Zom-B (15 page)
I’ve seen a lot of terrible things today, but nothing compares with this. It’s not that Tyler dies more horribly than any of the others who’ve been torn to pieces. But
I
sacrificed him. I let Dad bully me, the way I’ve always done, and now a boy is dead because of it. Because of
me
.
As the other zombies draw closer, the scent of Tyler’s blood luring them on, Dad jerks the door open and bellows triumphantly. Trev and the others squeeze through. Dad dashes back and pulls me away from the awful spectacle of Tyler Bayor being finished off by the undead.
“Come on,” Dad pants. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Dad shoves the Indian kid away from
the door and growls at him, “Get out of it, Gandhi. My daughter goes first.”
He shoves me through, then follows. The Indian boy’s squealing. He tries to wriggle after us but a zombie grabs him. He screeches and reaches out to us, pleading to be saved. Dad sneers, then pushes him back and slams the door shut.
“Help me hold this,” he snaps at Trev and Meths. They obey without question, shocked into submission by his viciousness, dominated by the cruelty in his voice, the same way I’ve been dominated by it all my life.
Dad looks around for something to jam the door with, but there’s nothing. “All right,” he pants, straining with Trev and Meths to hold back the zombies. “I’m guessing they’ll pile up and get stuck. It’ll take them a while to sort themselves out. You lot run ahead. We’ll hold this a bit longer, then dash after you and hope we get enough of a start on them.”
Elephant, Stagger Lee, Seez and the other Muslim boy peel away to the left. They’re crying and shaking but they push on, freedom all but guaranteed now.
“Go on, B,” Dad says.
I shake my head.
“Stupid girl,” he mutters, then winces as the door buckles. “All right, stick with me then. Are you two ready? We’ll let go on the count of three.”
Trev and Meths nod nervously. Then Dad shouts swiftly, “One two three!”
The trio release the door and make a break for it. The zombies push hard on the door and it tears free. But like Dad guessed, too many try to squeeze through at the same time and they get jammed. It’ll be a few seconds before they make any headway.
Dad realizes I’m not with him. He pauses and turns. Sees me backing away. “B!” he shouts. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I can’t,” I moan.
He starts towards me. Stops when he spots the zombies untangling themselves. “Come on!” he screams, extending a hand. “I didn’t go through all this to lose you now. Get your arse over here before–”
“You know the problem with you, Dad?” I stop him, calmer than I’ve any right to be, wiping angry, bitter tears from my cheeks. “You’re a bigger monster than any bloody zombie.”
As Dad gapes at me, bewildered, I turn my back on the man I love more than any in the world, the man I hate more than any in the world, and stumble away from him, from the exit, from safety. As he roars my name, I follow the branch of the corridor that leads back into the building, preferring to take my chances among the zombies than go along with the racist beast who made me kill Tyler Bayor.
Twisting and turning, racing along corridors, tears streaming down my face, I pant and stumble, but never fall or falter. Never look back either, afraid of what I might see, zombies or Dad, one as bad as the other.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I was so close to freedom. I should have escaped with the others, dealt with Dad outside, fought my fight when my life wasn’t on the line.
But I couldn’t. For all these years I’ve said nothing when he hit Mum, when he hit me, when he demonized anyone who wasn’t white. I never stood up to him. I put on an act, tried to pretend it didn’t matter. And not just because I was afraid of him. Because I loved him too. He was my dad. I didn’t want to admit that he was truly evil, irredeemably warped.
But he turned me into a killer. He made me throw Tyler to the zombies. I can’t forgive that. I can’t lie to myself, dismiss it as an isolated incident, tell myself that he’ll change. Tyler and I weren’t close, he wasn’t a friend, but he helped us get as far as we did. We might not have found our way out without him. He didn’t deserve to be killed because of the color of his skin. Nor the Indian boy, sacrificed by a man who cares for nobody except his own.
I remember something that Mr. Burke said a while back.
There are lots of black-hearted, mean-spirited bastards in the world. It’s important that we hold them to account. But always remember that you might be the most black-hearted and mean-spirited of the lot, so hold yourself the most accountable of all.
I’ve played a cringing neutral all my life, and it turned me into something far worse than I ever feared I’d become. But that changes here, today, now. If I get out of this alive, I’ll never make a mistake like that again. I can’t bring Tyler back–that will haunt me forever, and nothing can ever make up for it–but from this point on I’ll do whatever I can to stand up to Dad and anyone like him. I swear on the blood I’ve shed, on the life I’ve destroyed.
I come to an intersection and turn right, but there are zombies shambling up the corridor towards me. I backpedal and push on straight. The zombies give chase.
I’m passing a room when a girl staggers out ahead of me. She’s bleeding, one arm bitten off at the elbow. A zombie follows, a boy
my size, his clothes almost torn to shreds. He decides I’m richer pickings and makes a grab for me.
I duck, but not quickly enough. Finger bones rake my arm and catch on the exposed flesh of my wrist. I yelp and kick at him. He snaps for my leg with his teeth but I pull it back in time. Kick him hard in the head. Race on.
I stare at the scratch as I run, terror mounting. We never found out whether a scratch was enough to turn a human into a zombie. Maybe it’s harmless and they can only convert by biting, a transfer of saliva or blood. But I wouldn’t bet on it. I think it’s all over for me. In another minute or two I’ll probably throw up like Pox did, give a shiver and a grunt, and never think clearly again.
I come to a set of stairs and start up the steps, figuring I can get to the windows at the front and jump to safety. I have to believe it’s not too late. If I can get out of the school, maybe I can be helped, even if the scratch
is
infectious. I’m hoping it isn’t, but if it is, maybe someone can chop off my arm or inject me with a cure or… or…
something
. It doesn’t matter that I’m clutching at straws. Better I cling to some kind of hope than abandon it entirely.
But I’m not halfway up the steps when even the thinnest sliver of hope is ripped away from me forever.
“Run, run as fast as you can,” someone gurgles ahead of me.
I look up and spot the mutant from the museum, the one I ran
into earlier. There are dozens of zombies behind him, staring at me, drooling, fingers twitching, awaiting the order to attack.
I come to a halt and stare at the man with the yellow eyes and purplish skin. He’s giggling sickly. “Where are you going, Becky?” he crows.
I take a step back, whimpering softly, looking for angles, seeing nothing but zombies. I feel dizzy and nauseous. Am I turning, or is it just fear?
“I was scratched,” I moan, holding out my hand, eyesight blurring, senses going into a tailspin. “Does that mean…?”
The mutant cackles. “Yes. But you’ve more than a scratch to worry about. It looks to me like one of your friends wants a word.”
He nods at the stairs behind me. I turn and find Tyler standing on the step just below mine. His chin is lowered. Blood and a light green layer of moss cake his shoulder and neck, and all the other places where he was bitten. I can’t see his eyes.
Before I can say anything, Tyler’s right hand shoots forward. His fingers are stiff, hooked slightly, the bones at the tips sticking out like small daggers. They hammer into my chest, shatter my breastbone, clasp around my heart. As I scream with shock and agony, Tyler rips my heart free of my body. I see it pulse in his palm a few times. Then he rams it into his mouth, tears off a chunk and swallows.
That’s the last thing I see in this life, Tyler chewing on my heart, grinning viciously—revenge is obviously as sweet as people always said it was.
Then I’m falling, fading away. The world goes black around the edges, throbs, and all is consumed by a wave of dark nothingness.
I die.
To be continued…
THE THIN EXECUTIONER
THE SAGA OF LARTEN CREPSLEY
BIRTH OF A KILLER
OCEAN OF BLOOD
PALACE OF THE DAMNED
BROTHERS TO THE DEATH
THE DEMONATA SERIES
LORD LOSS
DEMON THIEF
SLAWTER
BEC
BLOOD BEAST
DEMON APOCALYPSE
DEATH’S SHADOW
WOLF ISLAND
DARK CALLING
HELL’S HEROES
THE CIRQUE DU FREAK SERIES
A LIVING NIGHTMARE
THE VAMPIRE’S ASSISTANT
TUNNELS OF BLOOD
VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN
TRIALS OF DEATH
THE VAMPIRE PRINCE
HUNTERS OF THE DUSK
ALLIES OF THE NIGHT
KILLERS OF THE DAWN
THE LAKE OF SOULS
LORD OF THE SHADOWS
SONS OF DESTINY
Contents
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Text Copyright © 2012 by HOME OF THE DAMNED LIMITED
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Jacket design by Sasha Illingworth
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ISBN 978-0-316-21439-1
