Thirteen Roses Book Two: After: A Paranormal Zombie Saga (12 page)

Sword fighting, though, was a little beyond it. He sent the next wild swing flying off to one side and drove his sword straight through the creature's heart. It slid onto the blade and stopped, face only a foot away from his and mouth hanging open. Luke gagged as he stared into its eyes and saw nothing there. All trace of humanity was gone. He stepped back and hauled the sword out, turning to Alex.
 

'Um, Luke. Why isn't it falling over?'

The zombie was still standing, watching the blood that pumped from its chest. The front of its suit was soon soaked but it showed no signs of dying. It raised its sword and attacked again. It took him longer than it should to believe what he was seeing and he blocked the blow by the skin of his teeth.
 

He booted the creature in the knee and it stumbled away, sword falling from its hand. It was a little pathetic, actually. Faced with hundreds of them, he could imagine being scared, but one on one it was just a bit sad. However, a sword in the heart didn't kill it, which was a problem.
 

'How do you kill zombies?'

'I think you have to hit it in the head.'

Of course. The zombie lurched at him, arms reaching and green saliva dripping from its lips. He sidestepped and drove his sword at the thing's head. There was less resistance than he'd expected and he stumbled into it as his sword chopped straight through. The top half of its head came clean off and its brains poured out onto the carpet. They were soft and smelled of rotting meat.
 

He gagged and backed away, shoving the body that was stiff and still to the floor.
 

'Oh, that smells nasty.' Alex helpfully chimed in.

Luke nodded in agreement and waved at the door. He grabbed a knife on the way out and was pleased to see Alex had chosen a sword similar to his. They ran up the steps and down the tiny hallway that led in from the street.
 

'There are going to be plenty more of them out there. Are you ready?'

Alex swallowed and nodded, knuckles white on the grip of the sword. Luke shook his head and took hold of the sword by the guard.
 

'You can't hold it that tight. You'll never be able to fight with it. It's not a club. You have to paint with it.'

Alex gave him the same look as when he'd said they were going to meet God.
 

'Imagine it's a paint brush. You aren't Jackson Pollock, you're Picasso. Every stroke has to be deliberate and has to mean something. Most fights last no more than three or four strokes. There's no need. Do you understand?'

Alex laughed and shook his head. 'I understand. Doesn't mean I can do it, though.'

'Try, alright?'

Alex shrugged, and Luke sighed and pulled open the door. The depths of his Father's evil knew no limits. The street before them was empty and they crept out, peering in both directions. A lone zombie spotted them and came rambling along, hands leading the way.
 

'This is your chance. There's only one of them so it's nice and easy. Get your feet sorted an—'

'What does that mean?'

'What?'

'Get your feet sorted. What does that mean?'

'Put them evenly on the ground. Make sure you're balanced and can move your arms without losing it.'

'Oh, okay.'

He set his feet in something resembling a bad Bruce Lee impression and held his sword before him. Luke was beginning to have doubts as to Alex's ability to even wipe his own arse without a set of instructions, but he kept them to himself as the zombie got closer.

'Once it's close enough, try and strike it in the head. Swing the sword with the weight in the blade. Let it take the energy and transfer it through the impact, alright?'

Alex chuckled and shrugged. The zombie lunged closer and they could see its bared teeth, yellowing and sharp. Alex took a step back, raising the sword like he could use it as a shield.
 

'You can hit it now.'

'Yeah, right.'

He took a swing that looked somewhere between flipping a pancake and playing squash, and the zombie lost the bottom half of its face. It wasn't the worst hit in the world, but it was more luck than judgment, and that didn't bode well for the next blow. Its jaw clattered onto the floor and its foot came down hard on it. The upper half of its nose streamed blood like the worst nose-bleed ever, and its cheeks flapped around like a sail cut loose from the mast.
 

The zombie didn't stop. Its hands closed around Alex's upper arms. He swore and punched it in the face. Luke winced as Alex hit the wound, blood splattering across his fist and the front of his shirt. The zombie stumbled but didn't react to either the blow or the horrendous wound. It shoved its face into Alex's neck and gummed him with what was left of its mouth.
 

He screamed and toppled over, the zombie landing hard on top of him. Luke was caught somewhere between laughing and being sick, and watched his companion struggle beneath the creature. Its claws gripped his arms and Luke wondered idly what level of contamination his new found friends could handle. Did the Father's blessing go as far as saving them if they were bitten?

Doubtful. He hauled the zombie off and tossed it to the floor. Alex had dropped his sword and was trying frantically to wipe the blood and flesh from his neck. Luke chuckled and turned to the zombie as it struggled to its feet. He was tempted to make Alex have another go, but now wasn't the time.

He picked Alex's sword up and hefted it. It was nice, though not a patch on his. It did, however, go through zombie skull quite nicely and the creature fell to the ground. Alex sat on the curb, scrubbing at his neck and making choking sounds.
 

'Are you alright?' Luke tried to keep the laughter from his voice.

'God, that was bloody horrible. Yeah, I'm alright. It's not funny.'

'Absolutely not. You might want to practice a bit more.'

He handed the sword back and Alex took it, face reddening. The rest of the street was still empty. This wasn't as bad as he'd expected. There were ten million people in London, but if a street like Saville Row could be empty, then maybe it would be safer than he imagined.
 

'We need to find the others.' Luke said.

'Why?'

'Because if I can keep you all alive long enough, I get back to the Flights. So come on.'

'Where are the others?'

Excellent question. Luke put his hands on his hips and turned slowly. There were so many holes in his mind since he'd been sent here, powers that were missing. He closed his eyes, took deep breaths, and tried to focus on the people he was supposed to protect.
 

They appeared, torturously slowly, as nothing more than vibrations on the horizon. They were the ideas of people and nothing more. He couldn't tell who they were or what they were doing. But he could see them. And they weren't far. The nearest was moving down Oxford Street, only a few minutes away.
 

'They're close. Come on, we need to get to Oxford Street.'

He set off, Alex scrambling to his feet to follow. It should be quick. They were halfway up Saville Row when he realised he still had no idea where Az was. He needed to find him. He needed answers. Failing that, he wanted revenge.
 

They reached the end of the road and walked out onto Regent Street. And stopped. The zombies were everywhere, milling about like they were still shopping. Perhaps they were. He glanced up towards Oxford Street. It wasn't that far. Alex was pale, hands shoved deep in his pockets and far from his sword.
 

Luke sighed and set off.
 

Ed

He was a coward. He was a pathetic whining coward and she would hate him. That thought was almost enough to make him open the door and step out. Almost, but not quite. They were everywhere, but mostly they gathered around the soldier men, and at any moment they would turn, see her and charge. And he'd be safe in here, alone and scared.
 

He dug his nails into his palms. It felt like it did the night he tried to kill Dawid. He was being crushed by everything he couldn't do and everything he couldn't be. He sniggered and stared at his hands. He'd been so intent on killing Dawid and now it didn't matter. He was dead.
 

Why didn't that thought make him feel any better? He looked back out the window and saw Krystal. She had reached the back wall of the cathedral garden and stood beneath the overhanging trees. He gazed at her. He gazed at the uneven bob of hair that tried and failed again and again to brush her shoulders. He gazed at the thin arms that were so capable and so all encompassing when she put them round him. He gazed at the hips, just beginning to show in her jeans.
 

She was amazing. And he was sat here, palms bleeding from nails he'd somehow restrained himself from biting off, doing nothing. He reached for the door handle just as she broke into a run, disappearing around the corner of the cathedral. Sweat trickled down from his brow as he saw the zombies break away to follow her.
 

He swore and thumped the steering wheel. What was he going to do? He knew what he should do, but would it help? It didn't matter, he had to try. He pushed the door open. A growl made him yelp as a hand grabbed his arm. He yanked the door closed and the arm was caught in it. He opened and closed it again and again, until the arm burst like a coke can thrown to the ground. Blood spurted out and splashed over his own arm and face, and he hauled the door shut one more time.
 

The arm was still there, severed just above the elbow, as the door slammed closed. He stared at it, waiting for it to come alive and attack him. But it was still, fingers clinging to his arm. He covered his mouth, trying to control his gag reflex and failing as sick filled his mouth. The blood was warm and streaming down his arm.
 

The paralysis broke and he freaked out, waving his arm around frantically until the zombie's limb broke off and thumped onto the chair beside him. He pushed the door open the tiniest amount and shoved the arm out with his fingertips. It struck the floor with a dull thud and he yanked the door closed again. The zombie, now missing an arm, banged its face against the window, teeth clicking against the glass.
 

Ed turned away and stared at the wheel, gripping it with both hands. He was supposed to save her but he couldn't even get out of the car. The four soldiers were almost out of sight, shifting slowly around the corner of the cathedral as they chatted.

Ed turned the key and the car chugged into life. He'd watched Krystal drive, curious as to how she could make something he'd always enjoyed so utterly terrifying. But it looked easy enough. It made sense. He pushed the clutch down and put it in first gear and tried the accelerator. It revved like mad and he lifted his foot a little, then lifted the other foot. The car eased gently forwards and he put a bit more gas on.
 

He rolled fifty feet then pressed the brake. The car stalled and he blushed, switching it off, glad Krystal wasn't there to watch. Although, his driving was already smoother than hers so maybe she'd have just been pissed at him. He grinned, then remembered where she was and went cold.
 

He could see the front steps of St Paul's now. Trucks were parked away from the cathedral in a neat row, and hundreds of soldiers hovered around them. He couldn't get over how casual everyone looked in the presence of zombies. Krystal had run down the far side of the cathedral, thinking perhaps it was the quiet way, but she was so wrong. As if he'd somehow summoned her, two soldiers came into view dragging her between them.
 

Ed put his clenched fist in his mouth and bit down on his knuckles. They were going to kill her. They would shove her on the ground and shoot her and he'd just sit here and let it happen. Or maybe they'd feed her to the zombies. He could help if they did that. He could drive closer and get caught as well. Any moment someone was going to spot him.
 

He ducked down, peering between the top and centre of the steering wheel. Krystal was dragged to the top of the steps and he thought for a minute they were going to take her inside, but instead they paused there. He waited, holding his breath until it burst from his lungs like a deflating balloon. When it did, he took another and held it.
 

A man clad in white emerged from the cathedral. He wore a gas mask and huge mirror shades and looked like something from
Star Wars
. He was very cool and very creepy and standing in front of Krystal. Ed couldn't see her face, only the back of her head, but he reckoned she was saying something, because the man's eyebrows rose and he shook, like he was laughing.
 

He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her head from side to side. Then he gestured to the men either side of her, and she was dragged out of sight into the cathedral. Ed shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. Zombies had collected around the car again, pushing and shoving it so he was rocked gently back and forth.
 

He had to help her. He had to save her, but he didn't know how. How was he supposed to do anything? She was inside the cathedral and there were hundreds of soldiers here. Any attempt he made would get him captured as well. Maybe he could at least find out what they were going to do with her. But he couldn't get out of the car.
 

The sound of running feet made him duck down even further. The zombies around the car scattered and he moaned, chewing his knuckles again as he imagined the soldiers surrounding him. The feet stopped and he risked a glance up to the window. He could see their backs. They weren't watching him! He reached out, ever so slowly, and cracked the window open.
 

He heard them speaking and put a hand over his mouth to keep from making any noise. Any moment now he'd shout out or cry or something.
 

'...where the hell she came from. Weird, huh?'