snap.

Burke makes a shushing gesture. ‘This collection is quite something, B,’ he says. ‘Thank you for sharing it with us.’

‘Any time,’ I tell him happily. ‘But what were you doing out this way in the first place? And with Rage, of all people.’

‘What’s wrong with me?’ Rage barks, taking a step towards me, his beady eyes glinting in the dim light.

‘Easy,’ Burke soothes
him. ‘I’d have thought that the pair of you would have settled your differences by now.’

‘It’s hard to settle your differences with a guy who pushes you off the London Eye,’ I snarl.

Rage cackles. ‘You’re not still sore about that, are you?’

‘I’ll return the favour sometime,’ I jeer. ‘See how long it takes you to forget.’

Rage fakes a sigh and pulls a wounded expression. ‘See how
she baits me, sir? Some people just can’t find forgiveness within themselves.’

‘Grow up, Michael,’ Burke says witheringly, using Rage’s real name to show his annoyance. Then he stares at me. ‘I thought you fell off the Eye.’

I wince, remembering I hadn’t told anyone what really happened up there. It’s no big secret. I just didn’t want people thinking I was a grass. I can deal with my own
problems.

‘That’s right,’ I mumble. ‘I did fall.’

Burke frowns and starts to ask a question. Then he shakes his head. ‘Not my business,’ he says and goes back down the stairs. Rage scowls at me, then trails after Burke. I follow.

There’s a trolley on the ground floor, stacked high with folders and files. Burke nods at them. ‘That’s why we were passing. I’ve been researching something.
The records I’m interested in don’t seem to have ever been transferred to computer, so I’ve had to track down hard copies. I finally found them in a building north of here. It’s a place where a secretive branch of the army used to keep their paperwork, one of a number of hiding-holes scattered around the city. I got the addresses when I was working for Josh Massoglia and I’ve been checking
them out. Most of the buildings have been gutted, but this one seems to have been overlooked. I spent a few days gathering the documents I was after and asked Rage to help me transport them back to County Hall, so that I could go through them in my spare time.’

‘You should have asked me,’ I frown. ‘I’d have helped.’

‘I know,’ Burke smiles. ‘But the files are heavy. I needed a brute with
lots of muscles.’

‘And they don’t come more brute than me,’ Rage says, puffing himself up.

‘What are you looking for?’ I ask.

‘Probably nothing important,’ Burke says. ‘I just have an itch I need to scratch. You know what it’s like when something bugs you and you can’t let it drop?’

‘Yeah. Do you want a hand going through the files?’

‘It’s kind of you to offer, but no, I’d
rather do it myself. As I said, I doubt it’s important, so I don’t want to waste anybody’s time other than my own.’

‘It’ll take you months to plough through that lot,’ I note.

‘No,’ he says. ‘I know what I’m looking for. I’ll be able to skim through the pages pretty quickly. But maybe you can help push the trolley. Rage was starting to struggle.’

‘No I wasn’t,’ Rage shouts, then
catches Burke’s grin and relaxes.

Burke turns to leave, then spots a painting hanging on a nearby wall and stalls. It’s one of the most disturbing pictures in the gallery. I gave it a wall to itself, even though it’s not a large canvas.

The crazed clown, Mr Dowling, dominates the painting. Timothy captured him in all his finery, the v-shaped gouges cut through the flesh of his face from
his eyes down to his mouth, the pinstripe suit, severed faces pinned to his shoulders, lengths of gut wound round his arms, clumps of hair stapled to his skull.

Owl Man is nearby, with his pot belly, white hair, pale skin and those incredibly large eyes. There are also several mutants, with their rotting skin and yellow eyes, wearing hoodies.

Burke edges closer to the painting as if
mesmerised. Rage stumbles after him, looking every bit as sombre. The pair stop in front of it and stare in silence.

‘Is that Mr Dowling?’ Rage asks.

‘No,’ I grunt. ‘It’s Santa Claus.’

‘I’ve heard him described, but I never thought . . .’ Rage falls silent again.

‘Do you believe Dr Oystein now?’ Burke asks softly. ‘When he says that Mr Dowling is an agent of universal evil?’

Rage shifts uncomfortably. ‘Do you?’ He throws the question back.

Burke breathes out slowly. ‘I still find it hard to believe in a God or Devil who would get personally involved in our affairs. But when I look at that, I wonder.’

‘You’ve met this guy a couple of times?’ Rage asks, turning towards me.

‘Yeah. Underground in the complex, and when he brought down a helicopter in Trafalgar
Square.’

‘Is he as creepy in the flesh?’

‘Way more,’ I say shortly.

‘What about the freak with the eyes?’ Rage asks.

‘I just know him as Owl Man. Dr Oystein knows his real name, but he –’

‘What makes you think that?’ Burke interrupts.

‘He told me.’

‘Did he tell you what it was?’ Burke asks.

‘No. He said he preferred the name Owl Man and would call him that from
now on.’

Burke grunts. ‘I must quiz him when I get back.
Owl Man
is one of the people I’m hoping to learn more about in the files.’

‘Why?’ Rage asks. ‘Do you want to send him a birthday card?’

We all laugh and the mood lightens.

‘It’s some world we live in, isn’t it?’ Burke sighs.

‘Imagine if you’d had to dissect something like Mr Dowling in a biology class,’ I giggle.

‘Maybe I’ll get a chance yet,’ Burke says, turning back towards the trolley. Then he pauses thoughtfully and looks around. ‘Would you mind if I did some of my research here?’

I shrug. ‘If you want.’

‘I wouldn’t be in your way?’

‘No. I was about done. I can go get you a chair.’

‘That’s OK. I’m used to doing it on my feet.’

Rage and I smirk at the unintended joke.

‘Will
he be safe here?’ Rage asks me.

‘Should be. Timothy got along fine until that bloody baby started screeching. The windows are boarded over – I replaced most of the planks that were broken – and I’ve made sure all the doors are properly barred. But what about getting back to County Hall?’

‘Thank you for your concern, but I
am
able to look after myself,’ Burke says with a hint of irritation.
‘I managed to negotiate the streets of London for months without any help before you two came along to nanny me.’

‘But it wouldn’t hurt to have one of us with you, would it?’ I ask him.

Burke grimaces. ‘I’m not a child. Now get the hell out of here before I revive the custom of detention.’

Rage and I laugh. ‘OK,’ I tell my old teacher. ‘The key’s in the door. Lock up after yourself
and leave it under the stone out front.’

‘If you’re not back by sunset, should we come looking for you?’ Rage asks.

‘Give it until sunset tomorrow,’ Burke tells him, eyeing the tower of files and folders. ‘I’m going to be here a while with that lot. I’ll work late into the night, sleep in, then hit the pile again when I wake up. If I can get through it all, it will save us having to
push the trolley any further. I worry about getting attacked out on the streets, going slowly with a load like that.’

‘There’s no food, but the taps work,’ I tell him. ‘Or they did the last time I checked. We could bring you some grub and bottled water.’

‘A bit of fasting will do me no harm,’ Burke says and shoos us out. He’s grinning when he waves us off, but I catch him staring at
the painting of Mr Dowling as he shuts the door. His smile disappears as the shadow of the closing door sweeps across him, and sorrow and fear eclipse him in one smooth, sliding motion.

THREE

Rage and I head west to County Hall. It used to be the seat of local government years ago. Now it’s home to Dr Oystein and his Angels, a place for us to train and prepare for battle with Mr Dowling and his troops.

We don’t say anything for a while. I don’t like Rage and he’s no fonder of me. We share a room with four other revitaliseds, and manage to be pleasant to one another
most of the time, but I can never truly forgive him for what he did in the underground complex, when he abandoned me and the zom heads.

Rage breaks the silence. ‘You looked sharp in training yesterday.’

I squint at him suspiciously.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘You don’t pay compliments for the hell of it,’ I snap. ‘What do you want?’

Rage rolls his eyes. ‘You know your problem,
Becky
? You’re paranoid.’

‘Only where you’re concerned,’ I snarl.

Rage laughs. ‘Out of all the do-gooders in County Hall, you’re the most like me. It’s a shame you hate my guts. We could have been like Bonnie and Clyde if the circumstances were different.’

‘More like Burke and Hare,’ I mutter.

‘Who were they?’

‘A couple of grave-robbers.’

Rage smiles. ‘You say the sweetest things.’

We walk along in silence a bit more until Rage speaks up again. ‘Seriously, you did look sharp in training, and no, I’m not after anything. I’m just saying. You’ve been on fire since you came back from HMS
Belfast
.’

I shrug. ‘Yeah, well, when you have to fight as a gladiator several times a day you either toughen up or get ripped to pieces.’

It’s been nearly four months since I was
held captive on the old cruiser. I spent several weeks in a Groove Tube when I got back, recovering, my wounds slowly knitting together as much as they were able to. Since then I’ve been working tirelessly with Master Zhang, developing my skills.

‘When do you think the doc will send us on a real mission?’ Rage asks.

‘What am I, a mind-reader?’

‘It had better be soon,’ Rage grumbles.
‘I’m getting bored of this crap. There’s only so much training and scouting that I can take. I’m starting to crack up.’

‘You cracked up long ago,’ I sniff, then cock an eyebrow at him. ‘I don’t think anyone likes being stuck in County Hall, but what can we do? Dr Oystein calls the shots. When he thinks we’re ready, he’ll set us loose. Until then . . .’

Rage shoots me a dirty look.
‘The others in our team were sent on serious missions before we joined, so he obviously trusts them to do a job for him. It’s you and me he’s unsure of.’

‘Maybe,’ I nod. ‘Or maybe he’s holding us back for something big.’

‘Like what?’ Rage asks. ‘The ultimate confrontation with Mr Dowling and the forces of darkness?’

‘Perhaps.’

Rage snorts. ‘That’s never gonna happen. It’s a load
of bull, God, the Devil, all the rest. The doc needs the clown and his mutants to keep the game going. That’s why we haven’t squared up to them. If we faced them and beat them, we’d see that they were just a bunch of dirty rotten creeps. He’ll never pit us against Mr Dowling. The two of them are probably drinking buddies.’

I stop and stare at him. ‘You don’t really believe that.’

‘I do,’ he says. ‘Well, not the drinking buddies bit, but the rest of it, yeah. I’ve been sizing up the mad old geezer. I like the doc, but the whole good versus evil thing bothered me from the start, and the more I’ve seen of him and the way he’s holding us back, the more my opinion has changed.

‘I used to think he was crazy, that he believes everything he preaches. Now I’m not so sure.
I think he knows that it’s nonsense. That’s why he doesn’t lead us into battle with the mutants. If he does, and we win, he’ll have to admit the truth once the fighting’s died down, that he’s just a normal zombie, with no more of a role to play in deciding the future of this world than anyone else.’