Thirteen Roses Book Two: After: A Paranormal Zombie Saga

by Cairns, Michael

  'Why would you send me back there?' Luke butted in. 'Why would you leave me there once the plague occurs? I can come back to the Flights and work again.'

  The Father seemed to consider it, rocking his head from side to side. 'That is true. But somehow I don't feel you are ready yet.' He smiled slyly. 'How about this? I cannot let the entire human race die. What would you all do for jobs? I will give you some companions with whom to share your time. In fact, I will give you more than that. Keep your companions alive until the human race begins again and I will allow you back in the Flights.

  'Who?'

  The Father looked at Alex and smiled again. 'How about your subjects from the last week? They were an interesting bunch. A nice mix of men and women, at least one of whom you damaged to quite an extent. The adulterer should be fun to have around. We won't mention the child-snatcher.'

  Luke's face fell but Alex let out a breath he'd barely realised he was holding. 'So I'm not going to die?'

  The Father nodded. 'No, you shall live. Life will not be easy, though. You may wish you had died, more than once in the coming days. Now, you might like to see this.'

  The Father turned away. He beckoned to them and they joined him peering over the wall. The sea was hidden beneath clouds and on the surface of those clouds the world appeared, turning slowly. The picture zoomed in again and again, like on Google Maps, until London floated on the clouds.

  Closer still and they were looking down on the Houses of Parliament. The sun was out and the streets were busy, and into the middle of them drove four trucks that Alex recognised all too well. Soldiers of god wearing gas masks poured from them to form a ring around the truck that held the formula.

  Another man fiddled with something on the side of the truck then smoke began to jet out from a port on the top. Within seconds, the people closest to the truck stiffened, and fell.

  David

  Some small part of him expected the zombies to break apart as he neared them and form a path through which he could dash.

  They didn't.

  He veered to one side, still wondering why they weren't parting before the wind, and came around the side of the pack. There were zombies there as well and one grabbed his sleeve.

  He kept running though he was jerked to one side, and broke free, staggering to get his balance back. Another stood tall right before him and he put his elbows up. He slammed into the zombie's chest and his elbows broke through the shell-like skin and into the soft warmth beneath. The impact knocked the zombie back and David kept running.

  He could run forever. He would never stop and they would never catch him.

  He was the wind.

  He was invincible.

  A hand caught his leg and he went flying. His palms struck the concrete first and he yelped as the skin was stripped from them. He was wrenched back to his childhood, to a school trip.

  They'd all been running down the side of a mountain and he'd been giggling and giggling and gasping, when his feet got tangled up. His entire world had lurched and his breath stopped in his lungs at the point he realised there was no way of stopping. He'd been shaky for hours and his face had looked like something out of Frankenstein for the next two weeks.

  The rest of him hit the pavement and the pain in his hands suddenly meant very little. The breath was knocked from him and he rolled, holding his hands in to his chest. His eyes stayed open and he saw zombies' faces flash past as though he was on a fairground ride. The faces slowed, and he had all of a second to realise he was lying on the ground, surrounded by the things.

  Then he was up and running, hip screaming out in pain and his back a dull ache. He stared at his palms and the blood streaming from them, and had the vaguest sense this was a bad thing. They were everywhere, flailing and waving in their feeble attempts to catch him.

  The sound of breaking glass and metal overwhelmed the moans of the zombies and he watched the bus slam straight through the crowd at the front of the burning shop, then lurch into the front of the next one along. The sight of so many zombies crushed or splattered filled his heart and he grinned, shouting in harmony with the screeching as the bus came to a stop.

  If he could just reach it. That's all he needed. There was a human in there, someone who didn't have the sunken eyes and the urge to eat him. If he could just reach the bus.

  He put on a burst of speed, his feet leaving the concrete almost before they touched it. The zombies blurred past and he was laughing again. He was the wind. And he was at the bus. A huge black man sat behind the wheel, an axe gripped in one hand and in that moment their eyes met. David thought he might burst into tears, but the look the guy gave him stopped him short.

  The man was right. This was no time for softness. There was still someone in the shop. He should get on the bus and between them they could work out how to save the person. David ran around the front of the bus to the door and stopped. The bus was parked tight against the next shop front. Parked with its doors pressed again the glass window. He couldn't get on the bus.

  David waved frantically at him and the driver reacted. The engine started up and the bus moved, screeching as it lost contact with the shop front. The zombies closed in, three of them in no way bothered by the several tons of metal coming rapidly nearer. The recent death of their fellows clearly hadn't registered, and still didn't, even when the driver jumped the bus forwards and knocked one off its feet.

  David jumped forwards and slammed his heel down onto the thing's face. It exploded, blood gushing from a shattered nose and broken cheekbones. The other two zombies lost interest in David and fell on their companion. He was almost caught in the rush and stood, metres away, mouth hanging open. They'd blanked him, completely and utterly. It felt amazing.

  He ran around the side of the bus to the doors that were finally hissing open and scrambled in. They closed behind him and he slumped into the first seat he came to. The bus came to a halt and the driver door clicked open. David watched as first one tree-sized leg, then the other emerged. Above them was one of the largest people he'd ever seen.

  The man's face was a little squashed, as though he'd had his nose broken a few times. His beard was monstrous and combined with the shiny bald head made him terrifying to look at. Then his face split into a wide, white-toothed grin, and he rushed to wrap David in a spine-crushing bear hug. He returned it willingly and when the man stepped back, he thrust out his hand.

  'David.'

  'Jackson.' The man was as rumbly as he'd expected. 'Welcome to God's bus. This is my first tool for fighting the apocalypse.'

  David almost said 'fighting?' Then he almost said 'God?' In the end he settled for 'thanks'. God's bus? He'd been saved by an evangelist. The thought was almost as scary as being back outside. Not quite, but close.

  'We need to save whoever's in the shop.'

  Jackson nodded and headed back to the driver's seat. 'I say we drive through the front door and pick them up that way. Any other ideas?'

  Anything that meant staying on the bus was fine by him, so he nodded and sat back down as the bus lurched into reverse, beeping as it backed onto the street. Zombies clamoured outside the window, hammering against it. David looked down at his bloody palms and realised he'd shaken hands with Jackson with blood all over them. The big man hadn't noticed, though. Or maybe he was just too polite to say anything.

  David scrubbed his hands on his jeans, the rubbing against his raw flesh bringing tears to his eyes. The bus jumped forwards and mounted the pavement, and David gasped. He looked through the front window at the rapidly approaching shop. Black smoke billowed from the upper floor and flames were visible through the glass. He was just wondering whether this was the smartest route to take, when they crashed through the front of the shop.

  Bayleigh

  The bus hit the front of the shop and she ducked. Like that was going to make any difference. Her eyes were squeezed almost closed, and everything blurred as the bus crashed in and took out the towel exhibits. She wasn't sure about the w
isdom of putting towels at the front. What was the reason behind it? Maybe towels made people think of being clean and fresh.

  The smashing of glass seemed even louder over the roar of the fire, and she watched in anguish as the upper deck of the bus was speared by what remained of the first floor. Would they even be able to drive back out? The upper floor must have been wounded by the hit because chunks of flooring, metal struts and tiles and lights came crashing down around her. Sparks from exposed electrics flashed through the smoke like lightning.

  She burst out coughing as she inhaled some smoke and bent double, pushing her face between her knees until she got control. When she could stand, she wrapped her cloth over her mouth and ventured round the side of the wallpaper display. The bus waited, and through the window she saw two men. One was huge and very black and, it pained her to think, menacing. The other man was handsome in a slight sort of a way and looked around the shop with eyes that didn't quite line up. It was like one of them had to think for a moment before it decided to follow the other.

  She scrambled on and collapsed in a seat, still coughing, only to have the huge black man run to her and wrap her in a hug.

  She wrapped her arms around him and clung on, a little of the tension leave her body. Her mind turned to Layla and she bit her lip. Not yet. They weren't safe yet.

  He wasn't letting go. She pushed against his arms and he released her, flushing and looking at the floor. The other man gave her a similar embrace and she returned that one as well. They introduced themselves then stood in a circle, staring at one another.

  Bayleigh cracked first, her laughter somewhere between relieved and hysterical. 'I thought everyone was dead. I thought I was the only one.'

  'Me, too. I can't believe I found you guys.' Dave added.

  'God provides. He gave us this bus and my axe and he'll give us anything else we need to survive this terrible plague.'

  'This isn't a plague. This is man-made. Or at least, it came from men.' She said.

  The two guys stared at her, eyes showing what she'd felt for the last two days. She thought Jackson was going to hit her for a moment but he turned away and stomped down the bus then back again. 'What do you mean?'

  'I saw it happen. These men in grey suits, like soldiers without badges. They stopped outside my shop in big trucks and this smoke came out of it and then everyone started dropping dead.'

  Jackson lunged, grabbed the front of her top and hauled her towards him. She screamed and David grabbed Jackson's arm. The big man smashed him aside. He slammed into the seats and fell in the gap between them. Bayleigh stared into Jackson's eyes and saw something that made her shrivel up inside. He was going to hit her and he'd keep going until she couldn't see anything at all.

  'Don't lie, bitch. How do you know it was them?'

  'I saw it, I saw it, the smoke came out and fell to the floor and looked like fog and as soon as it reached people they dropped down dead, I saw it, my boyfriend, Ali, he died, he died, please don't hit me…'

  She trailed off. She couldn't take her eyes from his, couldn't ignore the horrible sick feeling in her stomach. Then he changed. One minute she thought he was going to beat her, the next tears filled his eyes. He lowered her to the floor of the bus and staggered away, hand held to his face.

  She shook, gripping the backs of the seats until her legs gave out, and she sat down hard on the floor of the bus. David crawled out from behind the seats and knelt in front of her. A bruise was already showing on his forehead. He stared at her blankly, eyes wide. She shook her head but he asked anyway.

  'What just happened?'

  She was going to answer that she had no idea when she was interrupted by a wail from the front of the bus. Jackson was on his knees, head bowed, shoulders shaking. He fumbled with his trousers and she pushed herself up the bus, sliding along the floor on her bum. He was going to attack her.

  His belt came free and David joined her, scrambling up the aisle. Then he lashed the belt over his back and arched in pain. The sound was like a gun going off. David stopped and turned to watch, mouth hanging open. Bayleigh tried to say something, to shout that he shouldn't do it, but every blow of the belt on his broad back made her jerk away, and her voice was lost.

  After what felt like forever, he stopped, slumped forwards, the belt now bloody. She'd almost forgotten about the zombies but the smell had them pounding on the windows. Jackson's back was streaming blood, soaking into his jeans.

  She pulled herself up and took one step towards the front of the bus.

  David grabbed her arm. 'You can't, he'll kill you.'

  'I don't think so. I think he feels guilty.'

  'Bloody should do, he's mad.'

  'Yeah, well, he's spent the last two days fighting bloody zombies, so can you blame him?'

  David looked at the floor and shook his head.

  'We're the only ones,' She said, 'we have to stay together.'

  'You don't know that. If we're alive surely other people are too.'

  She nodded, but she knew somehow that there weren't. It was them alone, in a dead London. She took cautious steps towards Jackson until she was near enough to smell the blood crusting over on his back.

  'Jackson?'

  He grunted and hid his face from her.

  'Jackson, we need to drive away from the fire and get somewhere a bit less public. I thought maybe we could find an alley so the zombies could only see the front and back of the bus.'

  He hunched even further over and she sighed. 'I'm going to drive the bus, alright?'

  No response. She climbed over the seats and into the tiny compartment at the front. The wheel was huge and the gearstick tiny, and it was as different from her Micra as it was possible to be. She turned the key and the bus sprang into life. There was still nothing from Jackson, no complaint or warning, so she put it in reverse and dragged the bus from the ravaged shop. She didn't look back as she drove away from the burning body of her friend and went in search of somewhere to park.

  Luke - Plague Day

  The Father had asked them where they wanted to go. As though they had a choice. Luke said the Flights, of course, but the old bastard just smiled and shook his head. He wanted a tropical island somewhere, with plentiful fish and maybe a shop. But that had been off the cards as well. The Father made it simple. Where in England would you like to go, accepting that within twenty four hours there would be nowhere on the mainland free of the plague?

  Not much of a choice. And twenty four hours meant nothing compared with the years stretching ahead of him. Years of being stuck on Earth. Years of mortality and fear and wondering when and if he was going to return home.

  But when had the Flights become home? He'd ruled a kingdom and been damned good at it. Yet somehow in only a few short centuries, he'd become content with a chamber and a job and drinks at the bar with his 'friends'.

  And then there was Az. The demon was on Earth. The Father had refused to tell him where, but he was there somewhere and he'd be coming for Luke. So he might survive years of zombies only to fall afoul of his old friend. What had Az been thinking?

  He wanted the plague to happen, but why? And how did he ever expect to get away with it? Was it all some ploy to screw with Luke? Luke at least had the wherewithal to ask the Father why he'd been sent in the first place. The answer the second time around was much like the first. He promised to check the list when he next visited the Dome to see whether it had been tampered with. Luke already knew it had, and it would have Az's fingerprints all over it.

  So what was he planning? Had he planned anything? He must have. Luke obviously didn't know Az as well as he thought, but he knew him well enough to know he wouldn't have made a decision like this without having a good reason.

  He was torn between wanting to find his old friend and wanting to remain as far from him as possible, but he had no control over that. After their excursion to Yorkshire, Luke was happy to never leave the city again, so he chose London and Alex agreed. Any moment now, they wo
uld arrive there.

  The light brightened, the wall and the bastard perched on it like some benevolent old uncle fading. Alex even gave him an encouraging smile as their current location winked out and the light faded.

  The world lurched in a way that didn't happen with the crystal. The Father had no reason to be gentle. He would be sitting on his wall, still smiling. The shop faded into view and he let out a long breath. He had, at least, sent them where Luke had asked.

  Swords.

  So many swords, of all sorts, adorned every wall. It was a small shop, carpeted with dark rugs and lit with hidden spots to highlight certain blades.

  It felt more like a lounge than a shop, which was entirely the point. Most customers needed to feel comfortable before they splashed out the amount of money needed to purchase one of these. Luke had come here in the rare moments he'd had time after his flowers were sold. It was one of his favourite places in London, hidden beneath a tailor's on Saville Row and visited by invite only.

  'Fuck me, good choice.'

  'Thank you. There's a sword I've fancied, every time I visited here.'

  He crossed the room and lifted it from the stand attached to the wall. It was curved gently, a single-edged blade from Japan, older than most of the buildings around here and manufactured when people cared about those sorts of things. The steel was folded fifty times and the tang in perfect balance with it. It felt like holding the wind and moved in much the same way.

  He drew it from the scabbard and swept the air before him, smiling for the first time since they'd stepped off Glastonbury Tor. There was much in this situation to be furious about, but this, at least, was something to celebrate. He nodded and slipped it back into the scabbard.

  Alex was taking swords off the wall one at a time, pulling them from the scabbards and waving them around like sticks. Luke watched him, grimacing. Not that it mattered anymore. He needed a knife as well. He headed for the knife wall when the door swung open. It hadn't been closed fully, and swung open silently. Through it came a horribly familiar zombie, dressed in a smart suit. Luke smiled as it came at him, sword clasped in one, rotting claw.