Zom-B Mission (3 page)

‘What if everything he’s told us is on the level?’ I ask quietly. ‘If he really
is
an agent
of a higher power? If Mr Dowling really does represent some force of ultimate evil?’

Rage sneers. ‘You’re smarter than that. You know it’s bullshit.’

‘No,’ I whisper. ‘I used to think it was. Now . . .’

I start walking again, picking up speed. Rage hurries after me.

‘Is this because of the baby?’ he asks. ‘You were sure the doc was psycho before you went to the brewery. When
you came back, you were a convert. What went down?’

‘There’s no point telling you. You wouldn’t believe me.’

‘I might,’ he huffs.

‘Not in a million years.’ I squint at him. ‘It’s funny. After you pushed me off the London Eye, you told me I had to choose, that I needed to pledge myself to Dr Oystein or get the hell out of London. Now you’re the one caught in two minds.’

‘Caught?
Me?’ He laughs at the notion. ‘I’m clear on where I stand. I think the doc’s a hero. He’d sacrifice more than any of us ever would. But I don’t buy into his holy war. I think he’s bigged up the threat of Mr Dowling in order to fool himself into thinking he’s on a mission from God. He should have led us into battle by now and wiped out the mutants, so we could link up with the army and focus
on the problem of clearing the city of zombies.

‘But he doesn’t want to do that, not deep down. He says he plans to hand control of the planet back to the living again, but I think secretly he prefers it like this. He can tell himself he’s important this way. If we fight the mutants and eliminate them, but the world rolls on the same as before, what’s he then?’

‘If that’s how you feel,
what are you doing here?’ I ask. ‘Why don’t you do us all a favour and bugger off?’

‘I’m thinking about it,’ he says. ‘The main reason I’ve hung around is the promise of an exciting battle—I still think there could be a good old dust-up between the Angels and mutants, and I’ve been hanging on for that. But if he doesn’t give us something to do soon, I’ll look for action elsewhere.’

‘Good riddance,’ I tell him.

Rage’s smile returns. ‘You don’t mean that. You’d miss me if I went.’

‘In your dreams.’

‘No,’ he says. ‘You would. That’s why I’m inviting you to come with me.’

I gawp at him. ‘Are you crazy? I hate you. What makes you think I’d give up County Hall and turn my back on the friends I’ve made, to be your sidekick?’

‘Because you’re itching for action
too,’ Rage says. ‘You’re sick of the quiet life. You want to be in the thick of things, like you were on the
Belfast
. You need action, fighting, killing. Tell me I’m wrong.’

‘You’re wrong,’ I spit back at him immediately.

Rage shakes his head smugly and jogs ahead of me, leaving me to stare after him and seethe. Me and Rage, two of the same? Never in a million years!

At least . .
. I don’t think that we are.

God, I
hope
we’re not!

FOUR

Some of the Angels are playing football in Jubilee Gardens when I get back. The small park is nestled between County Hall and the Royal Festival Hall, where they used to host shows, concerts and highbrow events.

I spot Shane passing the ball to Jakob, so I stop to cheer them on. I was never a huge footie fan, but I can tolerate it.

I join Ashtat on the sidelines. We didn’t
gel when we first met, but we get on fine now. She’s wearing her usual blue robe, but has replaced her white headscarf with a red one.

‘That’s new,’ I note.

‘I fancied a change.’ She smiles shyly. ‘Do you think the colour suits me?’

‘Yeah, it’s nice.’

She beams. ‘The boys said they liked it, but they know nothing about fashion. I was waiting for a girl to give me her opinion.’

I scratch the back of my head. I’m not a girly girl. I grew up a tomboy and preferred hanging out with guys. I always shaved my hair tight, wore trousers and T-shirts, no earrings or jewellery. I fought like a boy, cursed like a boy, acted like a boy. It feels strange being asked for advice about something like this. The girls who I was friendly with in school never sounded me out about
clothes, hair or make-up.

‘Good tackle, Shane,’ I roar, focusing my attention on the football. ‘What’s the score?’

‘A couple of goals apiece,’ Ashtat says. ‘At least I think so. The game started before I got here.’

We watch the match unfold. There are nine players on either side. They found proper football nets somewhere and set them up. Shane, Carl, Jakob and Rage are on one team.
Rage must have replaced someone just before I got back. He plays dirty, going in high with his tackles, elbowing players off the ball. No surprise there.

The ghostly white Jakob gets the ball and speeds down the wing. He looks so frail compared with the others, a result of the cancer which was eating away at him when he was alive. But zombies are tough, even the weakest of us, and Jakob
can more than hold his own.

The game flows swiftly, faster than it ever did in the Premier League. Fully fed zombies are stronger and quicker than they were in life. We don’t need oxygen, so we don’t run out of breath or tire rapidly. Any of these players could shoot from one end of the pitch and expect to rattle the back of the net in the goal at the far end if their shot was on target.

Jakob passes to Carl, who fires off a close-range, blistering shot. The keeper throws himself low and left and scoops the ball away just before it crosses the line. Carl cries out with disbelief and kicks the ground angrily, sending a clod of earth flying through the air. Ashtat and I laugh at him, then roar encouragement.

The other team breaks. The players swarm up the pitch and score.
One of the guys on our side groans and limps off, but only his pride has really been injured.

‘Fancy a game, B?’ Carl calls.

‘I’m useless,’ I shout back.

‘So are we,’ he laughs. ‘Come on, we need a woman’s subtle touch.’

‘Do you fancy it?’ I ask Ashtat.

She shakes her head. ‘I am not dressed for football.’

‘What are you scared of?’ Rage yells.

I glower at Rage then
roll up my sleeves. ‘Right. Time to show you mugs what the beautiful game’s all about.’

To a chorus of cheers from my room-mates I take to the pitch.

I wasn’t lying when I said that I was useless. Well, not completely. I can do the basics—pass, shoot, tackle and run with the ball. I just can’t do any of them very well. Fortunately for me, most of the other Angels are pretty crap too,
so I don’t feel completely out of place.

My guys watch out for me. When I’m bundled over by one of the larger members of the opposition, Shane and Carl sandwich him soon after, slamming into him at the same time from either side, to teach him a lesson. It’s sweet of them, but they didn’t need to. I can exact my own revenge, as I prove the next time I cross paths with the big guy—I slyly punch him below the belt when
no one’s looking, then claim total innocence when he screeches and protests.

‘I saw what you did,’ Jakob says quietly as I move away from the argument.

‘He deserved it,’ I snort.

‘I’m not saying he didn’t. But hitting a guy between the legs isn’t as effective as it used to be. Elbow one of his ears next time. That will
really
hurt him.’

I laugh and we knock knuckles.

A couple
of minutes later I almost score a goal when I mishit a pass from Rage. Their keeper pulls off another spectacular save, otherwise it would have been a dead cert. Ashtat cheers loudly from the sideline and tells me she’s sure I’ll score next time.

‘Nice one, shrimp,’ Rage says, slapping my back as he jogs past. ‘Keep it up.’

I grin like an idiot, feeling way better than I should playing
such a stupid game, especially when there’s nothing at stake. But it feels good to be kicking a ball around, part of a team, playing with friends. It’s been a long time since I felt like this, that I truly belonged.

The game trundles along aimlessly. Nobody’s worried about how long we’ve been playing or the score or when we’re going to stop. We’re just having fun, stuck in a deliciously
vague, carefree moment, the kind you wish could last forever but never does.

The twins shatter the mood. Cian and Awnya are the youngest Angels, great at foraging—they can find just about anything you want. They come racing out of County Hall, eager as a pair of hounds after a hare. Awnya starts waving her hands over her head to stop the game even before they reach the pitch. ‘Carl!’ she
cries. ‘Shane! B!’

‘Rage!’ Cian adds. ‘Jakob! Ashtat!’

‘What is it?’ Shane grunts, picking up the ball and bouncing it hard on the spot, letting the twins know that they can expect him to bounce it off their heads if they haven’t halted the game for an excellent reason.

‘Dr Oystein wants you,’ Awnya exclaims.

‘You’re going on a mission,’ Cian says. Then his face drops. ‘I wish
we could come with you.’

As the others punch the air with excitement, I catch Rage’s eye. He shrugs. ‘Sod’s law,’ he chuckles. ‘If I hadn’t thought about leaving, we would never have been given a mission. As soon as I think about upping sticks, destiny hits us with a wallop. It’s always the way, isn’t it?’

Shane kicks the ball high into the air and leaves the other players to chase it.
Ashtat joins the rest of us on the pitch. We glance around at each other and share a buzzing yet nervously charged moment. Then we head on back to County Hall with the twins to find out what fate holds in store. 

FIVE

Dr Oystein is in one of the rooms overlooking the river and the Houses of Parliament. It’s a stunning view but he’s not paying attention to it. He’s sitting in a chair, bent over a map on a small table. Master Zhang is discussing something with him.

Emma and Declan, a pair of living humans, are also present. We chanced upon them before I was kidnapped by Barnes and taken to HMS
Belfast
. They came to live here while I was being held prisoner. Emma is bouncing Declan up and down on her lap. He’s smiling but he doesn’t laugh out loud. He hasn’t said anything since she brought him here. He’s the quietest little boy I’ve ever met. I suppose silence is a useful tool when you’re trying to stay alive on the zombie-infested streets.

The twins leave us and Dr Oystein settles
back in his chair. ‘Well, I think you all know why you are here.’

‘A mission,’ Shane yelps, clenching his right hand into a fist – but not closing it all the way, because of the bones sticking out of the tips – and shaking it.

‘It should not excite you,’ Master Zhang frowns. ‘This is a serious business, not a game. Perhaps we should assign this task to one of the other groups.’

As
Shane’s face falls, Dr Oystein smiles. ‘Take no notice of Zhang. He has a dry sense of humour. We understand how frustrating life is for you, stuck here, training so hard. Your excitement is understandable and I am confident you will put it to one side and focus on the mission once the initial, thrilling flush has passed.

‘Now for specifics.’ He waves a hand at the humans. ‘The reason I
have chosen you for this mission is that it involves Emma and Declan. They have been happy here, but it is time for them to move on.’

‘We’re not ungrateful,’ Emma says. ‘I just think it would be healthier for Declan to be with other children . . . other living children I mean.’ She blushes as she says it and looks away.

‘No need to feel guilty,’ Dr Oystein says sweetly. ‘We would all
want the same thing for him in your position. We would have sent you with the children from the cruiser if he had not been ill at the time.’

One of the creeps on the
Belfast
– the despicable Dan-Dan – kept a bunch of children below deck to torture and kill. Angels took those we rescued to stay in compounds in the countryside. Declan caught a bug shortly before they were due to leave. He
was vomiting and coughing. Dr Oystein considered postponing the exodus of children, but Emma didn’t want them to be put at risk on her son’s account. She insisted they depart as scheduled and has been waiting here since. She hasn’t put any pressure on the doctor, refusing to accept his offer of a private escort out of the city.

‘A couple of our Angels recently discovered a small group
of people sheltering in a building in Hammersmith,’ Dr Oystein says. ‘We are going to lead them to a place beyond the city limits, where they can join a community of other survivors. I would like you to escort Emma and Declan to Hammersmith, then travel with the group to the compound.’

‘We’re getting out of London?’ Carl asks, his face lighting up.

‘For a while, yes.’ Dr Oystein stands,
looks briefly out of the window, then faces us again. ‘Do not underestimate the dangers of this mission. Other zombies leave you alone when you are by yourselves, but they will not ignore you when they catch the scent of fresh brains. You will have to move swiftly and cautiously, and you will almost surely be called upon to fight.

‘You might also come under attack from living forces. The
city and countryside are full of angry, bitter people who are trying to execute as many of the undead as they can. They will not distinguish between a revitalised and a revived. Most do not know that there is a difference. And most would not care.