Thirteen Roses Book Two: After: A Paranormal Zombie Saga (19 page)

The pain was immediate and took his breath away. He bent over, cradling them in his lap while his mouth opened and closed and nothing came in or out. Then the air rushed in and he burst out coughing. The jerking made his hands feel like someone was hitting them with sticks and he tried desperately to stop. He couldn't, though, so he settled for sitting against the tunnel wall and trying to keep them steady.
 

He couldn't see them. He had no idea what had happened. He tried to bend his fingers and his left hand responded, albeit with shards of pain lancing up his arms. But the right did nothing. He'd broken his hand. He'd broken his bloody hands. He was the wind, he needed his hands.
 

He started to cry, a few drops striking his lap before it turned into laughter. The sound was high and creepy and bounced off the tunnel walls to return to him, alien and alone. He tried to stop the laughter but it was like the coughing. It had complete control of his body and all he could do was go along for the ride.
 

Finally it dried up and he put his head back against the cold stone. It made no difference if his eyes were open or closed. He was alone again. He had to get out of here. He stood awkwardly, banging his head against the wall as he struggled to rise without using his hands. Then he set off, taking hesitant steps. He tried to imagine the walls around him and stay between them, but more than once he bashed a shoulder into them. Each impact sent another wave of sharp, stabbing pain through his hands.
 

Time became immaterial, life measured only by the steps he took and the throbbing. So he had no idea how long he'd walked when he first saw the light. It was a dull spot, far in the distance, but it seemed to draw closer far faster than it should. One minute he was squinting into the darkness, the next he could see his wrecked hand.
 

Three of the fingers were bent at funny angles and a dark purplish patch was already forming around his thumb. He swallowed and stared at it. Then he looked at the left. It was scuffed and scabbed, but everything was in the right place. He just had to focus on the left hand.
 

Then the light was right in front of him and he realised it came from a doorway that was ajar. He poked his head through, not even bothering to be cautious. The room inside was bizarre, entirely white, save the chair in the middle and the woman sat upon it. She wore robes like the men Ed described kidnapping Krystal. It was only when he pushed the door open wider and she shifted to look at him, that he realised the front of the robe was open and he was staring at her naked breasts and large, pregnant belly.
 

Jackson

They'd lost the madman. It was no bad thing. He was a liability, apt to lose it at any moment. The others were too nice to say anything, but Jackson knew better. Having someone like that around was a recipe for disaster. When you do a job, you have to know everyone on board's got their shit together. That David fella had all sorts of shit and none of it was together.
 

He wouldn't tell the others, not till they got out of these bloody tunnels. So he kept his mouth shut and trailed one hand along the tunnel wall and thought about God. This was the right place to do it. He still couldn't believe they hadn't gone through the front door. This was the home of his god and he had to sneak in through the back. It made him want to spit.
 

Or break a few heads. Soldier's heads, for the most part, although some of the people he was with wouldn't go amiss either. That Ed kid knew something. Somehow or other he knew what Jackson had done, before his rebirth. And that was bad news. They all had their little secrets, every one of them. Even the woman. The way she'd reacted to something Luke said on the bus, she had her secret.
 

But his was worse, way worse than what they'd done. He knew without even asking them. If they found out, there'd be hell to pay, rebirth or not. But they wouldn't. They didn't need to. And if they did, he could always deal with them, easy as you like.
 

Jackson was still toying with the idea of turning them over. The soldiers would take him. He had the belief and there was no denying his usefulness. It would be easy, once they were in the cathedral. He could slip away and find someone to talk to. He grinned at the darkness. He quite fancied being a soldier.
 

He hefted the gun he'd taken down off his shoulder. Felt good. Getting anything like this on the street was a bloody nightmare unless you had money to burn. His Mag would still be beneath the driver's seat in his van. The thought of it made him smile again.
 

What did God want him to do? He'd been listening since they got here, waiting for the answer, for some sign of who to trust. But he'd received only silence and that was difficult to bear, especially in here, of all places. Not that it was a bad thing. It meant God trusted him to make the right choices at the right time. And that meant he trusted him.
 

His chest swelled as he bumped into Alex.
 

'Why've we stopped?'

'I think we're here. Hold on.'

Luke's voice floated back to them in a low whisper. 'We're about to step out into the cathedral. I couldn't see any soldiers, but be careful. As soon as you're out, head to the Lady Chapel to your left. Everyone hear me?'

Jackson grunted. How were they supposed to answer that question if they hadn't heard him? His smile was replaced with a sneer as he stepped forwards. His hands brushed Alex's back, then he was gone and Jackson stepped straight after him.
 

The light felt bright after the absolute darkness of the tunnel, but in truth it was dim, wide pools of darkness obscuring much of the cathedral. He came out last and found the others milling around, watching Luke race along the wall. Jackson shoved Alex in the back and set off. If they were too stupid to follow then they could get caught.
 

He came to a chapel set into the left wall and hemmed in by black and gold iron railings. He found Luke crouched behind one of the small pews that faced the statue of Mary. The others came in after, making as much noise as possible as they found hiding places.
 

'Where's David?'

'I dunno. He was behind me for ages then he just vanished. He wasn't there when we came out the wall.'

'Yeah, and about that,' Bayleigh said, 'how did we come out of the wall? There wasn't a door there or anything.'

Luke smiled smugly and Jackson balled his fists.
 

'There are plenty of things about St Paul's you'd be surprised by.' Luke replied. 'Where the hell did David get to?'

They all shrugged and Luke looked ready to punch someone. Jackson shifted, hoping it would be him. Any excuse to unleash on the bastard would be gratefully received. He wasn't the only one thinking it, too, so why the others were being so nice he had no idea.
 

'Right. We'll worry about that later. We need to find Krystal. We also need to work out what that's about.'

He nodded into the centre of the cathedral and they all turned to look. Dominating the space where the pews would normally be was an enormous tent. It was the size of a circus tent but was all white and lay in darkness, like a phantom rising from the stones.
 

Was it God's work? Jackson felt at home here and the tent looked just right in the space, as though it had been made for it. Perhaps this cathedral was built exactly for this purpose. God knew everything that was to come, so maybe he'd had this built specially.
 

Jackson sniffed and looked at Luke. 'I'll take a look in the tent.'

Luke nodded. 'Fine, take Alex with you. He might recognise something. It looks vaguely medical.'

Jackson exchanged looks with Alex and shrugged. Nothing against the guy, but if he decided God's soldiers were his real friends, it'd be easy to get rid of him.
 

The cathedral was quiet, the sound of wind rushing around outside audible in a way he reckoned it never was normally. It was huge in here, bigger than it looked from the outside, and there were plenty of places he and Alex could sneak between. It only took a few cautious minutes to arrive at an enormous column standing right beside the tent.
 

Alex crouched beside him. 'How do we get in?'

'Through the door. Unless you got better ideas.'

'Won't we be seen, though?'

'God wants us to see in there. We've nothing to worry about.'

Alex snorted and patted Jackson on the arm. From the look in his eyes he had no idea how close it brought him to being battered.
 

'Trust me, God doesn't care. He probably knows, but it's really not at the top of his list.'

'You're a scientist, right?' He made sure his tone of voice made it clear what he thought of scientists. 'So what are you doing believing in God? I thought you arseholes were against him.'

'Us 'arseholes' aren't against anyone. We just like our religion to be backed up by a little evidence. As it happens, I've met God, so I've no problems in believing in him. I still think religion's bloody stupid, but there's no denying he exists.'

He said it in such a matter of fact way Jackson nearly believed him. Nearly. He growled and grabbed Alex around the back of the neck. 'You wanna mock me, we can go a round or two. See how funny you find it when you're eating your teeth, alright?'

Alex waved his hands and pulled away. Jackson let him, snarl showing enough teeth to scare the little prick. 'I'm not mocking you, honestly. You know Luke? I think he's Lucifer, you know, the first angel, fought against God and cast down into hell sort of thing? I don't remember it that much, to be honest.'

Jackson turned to the tent. He wasn't listening to this. Luke was a prick as well, just like Alex, but he wasn't no angel or demon or whatever. Just a prick with some impressive tricks. God had sent Jackson to solve this, not Luke. He rolled his shoulders. Whichever side he ended up on, Alex had it coming.

The back of the tent wasn't pinned down so the plans changed. He slipped out from behind the column, no longer caring if Alex came along. He slid on his belly over the smooth stone until he reached the tent, then pressed his face flat to the cold floor and peered in.
 

For a moment, he couldn't figure out what he was seeing. Then he realised the tent was filled with huge white sheets. It meant he couldn't such much of anything. It also meant no one could see him.
 

With a satisfied nod, he crawled under the canvas and into the space. He was about to drop it when Alex's head appeared and he wiggled through. The two of them crammed together in the space and Alex gave him a smile.
 

Poofter. Bloody gay boy most likely. He put as much distance between them as he could then rose to peer over the top of the sheet. It was like being in a bloody washing powder commercial. All he could see across the entire tent were hanging white sheets, suspended from a network of thin steel wires that crisscrossed like power lines over the tube tracks.
 

He caught Alex's eye and the other man shrugged. They picked opposite sides and peered over the top of their sheet. Beneath Jackson, in the adjacent cubicle, was a bed. It was empty and made up like a hospital bed, only with pure white sheets and none of the nasty blue they used in the NHS.
 

He turned back to Alex who mouthed 'empty' to him. Jackson pulled aside the sheet and stepped into the empty cubicle. He repeated the process three more times, heading into the centre of the tent, before he found one that was occupied.
 

A woman lay on the bed in jogging trousers and top, all white as well, with a gas mask over her face. She looked good from where he stood and her long blonde hair spread out on the pillow made him lick his lips. She looked to be sleeping.
 

What did God want him to do? He thought he knew the answer to that, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't one hundred per cent sure and he wanted to be. So he paused where he was, backing off the sheet so she wouldn't spot him if she woke, and he prayed.
 

He listened hard, every word he mumbled followed by a sense of community and belonging. He was halfway through when he realised there was no community, none save the bastards who had this place all sewn up. But still, even just between him and God there was something. So why didn't he answer?

He didn't answer because he trusted Jackson. He knew Jackson would do what was right and what was best. On the bed lay the hope of the human race, and it was his duty to ensure the bloodlines were strong and carried the best possible genes for survival. He pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the cubicle, unzipping his fly as he went.
 

She was definitely sleeping. He wanted to take the mask off, but there was no way he was screwing no zombie. She was hot, he could see it without moving the gas mask. And her body was damn fine too. He moved closer, taking himself out of his trousers and rubbing away.
 

He put his hand on her waist and slipped his fingers beneath the waistband. Then he felt a hand on his back. He glanced over his shoulder. Alex stood there and in that split second he looked down and saw Jackson's dick out in his hand. His eyebrows jumped up and he stepped back, giving Jackson the kind of look reserved for kiddie fiddlers.

The girl on the bed was young, but not that young. This was God's will, wasn't it? He put himself away and put a hand to his head, scrunching his eyes shut. It felt like God's will, but if it was, why hadn't he given him a sign? Perhaps it was just Jackson's will, a need after two days of hell. He swayed, flailing with one hand until Alex caught it and helped him get steady. He was tired, more tired than he'd realised.
 

This wasn't God's will. He hadn't spoken to him, not about this. He nodded to Alex, hoping his face displayed none of the disgust he held for himself. He would be criticised enough if this got back to the others. Perhaps it shouldn't. Perhaps something should happen to Alex.