Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga (8 page)

'Well, maybe, dunno.'

'You haven't thought about this very much, have you, Jackson? I only ask because we want to work with people who think ahead, people who think about the big picture.'

'Uh, yeah, I think about it. I mean, I'm getting a new van. Gonna have straps and stuff, make it much easier. Means I can get more in one go, too.'

The men looked at one another and turned back to him. He thought the one doing the talking was grinning, but maybe not. 'Well, that's very good to hear, truly.' Li nodded and smiled for sure now and Jackson found himself smiling back.
 

'We have a proposition for you, Mr Jackson.'

'Uh, it's just Jackson.'

'Well. We are expanding our operations. Until now we have been focusing on older children, those strong enough to work and satisfy our clients' needs. We wish to diversify and become more specialist. We want younger children, toddlers. Can you still work with us?'

He didn't have to think. 'Yeah, course. Don't matter what age they are. Gonna be trickier to find though, less homeless ones.'

'Well, that will be your challenge. The rest of our operations will continue in just the same way and we would expect to receive children, not promises or excuses. Do you understand?'

Jackson nodded, face heating up. He could get 'em, but it'd take longer. He might have to bring in some other people as well.
 

'When do we start?'

'Mr Jackson, you have already started. Thank you.'

He turned away and the two men talked in quiet voices. Realising he was dismissed, Jackson stood and walked away. He was dazed, thrown by what had just happened. They didn't want to go for drinks or nothing, and what was that about? Still, they wanted to stick with him and that was just fine.
 

He stopped. They hadn't discussed price. Kiddies were gonna take a lot more time, they had to be worth more. He turned back to the bench, but it was empty. Dammit, where the hell had they gone?

He did a slow circle, catching sight of people through the trees. But every time he moved to see them, it was other people. Creepy bastards. He headed back to the bench, then turned to leave the park. He spotted them, standing over near the exit. He raised his hand and dashed across, making sure to keep his voice down until they were close.
 

'Here, we didn't talk about price.'

The look they gave him was strange, like they'd never met and Li stepped forward. It might have been Hen, he wasn't sure.
 

'I am sorry, sir, I don't know you. Nor do I know what price you are talking about. Excuse me.'

He turned away and fighting the urge not to, Jackson grabbed his arm and pulled him back around. 'What the hell you talking about? You can't pay me the same for the young-uns, so don't try and bullshit me.'

Li looked at the hand on his arm and up at Jackson. His face split into a smile and there was something oddly familiar about it. He couldn't pin it down, and what happened next took all thoughts of familiarity from his mind.
 

The man's face split apart, his lower jaw dropping until it rested on his chest while the top of his head disappeared backwards. From the darkness of his throat a pair of hands reached up and grabbed either side of his widening mouth.
 

With the sound like a blocked toilet finally clearing, a head emerged from his throat, followed by a body, and a young girl climbed out. Her hair stuck wet to her head and her face was covered in spit. She scrubbed it away with her sleeve, staring at him. Jackson backed away, hands pressed to the sides of his head. He heard mumbling and realised it was him. 'What the hell, what the hell, what the hell?'

The other man fell onto his hands and knees and his suit jacket ripped all the way up the back seam. The skin beneath it was bruised deep purple but now it tore open. Jackson held his breath, expecting blood to erupt, but instead a child emerged to stand atop the wrecked body.

Jackson took another step back, his heel caught and he landed on his arse. He didn't feel the pain, his eyes fixed on the two children stealing towards him. There was something familiar about them also, but he couldn't place it. He couldn't place anything except the sweat running down his back and the way his hands shook where they gripped his head.
 

He had a moment to ask what was happening before he felt the hands. Tiny hands gripping his waist and shoulders and splayed flat across his head. He shrieked and scrambled to his feet, breaking free of the children surrounding him. He dashed away and they watched him go.
 

He got to the entrance of the park and slowed. They weren't following. He took deep breaths, head swinging to and fro as he rested his hands on his legs. They'd poisoned him. This was some sort of test by those creepy bastards. They'd spiked him somehow and he was hallucinating.
 

He shook his head and slapped himself around the face. He drew odd looks from the passers-by but right now he couldn't give a toss. Something brushed his leg and he looked down. A young girl, no more than twelve, - he was a good judge - stood beside him. She looked up, pale green eyes set in deep, black sockets.
 

'Hi, Jackson, you wanna come play?'

He screamed and lashed out. His fist collided with her face and something gave beneath the blow. People passing by stopped now and stared at him. One man came forwards, hands out-stretched, and Jackson flailed at him, batting his hands away.
 

'Why don't you want to play? You said we'd have fun.'

He turned back to the girl. Her face was caved in, one eye burst and the bone of the cheek cracked and poking through the flesh. His stomach heaved. He could handle blood as well as the next man, but she was still standing, still talking to him through crushed lips.
   

He wanted to run but he was surrounded. He put his head down and charged at the nearest one. He'd make a path and they'd never stop him. The person moved out the way and he dashed straight into the railings on the edge of the park. His head struck the metal and he groaned and staggered away.
 

More hands grabbed him and his stagger became a fall. He landed on his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs and he gasped and lashed out with fists and feet. Nothing connected and the hands returned. Soon he was pinned. All about him, children's faces looked down. They were all familiar in their own way.
 

'We're yours, Jackson.'

'You took us.'

'And you tried to sell us, but we'll always be yours.'

A boy, twelve or thirteen, loomed large in his sight. Then hands went into his mouth and he felt them pull his tongue away and slip down his throat. He gagged and vomited but nothing came up. The hands went further and he thought his face would split apart. From the pain that came next, he thought maybe it had.
 

The hands slipped down until he swore he felt them in his chest. Then the head followed and the shoulders and he screamed, the sound a gurgled, muted cry. His entire body was tearing apart, and why wasn't he unconscious?

His mouth closed up around the boy's feet and his scream came out whole now. His body shook, great convulsions that made his head slam against the floor. His arms were free and he tried to stand but he couldn't move. He got as far as sitting up before the hands pulled him down again.
 

The next was a girl and she was definitely familiar. He'd taken her only a couple of weeks ago. She'd been sleeping out of the hostel and they were his favourite. Promise of a warm bed and she jumped into the van. Now though, her hands were pulling at his lips and try as he might, he couldn't keep his mouth shut.
   

Interlude

The flower seller turned away and vanished into the crowd. What made it worse were the number of children queuing for their turn. Jackson had been at it a while. He should have felt remorse, some sort of pain at what he was being asked to do. But there wasn't even a hint.
 

Truth was, the flower seller had never expected to succeed. How Jackson got on the list was anyone's guess. The subjects were supposed to be on the edge, but he was well past it. The choice he made today was between evil and greater evil. There was no salvation so far as the flower seller could see.

The street around him faded and the stone of his chamber came into view as he dropped back into his body. He stood from his chair and stretched. He glanced back through the window to the park and the man lying prostrate on the concrete path. To those standing around, he was just another lost soul who'd finally slipped free of sanity. But the flower seller could still see the long line of children.

There was supposed to be salvation, real salvation that made a difference. The list was tough this week. If he had the choice, he wouldn't be beholden to it like all the rest. But the truth was, he liked being a seller. It was just the weekly reviews that made it drag. Still, two in either column. There were three days left, it could go either way. He picked up the list and scanned it. So many choices being made.
 

He sighed. Now and then he got a sense of just how big their job was. When he was down among the nitty gritty, he could ignore the bigger picture, but the list trailed off his desk and out into space and the end was somewhere far below him.

He needed a drink. He dumped the list on the table and jumped.
 

Sam Part One

It made no sense. She was healthy. She exercised four times a week, she ate nothing with refined sugar in and she had one glass of wine with her Sunday lunch. So how had she got cancer? She squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths. She wrinkled her nose. The tube smelled pungent today, probably thanks to the large man in the too-small t-shirt beside her.
 

What was he doing out, anyway? It was seven in the morning and there was no way he was going to work, so why was he even here? She sniffed, wrinkled and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. It came away with a hint of foundation and she sighed again.
 

'Cheer up, love, can't all be bad.'

He was speaking to her, with one of those smiles that says 'I'm talking to you but I'm thinking about your breasts.' She tried to imagine him undressed, but all she could picture was bulging white skin covered in hairs and spots and she clamped her lips together and swallowed.
 

'Really, I mean, think about it? What have you got to be grateful for?'

God, he was still trying. Actually, that was a good question. The doctor had told her to think about that when she had moments like this. She looked anew at the man in the t-shirt. Had he had cancer? Maybe he still had it. She opened her mouth and closed it again.
 

Stupid. Of course he didn't, he just lucked on the question. It was still a good one though. What was she grateful for? She was grateful for Mum and Dad. She was grateful for having her job and how nice they'd been about it all. She was grateful she no longer noticed the absence on the other side of the bed.
 

Getting rid of the photos had helped. Having her there, staring at her every time she walked in the door was the height of stupidity, but she hadn't been able to just cut her out of her life. Even if Tanya had tried her best to do exactly that.
 

But the space was just space now. It wasn't a Tanya-shaped space; nor was it a lack on her part, some fictional issue she had that drove other women away. Now it was just space. So she was grateful for that.
 

She blinked. The big man was staring at her, nodding and smiling. 'There's something, isn't there?'

She nodded and flushed, putting her hand to her throat. Maybe he had got it, or had it. Maybe it didn't matter. The therapist said it might have come from her anger. She'd laughed at him, in his posh shirt and tight jeans. He looked like a therapist as much as she did, but he was deadly serious.
 

'Our diseases come from somewhere, Samantha. Often we cause them ourselves. You carry a lot of anger, too much, I fear. What are you so angry about?'

She hadn't been able to tell him. It was only the second appointment and she was in pieces, waking up five times a night to prowl around the flat and read websites on the C word. Four months later, she still couldn't tell him. How do you explain to someone that you've always been angry?
 

She didn't know where it came from, or why it came, but the world was flawed and no one else seemed to realise. No one else saw the hurt and rudeness and destruction and crappiness that went on every day, so no one else got angry about it.
 

The tube rolled into Embankment and she got off. She managed to flash the big man a grateful smile and he gave a little wave, the kind big men who should be smaller give. His face followed her all the way to the office. She should have said something. She should have said what she was grateful for, and that right then, she was grateful for him.
 

She stopped her lip from curling into a sneer as she crossed reception.
 

'Good morning, Miss Frane.'

She raised a hand as she made for the lift. She had meetings today, but she was exhausted. She'd stopped sleeping again. The doctor said the chemo would do that, but for all his warnings, she wasn't ready for it. It was like she ran a marathon in her sleep, and when she woke up she just wanted to go back to bed.
 

She could manage the first hour or so. Habit, and the determination to not give in got her out of the house. Then it hit and she staggered to the tube. The rest on the way gave her enough energy to get into her office but now she could hardly stand. She checked her schedule. Meeting after meeting after meeting. The pad was wet and with a sniff of realisation, she grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes.
 

No point in feeling sorry for herself, no point at all. The chemo was over in a couple of weeks and then she had the op and then it was recovery and she could put all this behind her. Maybe her memories of Tanya would finally go with it.