Thirteen Roses Book Two: After: A Paranormal Zombie Saga (13 page)

'So they're saying there are others?'

'Yeah, a few of them in the middle of town. Don't know much, just there's a fire there and a bus being driven around. Satellites picked it up.'

'We have satellites?'

'Didn't I tell you, Andy, we have everything?'

'Yeah, but I mean, satellites? That's government stuff.'

The first speaker chuckled. 'You still don't get this, do you?'

Whatever it was he didn't get was lost to Ed as the two men walked away. But it didn't matter. There were more people. More people alive, people who could help save Krystal. He had to find them.
 

He sneaked a look over the steering wheel. The zombies came ambling back to bat at the windows.
 

There was something horrible about their casualness. They weren't casual when they smelled food, but at the moment they seemed just so unbothered. He couldn't help thinking he could just get out and wander about, and they wouldn't bother him.
 

He imagined the ones that attacked them in the lift and clenched his teeth and his buttocks. They made it much easier to remember why he was so scared of them. He started the car, put it in reverse, and with barely a lurch, pulled back behind the shelter of St Paul's. He didn't know London like Krystal, but he was pretty certain he could get to the centre of town.
 

He turned the car around and headed north and west, around the top of the cathedral. He saw no one save the zombies. Despite knowing about the people who were still alive, the soldiers didn't seem in the least bit bothered about them. Which made sense in a way, because what chance did anyone have against the zombies on their own?
 

He bit back the thought as he weaved his slow way through the stalled afternoon traffic. At one point a zombie stumbled in front of the car and he put his foot down to crush it beneath the front tyres. It made him sick and exhilarated, and he had to stop driving for a few minutes until his hands stopped shaking.
 

The drive seemed to take forever, but it was only around midday when he drove down Oxford Street. The men said they'd seen a bus so that's what he was looking out for, but he saw something quite different.
 

There were two of them. One was tall and handsome and odd. He looked out of place, like he'd been plucked out of a storybook and dumped in London. The other looked like a student, wearing a scruffy jumper and messy hair. The tall one stomped along, swinging a sword back and forth in front of him. The other jogged along behind, doing his best to stay as close as possible.
 

Ed stopped the car and watched a zombie approach them, arms out in the classic pose. The tall man barely slowed, his first stroke with the sword hacking the creature's arms off. The gush of blood, so like the one he'd experienced an hour earlier, made him retch, but the man with the sword was unphased. He swung again and the sword chopped straight through the creature's skull, splitting it in half and dropping it to the pavement.
 

They kept walking. They hadn't seen him! He put both hands on the horn and shoved as hard as he could. The sound was loud enough to make him jump and attract the attention of every zombie in the street. They turned, some faster than others, to stare at him, but he was past caring. He kept one hand on the horn and waved frantically with the other.
 

Both men had turned with the zombies, and now ran towards him. He wanted to smile but it felt like a grimace, like a desperate attempt to look happy. His hands shook as the tall man wrenched open the front door and leapt in, slamming the door behind him. The other jumped in the back.
 

The tall man leant over and pulled his hands off the horn. 'It's alright, we've seen you, you can stop now. What the hell did you think you were doing, sounding that?'

'I just wanted you to know I was here.'

His voice sounded pathetic even to him, and to make matters worse, he burst into tears. The tall man hissed and turned away, staring out the window. The man in the back leant between the seats and patted his arm.
 

'Hey, it's alright, it's alright. We're here, we're all safe in the car, there's nothing to worry about, isn't that right, Luke?'

The tall man turned back and Ed found himself caught in his eyes. They were the colour of the sunset, but the shades changed, becoming golden one minute and burnt red the next. Ed gasped and the man called Luke smiled. It was the sort of smile Ed imagined Dawid wore when he was on top of him.
 

'Yes, there's nothing to worry about. Aside from the millions of zombies around us. Aside from them, there's nothing to worry about.'

Ed whimpered but raised a shaky hand. 'Actually, there kind of is. There are soldiers at St Paul's, and they've kidnapped my friend.'

'Soldiers?' Luke frowned. 'Did they wear white crosses on their backs?'

Ed nodded and swallowed as Luke slammed his fist against the dash. 'We're going there, right now.'

'What about the others?'

'Others?'

'There are a few others still alive as well. We—'

'Who's your friend?' Luke interrupted.

'Huh?'

'Your friend, the one they kidnapped, what's her name?'

'Krystal.'

'Damn. I liked her. She helped me out.'

'You know Krystal?'

'Only in a roundabout way. The same way I know you, Ed.'

At the mention of his name, a name he hadn't yet said, his blood ran cold. He looked at the blood-stained sword in Luke's hand and shivered. Who exactly had he invited into his car?

Jackson

He was evil. He could obfuscate all he liked and tell himself all sorts of lies, but there was no other way to describe what he'd just done. She was innocent, as pure as driven snow. You could tell from her eyes. She knew nothing of evil or temptation. Yet he'd treated her like scum.

A tear escaped his eye and fled to freedom across the heat of his cheek. The belt felt good in his hand, the cool buckle pressed against his skin. And when he brought it over his shoulder and his skin rose in a welt, the pain was a message from God.
 

He refused to look deeper inside himself. He didn't want to confront the demon that lurked within, sneering at him from its place of safety. It knew he wouldn't face it. But he didn't need to. For every second given over to God, the demon grew smaller, and one day he would summon up the courage to face it and it would be gone. He smiled through the pain and brought the belt down again.
 

He would apologise and look in her eyes again. He would see his salvation there, and perhaps the salvation of the human race also. She was pretty, in a thin sort of a way, and had hips that would bear children. She would soon come to understand the necessity of breeding and spread her legs willingly enough. Bitches always did in the end—
 

The belt struck his back and the skin separated. He gasped, another tear joining the first. The demon was still there and still eager. He would beat it into submission. It was what God wanted.
 

The bus lurched and he realised with a start the woman was driving. They set off down the road, ploughing through more than one zombie on the way, and he grinned fiercely through the haze that threatened to knock him out. His back burnt like the fires of hell and he longed for a cool bed in which to stretch out. And for whisky to numb the pain.
 

He stood carefully, hands gripping the seats to either side. Had she spoken to him? He thought she had, though he had no idea what she'd said. Didn't matter now. Should he be driving? He watched the road for a moment and shrugged. She was doing perfectly well without him.
 

He turned and saw the other man, David, crouched in a seat, staring at him. Jackson rumbled down the aisle and plonked himself opposite. His back flared with every movement, but it was God's will that the pain remind him of all he'd done. It was the pain with which he was meant to live.
 

'I'm sorry about earlier. That isn't me, not anymore. It's been… difficult.'

'Yeah, that's what Bayleigh said. She said anyone who'd been on their own against the zombies had every right to be on edge.'

Jackson smiled and nodded. She was wise, at least in the ways of men. Never anger the primary male, for he shall lead the pack and deliver them to safety. He didn't remember that line from Bible readings, but it felt right. Perhaps it was a new testament, one for the new world in which they found themselves.

'I have to say, though, I don't agree. I don't care how long you've been alone, you never have an excuse to be violent towards women. I can't threaten you, but touch her again and you'll be back on your own pretty damn quick.'

Jackson's eyebrows shot up and he stared at David. The man gripped the back of the chair with whitened knuckles and shook as he spoke. He was terrified. As he should be. Jackson gave him a big smile and nodded. 'You're right. That's why I punished myself. God would never have harmed a woman, nor Jesus. It is for such sins that I do penance.'

'I see.'
 

David smiled and nodded the same way most people do when faced with true faith. They snigger and sneer, content in the knowledge that they know best. Jackson felt sorry for them, just as he did for David.
 

Perhaps it would be best if he weren't so vocal about his purpose. The word God made people afraid, and he wasn't here to scare people. He was here to save them. He nodded to himself.

'Where're we going?'

David shrugged. 'Bayleigh said we should find an alleyway, somewhere we could park up and leave as few windows as possible for the zombies to look through.'

'And what then?'

He shrugged again. Jackson wasn't sure how much he liked this man. He seemed ready with the threats, despite what he said, but he didn't want to go out on a limb. He was weak. You have to make your choice and stay with it, no matter the consequences. This man was eager to run from both.
 

Jackson grunted and moved back to the front of the bus. Bayleigh glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she weaved the bus slowly through the crashed cars.
 

'Where're we going?'

'There's a paved alley just off Piccadilly, between a theatre and some shops. I thought I'd put us there so we can work out a plan.'

'What plan?'

She glanced at him again and he saw a flash in her eyes. She wasn't as amenable as he thought.
 

'I don't know what plan, that's why I want to stop. Getting this bloody great thing through the traffic is enough to think about.'

'Are you saying I chose the wrong vehicle?'

'Not at all, I love it. Just takes some concentration, you know?'

Jackson nodded. She knows when to agree and shut her mouth. Not like his old girlfriend, though she had other assets. But she didn't know when to shut her mouth. He sat in the seat across from the driver's and watched the road.
 

The zombies were indefatigable, showing no signs of being up and walking for close to forty-eight hours. Would they keep going or would their energy run out? Did they eat for energy? If they had to eat then eventually they would fall to eating one another, regardless of whether or not they were injured. The thought brought a smile to his lips.
 

Bayleigh had a strand of hair in the corner of her mouth and chewed on it relentlessly as she heaved the wheel of the bus this way and that. The temptation was strong in him and he leant back against the seat. The impact on his fresh wounds made him hiss and blink as darkness threatened from the corners of his eyes.
 

Bayleigh looked at him, brows furrowed in concern, and the urge grew stronger. He could drag her out the cabin and bend her over one of the chairs. Would the zombies smell that? He grinned, but it must have looked like a grimace because Bayleigh slowed the bus, still looking at him.
 

'Should I stop? I can look at your back before we go any further.'

'No. Keep going. This is…' He almost said God's will, but he was trying to keep that on the down low. 'I deserve the pain, for what I did to you.'

'It was nothing, really. I still can't believe humans would do this to other humans.'

Jackson closed his eyes, wincing as he felt the children climbing down his throat. He had a flash of something he'd tried to keep hidden since his rebirth. He saw her, a girl of no more than ten, wriggling in his arms. And he saw the darkness of the van and the ropes that hung like jellyfish tentacles, waiting for her to swim into their grasp. In her case he hadn't bothered with the ropes. He threw her in hard enough for her to sprawl across the metal floor and smash her head on the far wall. Then he slammed the doors and drove away.
 

 
The tears came unbidden and streamed down his face. He heard Bayleigh's sharp intake of breath, but she didn't know what he was crying for. He could never undo his past. He could only try to atone for it now, and that meant nothing to the little girl who'd spent three days in the back of that van, and emerged blinking at the coast smelling of piss and fear. He was just glad he hadn't seen her when she came out of the boat at the other end.
 

But he hadn't cared back then. Her crying and shouts had meant nothing.
 

He believed humans could do this to other humans. It wasn't difficult. He could wonder why, or how, but he wasn't sure he cared. His job wasn't to find the why. It was to find the survivors and carry them through into a future worth living. That was his role.
 

He was thrown from his seat and his reverie as the bus screeched to a halt. His knees struck the floor and he growled and nearly swore. But he bit his tongue instead and looked out the front of the bus. A battered Ford Focus was pulled up in the street. It was no different from the other crashed cars, except this one was running and he could see two people through the windshield.