Thirteen Roses Book One: Before: An Apocalyptic Zombie Saga (26 page)

'I'm glad you've got it all sorted out. It makes my life considerably simpler.'

Luke was still smiling, and Alex opened his mouth to ask what he meant when the wall before him shimmered. It wobbled, like something made the bricks soft and malleable. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes. The shimmering was getting worse, and Luke put a hand in his back and shoved. Alex put his hands out to stop himself from colliding with the wall, but instead of hitting it, he went straight through.
 

He was in absolute darkness and it smelled of age and dust. He scuffed a foot along the floor and felt stones and sand shifting around. Luke's voice hissed in the black.
 

'This is nothing to do with God. There's no way he made it possible for that wall to become transparent. Nor was any magic involved of any sort. In fact, the knowledge of the hollow walls here has only remained secret through pure coincidence. Which makes perfect sense, what with the human race being in no way curious, or eager to explain the stories they're told.'

Alex opened his mouth and closed it again. There were things in this world that were inexplicable; being shown the future and having your hands temporarily removed high among them. But that didn't mean God existed. And that wall could have been created in any number of ways. He bit his lip.
 

Luke brushed past him and he jumped.
 

'Where are we going?'

'Hsst, keep your voice down. Sound travels in here. We're going this way.'

'I can't see anything. Which way is this way?'

'That's unfortunate. Maybe you'll have to trust to the will of God that you choose the right direction. You could walk around in here for days before you starved.'

His voice grew faint and Alex hurried to keep in range. When he stopped talking, he focused instead on the soft tread of his shoes and the occasional click they made as they struck smooth stone. It was silent in here and the darkness showed no signs of abating. How had this place remained a secret?

But then, this was a church building and they were renowned for keeping things secret. No one would mess around with St Paul's without the church allowing them, and he couldn't see that happening. So in actual fact, it was easy to imagine no one knowing about this. Only Luke
did
and that was frustrating, if only because it was harder to explain away.
 

His thoughts were derailed as he noticed Luke's back before him and the dark grey of the walls to either side. Light was coming from somewhere and he heaved a sigh of relief. Luke stopped, raised a hand, and crouched down. Alex followed suit and shuffled after him as he moved further forwards.
 

The light grew brighter until the corridor was lit by flickering oranges and yellows. The scene over Luke's shoulder was extraordinary and very unlikely. Not impossible, but unlikely.

The tunnel came out right at the top of a cavern that must have been as deep as St Paul's was tall. Directly beneath the exit was a small platform and a set of horribly steep steps descending into the cavern. The walls were rock, smooth in some places and ragged in others.

 
The bottom of the cavern was flat, artificially so, and the centre was home to a church. It was, he realised, a miniature version of St Paul's, all the way from the steps leading onto the cavern floor, up to the enormous basilica. It was miniature only in that it wasn't as large as the one they were beneath. But it was a good-sized church nonetheless.
 

Unlikely, not impossible. The trucks Luke had mentioned seeing in Yorkshire were all parked at one end of the cavern, the fire light flickering off the plain grey armour. The light itself came from a series of torches fixed around the walls and a huge fire that sat at the far end of the cavern, near the tunnel mouth through which he assumed the trucks had gained access. The cave was empty of people.
 

Luke gave him a look. 'This is the power of the church. Not some pathetic hold over peasants who want to be dominated, anyway. This.'

He shook his open hand at the vista hundreds of feet below.
 

'But why? What's the point in all this?'

'I could tell you things about power centres and St Paul's being built where it is for very deliberate reasons. I could mention how every ceremony and moment of true belief that happens above is channelled down into here and used. But you wouldn't buy it, so what's the point?'

He was right, it would be rubbish, but he wanted to know anyway. Luke was already creeping out of the tunnel and lowering himself onto the platform below.
 

'We aren't going down there, you're bloody mad.'

Luke put his finger to his lips and pointed to the trucks. 'The stuff you created is in there so unless you have a better plan, going down there is exactly what we're going to do.'

Alex hissed and rubbed his face. He followed Luke down onto the platform. They both froze as the sound of chanting rose up to them. Alex crouched, clinging to the rough wall as he got a brief glimpse over the edge. His stomach lurched and he went dizzy. The chanting grew louder and the front of the church opened.

Men emerged, wearing long simple robes of pale grey. One wore white and stood out from the monotony of his comrades. Behind them came soldiers, all wearing various shades of grey, and all chanting. Near the back, two men held between them a figure, stripped to the waist and struggling. Her cries reached them up on the platform and Alex's knuckles whitened where he gripped the rock.
 

David - Thursday: Plague Day

He landed on top of the zombie. Its legs caved and it tumbled from the tree. David slammed into the branch, slipped off, and felt gravity take hold once more. He scrabbled and scrambled as his brain howled and somehow, by some miracle, he caught hold of the branch.
 

His shoulder wrenched as his arms took all his weight. He held on, though. He couldn't let go, he couldn't fall down there. He wrapped a leg over the branch and pulled himself up until he lay belly down on the wood. It was sticking into him in all sorts of places, but the pain was negligible compared to the panic that had him in its grasp.
 

He panted and pushed his forehead into the branch, willing the sharpness of the sticks to bring him back to himself. He didn't really know what that meant anymore. He didn't know who he was to be brought back to. But he chewed on his lips and felt the roughness of the bark beneath his skin, and slowly but surely his breathing slowed.
 

Then he noticed the growls. They were low, like a dog with its hackles up, and they sounded vaguely silly. Like humans pretending to be dogs. He opened his eyes and peered around the trunk. The zombie he'd knocked off was buried beneath a pile of his companions. In the moment in which he looked down, one of them stood, a severed arm gripped triumphantly in its fist.
 

David swallowed and closed his eyes again. Was peace too much to ask for? He opened them and watched as the horde scattered, leaving behind blood-covered bones and a stain on the grass. He should have felt somehow better that the one who'd tried to kill him was dead. He might have, too, but some of those who'd finished feasting on their companion turned their eyes upward.
 

They didn't see him to start with, their deep-sunk eyes roving through the branches. Then one pair settled on him, and the owner of them staggered to the tree and began to climb. He watched, fascinated despite himself. The thing had the coordination of a three year old, but it moved on memory, hands jerky as they gripped and pulled.
 

And it climbed, far faster than he wanted. It was beneath him soon enough, clawed hands reaching out. He kicked it and got a lucky strike. One of the hands shattered, fingers dropping off as the rotting flesh beneath gave way.
 

David nodded, satisfied. It would go away now, like a wounded wild animal. Only it didn't. It was balanced precariously on a branch, but still it reached for him. It wouldn't give up, would it? Because it wasn't a wild animal. It was a human. He would have to do something, actually make the choice to do something.
 

The zombie wobbled back and forth but maintained its place on the branch. If it landed on the floor, would it suffer the same fate as its comrade? There was only one way to find out. He took a deep breath and gripped the branch as hard as he could. Then he slipped his feet off and hung, well within reach of the zombie.
 

His heart sat just behind his tongue, trying to choke him. The hands reached for him, one whole and the other bearing stumps dripping blood. He kicked at them and then at its head. His foot slammed into its face, and it slipped and lost its footing. He watched it tumble down through the branches, fierce grin on his face.
 

It wasn't a grin he'd have recognised. It probably wasn't a smile he'd have ever worn before his days alone. But things had changed. It was a grin that showed the cracks.
 

The zombie landed with a thud and flailed around like a beached whale. Just as he'd hoped, the others closed in and fell on it, biting and chewing and tearing. His grin widened. He could stay up here as long as he needed. Perhaps if he was silent they wouldn't even know he was here. He could stay here and be peaceful and quiet.
 

He climbed up to his original branch and tucked himself in with his back against the trunk. He squirmed until he felt something close to safe, and waited. They would leave. They knew they couldn't get him now and they wouldn't want to risk being eaten by their mates.
 

Then he heard a growl and the fantasy vanished.
 

Another was trying to get up the tree, and now he had to make a decision. They didn't seem to move all that fast, even when they were attacking. He'd seen
Dawn of the Dead,
but he'd seen
28 Days Later,
too. The question was, were these the fast or the slow zombies?

Assuming they were slow, he could probably outrun them. He could definitely outrun them. But where was he running to? Being out here meant more trees and open spaces and nowhere to hide. The roofs of the tall apartment buildings poked through the trees to the south. They were the nearest. He'd get to one and lock himself in. Then he'd have some peace.
 

He could knock this zombie on the floor and run while his friends ate him. His stomach turned over and his hands shook. He was going to do this. He was actually going to do this. He wished he'd said something to Amber. Just sorry would have been enough.
 

He clambered down a branch, biting the inside of his cheek. The zombie below was clumsier than the previous two and taking its sweet time climbing up. David found a handy branch the right size to swing on and prepared himself. He was going to do it, he was really going to do it.
 

What was he doing?

Sweat broke out across his forehead as he tried to scramble back up to safety. He grabbed the branch above and hauled, but it snapped and he swayed. He grabbed the trunk and clung on, breathing like a fitting asthmatic. How could he be so stupid, he couldn't do this, it was suicide.
 

A hand wrapped around his leg and he shouted in surprise. The clumsy one had got close enough to snag him. He lashed out and succeeded in dislodging its hand. Then he slithered lower and booted it in the chest, and before he had time to think, he dropped lower still. The zombie hit the grass and they swarmed.
 

David scrambled down the last two branches and hit the ground. He froze, staring with wide eyes at the bundle of zombies. The sound reminded him of the one time he'd had to have dinner with Amber's aged parents. They slurped and slobbered through bad false teeth. This sounded like that.
 

One of the creatures raised its head, as if it smelled something, then turned slowly to face him. David took one look into its dark eyes and ran.

He raced across the grass. They watched him, but made only cursory efforts to follow. He was going too fast, his feet blurring beneath him. His grin found its way back to his face and he sped up. He hit the road and found a new turn of speed.
 

'Wooooooooooooooo, come on you bastards!'

He was flying. They'd never catch him. Most of them weren't even fast enough to turn and see him before he was past them. He raced out the gate and even had enough time to reflect on how crazy it was being able to run straight across Marylebone without getting taken out by taxis.
 

Laughter streamed out behind him like a tail and they could grab at it all they wanted, they'd never take him. He ran into the huge semicircle at the top of Portland Place and straight up to the front door of the first flat on the left. He grabbed the door handle and yanked.
 

Nothing.
 

He stared blankly at the set of buzzers beside the door, mouth moving. He almost pressed one. Then he pictured Steph, pouting at him from the bed. She would be one of them by now. Her lips would be pale and cracked and her gorgeous dark eyes would be sunken and red. She had buzzers. How would she get out of her flats? Would a zombie remember the release button?

He started to laugh and heard a shuffling sound. It was close enough that he could see the lines and cracks in its face. He covered his mouth, shaking his head. He couldn't let it catch him, it would tear him apart. It would eat him.
 

It would eat him.

It would eat him.

It would eat him.

It would eat him.

It would eat him.

The thing took a step and the smell hit his nostrils, freeing him from the loop. He was fast. He was the wind. He set off, escaped the black gate at the bottom of the steps and shoulder-charged the zombie. It tumbled back and landed on its arse, and his laughter pealed around Portland Place as he ran.