He scowled as he glanced in his mirrors. He could bash the cars all day, but he was going too slow.
The trucks were coming up fast, using the new road he'd created. He weaved, going around instead of through, and moved faster. It was still agonisingly slow. He could make better ground on foot. But the zombies were everywhere and his stomach flipped at the thought of being out there with them again.
If only he had one of the devices, he'd be fine.
He thumped himself on the side of the head, and fiddled beneath the dash, running his hand back and forth whilst keeping half an eye on the road. His hand touched something that felt right, just before the truck smashed into a car. He thumped back into the seat and grabbed the wheel with both hands.
He stared forward, breathing loudly through his nose. The rattle of gunfire made him jump as the wing mirror to his right was torn off. They were destroying their own truck. Not that he cared, he just needed the device. His hand snaked under the dash again.
His eyes drifted down and followed it, before he caught himself and jerked his head up. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck. Something slammed into the truck from behind and the front lurched until he was aiming straight at one of the huge red-brick buildings that lined the road. He swore and spun the wheel, fighting to get it back under control. The chasing truck hit him again and the rear wheels slipped, screeching across the tarmac. The truck slewed back in the other direction and when he got traction, he was facing the right way!
He roared and thumped the wheel. He was the wind. Even in a truck he was the wind. He couldn't be stopped. His hand went under the dash and he yanked at the device. It shifted a little but didn't come off. If he could just—
Another truck struck the back and this time the entire vehicle slid sideways. He wrestled with the wheel but the spin was too strong and the rear end came around past the cab. For a brief moment he found himself staring at the approaching trucks. There were two of them, coming fast. They were going to hit him, drive him through the back of the cab and squash him flat.
The truck turned further through the spin until he was broadside to the enemy.
Then it flipped.
His hands reached for the seat belt but he was far too slow. It happened with a horrible inexorability, and he was tossed across the cab. His shoulder smacked into the offside window with a sound like a bat hitting a ball. He howled as he was dumped onto the roof as the truck turned upside down. A second after that he was back, wrapped around the steering wheel.
It dug into his gut and he groaned as his breath left him. The truck kept going, throwing him about like pants in a washing machine. That made him giggle. He was in a wind tunnel. His chin caught one of the headrests as he travelled back across the cab and his teeth snapped together. The headache was instantaneous and he squeezed his eyes closed.
That made it worse as the spinning happened inside his head as well as out. He opened his eyes just as he hit the far window again. This time it cracked, fine lines running in every direction across the glass. The truck slowed and he rolled onto the roof. He took a deep breath, trying to ascertain whether any of him was broken. But the truck wasn't finished.
With a tortured moan, like a boat rising from the sea, it rolled once more and came crashing down onto the driver's side. He bounced off the steering wheel and hit the window with another moan. Then he was still.
There was something oddly comforting about being in this position. His feet were higher than his head, his knees were pressed against his chest, and he couldn't breathe. But he couldn't move and the world was, for once, still. He took a shallow breath and nodded. Yes, he could stay here.
'Be careful, he's dangerous.'
'Does he have a gun?'
'Not that I saw.'
'Then he ain't dangerous. You're a pussy, Anderson.'
David would have frozen had he been able to. Instead he tensed every muscle and stared wide eyed out the front window. He had seconds. He had to move.
He wriggled his arms until he could reach under the dashboard. The device was still there and he yanked it until, with a sound of tearing tape, it came free. He pulled it out and peered at it. It was the same as the thing Luke had, tape running off all four sides. He stripped the tape off and shoved it deep in his pockets. He was safe.
A pair of legs appeared in front of the window and he watched as a gas mask came into view, with sunglass-covered eyes just above it.
'Are you dangerous?'
He shook his head as best he could and waved his arms to indicate just how un-dangerous he was. The man nodded and straightened. Then the butt of his gun came through the window and David was covered in glass. Gloved hands hauled him out and he was set on his feet. He swayed, blinking as his legs threatened to dump him on his arse. Pins and needles rushed up and down them.
'You wrecked one of the trucks.'
David did his best to look apologetic.
'Looks like you might struggle to walk there.'
Something hit him in the back of the leg and he stumbled and dropped to one knee.
'Yeah, definitely. Probably best you take it easy.'
He tried to explain that he was the wind, that he never took it easy. Then something hit him in the back of the head and the world went away.
Jackson
Luke and Alex ran straight into the gunfire. Jackson sneered and shook his head. He was protected by God and even he wouldn't risk that. Amateurs. This was why he was the chosen one. He had the experience. He had the balls and he had the brains. He saw them stumble and then Luke took a bullet. They were finished. He knew he'd picked the wrong team.
He turned his back and weaved between the sheets. Behind each was a sleeping beauty, waiting for something. And he knew what it was. He ground his teeth as the muscles in his arms flexed and rippled. They were scum, just as Luke and the others were stupid. There were no good teams; no one was the right choice.
But the people who made this tent and took these women were forward thinking. They knew what the world needed and were willing to make it happen. He paused beside one of the beds, huge hand stroking the smooth cheek that emerged from beneath the gas mask. They were beautiful. He knew it without removing the mask. They were blonde and beautiful, the perfect mothers for the new race. The master race.
It would be God's race, formed in his image and raised beneath his love.
These women seemed trapped. That had enraged him earlier. He had done this once, but he'd changed and grown and learnt, and he knew it was wrong now.
But perhaps they weren't trapped. Perhaps they had chosen to be here. Perhaps they knew what awaited them when they awoke and were joyous at the prospect.
There was no reason why not. So perhaps this was God's will. The women he passed looked peaceful, foreheads smooth and eyes closed in sleep. It was an honour, so why would they feel trapped?
Jackson didn't know whether he was convincing himself or if what he thought was the truth. The voice he waited to tell him the truth was still silent. And once more, that meant he had to go with his instincts.
His instincts had always been good. They were what made him so successful. He always knew which child was susceptible, which ones were willing to get in the van. He'd almost never had a scene or an issue. And it was because of his instincts. They had been evil instincts then, but not anymore. Now they were just instincts, sworn to God along with his heart and mind.
The guns stopped. He paused and listened. Feet thudded into the tent and he knew without turning it was Alex and Luke. They had survived somehow and were looking for him. It was a shame, he didn't want a confrontation. But that didn't mean he wouldn't have one.
He moved to one side, crouched beside one of the beds and listened as they made their clumsy way through the sheets. His hand strayed from the sheets to the body that lay upon it, fumbling its way up her stomach to her breast. He squeezed gently at first, then aggressively, kneading the flesh between his hands.
The body shifted and he real
ised what he was doing. And he realised it wasn't wrong. This was God's will, just as these were God's women. And if he was God's warrior, then every one of these women was for him. He ran his hand lower, over her stomach and below. Her legs were together and, as he pushed between them, she shifted again, a low moan escaping her throat.
She wanted this as badly as he did. He rose, bending where his trousers were now tight, and began to undo his belt. The feet were closer and he stopped, eyes flitting between the woman beneath his hand and the sheets that waved and shook. The steel lines that ran this way and that were like warning signs, thrumming where people passed through.
There were more noises, the thumping of soldiers' boots carrying beneath the huge white dome. Now wasn't the time. He didn't want to admit it, though, and moved his hand, pushing and pushing. The thumps grew louder and he withdrew, snarling. Now he was eager for a confrontation.
The sounds mingled together and it was like they were coming from everywhere. Then he heard Luke's quiet voice.
'Where the hell is he?'
'No idea. How long do we look?'
There was no response but Jackson could imagine it. The look that passed between them as they decided they would look for the shortest time possible before leaving. They weren't believers, no matter what they said. If they were, they would stay here and help the soldiers of god. They were all on the same mission.
He tracked the sound of their steps and set off after them, keeping back. He was between them now, the soldiers coming fast from behind. He quickened his pace and the women blurred, one gas mask after another, smooth brow after smooth brow. They were so beautiful. How could they be anything but the ladies of God?
Luke and Alex stopped and he slowed, creeping until he peeked around one of the sheets and saw them. They were conferring, voices low enough that he couldn't make them out. Then Alex pointed to the back of the tent, where he and Jackson had come in, and they set off again.
Jackson slipped around the sheet and cleared his throat. Both men jumped and Luke almost hit him. He stopped just in time and let out a long breath.
'Bloody hell, where have you been?'
'Thinking. You lost the mission.'
'What mission?'
Jackson sighed and shook his head. They weren't God's people. 'The mission of God. You came here to save Krystal but you don't see the bigger picture. I'm chosen. God chose me to end this plague and the people here are doing that.'
'What? Jackson, the people here brought the plague. It all happened because of them.'
'But what's the plague? If God didn't want this to happen, he'd have stopped it. Look around you. These women are from God. They're how we repopulate, not with that skinny tramp we came in with.'
'Hey, th—'
'That's the truth. Don't deny it, Alex, God will see through your lies. Bayleigh's one person. She isn't enough. But these people have planned. They brought a plague, yeah, but they ended another.'
Luke shook his head and rubbed it with his hand. Jackson tensed, ready for the inevitable blow. Luke might do that thing he did and send him back to his nightmare, but he'd have time. It might only be a second, but he'd have time and in that moment he'd attack. His fists balled slowly by his waist.
Luke took a step back and he went with him.
'So you're staying here?' Luke asked.
'It's the right thing to do. It's God's will. You should, too.'
'I don't think they want us to help them. But it's your call. Just don't die, alright?'
'You care about me. How touching.'
Alex and Luke shared a look that carried more than he understood. But they were already walking away. They were leaving, just like that. No attempt to talk him out of it or tell him he was wrong. He'd wanted a fight. But there were sheets between them and he caught only flashes of clothing as they went.
He could shout and alert the soldiers, but something stopped him. He nodded and watched for a moment longer. They were wrong, but they'd meet again and he could deal with them then. He turned and set off towards the soldiers.
They met a few moments later, three men bursting between the sheets and lowering their weapons at him. He slipped his gun off his shoulder and lowered it to the ground.
'I want to join you.'
All three looked surprised, eyebrows appearing above their sunglasses. Why were they wearing sunglasses inside? He stared at their eyes and realised the sunglasses were more than that. The frames were chunky and wires emerged from them into their helmets. This was hi-tech stuff. He grinned.
'Why do you want to join us?'
'You are doing God's work. I am the warrior of God. I am his chosen.'
'We are all his chosen, brother. Welcome.'
He lowered his gun and put out his hand and they shook. Jackson grinned again, clapping his other hand to the soldier's wrist. The other two came forwards, though their guns remained up. One muttered quietly and although Jackson heard him, he still wasn't quick enough.
'Pity we don't trust you.'
The gun struck him in the side of the head and he pitched forwards. The darkness that clouded in around his eyes was more welcome that he'd expected and, in the end, he wasn't sure whether it was exhaustion or unconsciousness that claimed him.
Luke
He turned his back to Jackson and moved as fast as he could while looking calm. The big man wanted a fight and that was the last thing he intended to do. He'd stay alive. He was too belligerent and too confident to be killed. And Luke was becoming more and more convinced the Father was helping him out.
He shouldn't be. He broke his own rules every time he dipped his finger in the murky waters of mortal dealings. But he'd seen his people wiped out in a single day and perhaps that was enough to stir him into action. It raised an interesting question. There were close to a hundred women in here, prone and breathing through gas masks, and he had to assume there were an equal number of unrelated soldiers. They were the only hope of mankind. Was that enough to repopulate without mutation?
Were there places like this elsewhere in the world? The robed man he'd seen had been in white, or near enough that it didn't matter. This was the centre of things. But perhaps in America and some of the other bigger countries there would be more. He didn't believe these women were enough, but they were a start.
Without them, the Earth was doomed. So for all that he wanted to end this travesty and kill every one of the bastards who unleashed the plague, he couldn't. Not and save the human race. It was just sneaky enough to be the Father's plot. Or Az's. But he had a horrible feeling it was coincidence, just the fall of the dice.
He glanced sideways at Alex. He was dealing with everything remarkably well. How he'd deal when the others found out he created the plague would be interesting to watch. Not that there was any reason they would. But these things had a habit of coming out, no matter how hard you tried to hide them.
They reached the edge of the tent and found a spot where they could slip beneath the canvas. He glanced back once more before going under, but all he could see were sheets. St Paul's was dark and still after the endless movement inside the tent and they hesitated.
'Where now?' Alex asked.
'The others have gone. Bayleigh will have led them through the door, so we should head there as well.'
Alex grabbed his arm and pointed. From the other side of the cathedral a faint light grew, like someone was turning up a dimmer switch. The light was white, bright white, and within seconds Luke could no longer look at it.
'Should we see what that is first?'
Luke sighed. They shouldn't, absolutely not. They should get the hell out of there and run away. But he had no idea where Az was and no idea where they could go to be safe, so why not? With a grudging nod he jogged across the smooth stone flag towards the light.
They came at it in a roundabout way, trying to avoid looking straight into the light. Alex ran beside him. 'What happened to David?'
'I don't know. He was a little madder, but
I don't know what happened.'
'I only asked because it sounded like he met someone and I wondered whether it might be her.'
Luke stared where he pointed and found something within the light. A woman wearing pure white robes that opened at the front, smiled at them. She was beautiful, white-skinned with hair almost as pale. Her pregnant stomach bulged as though the baby was desperate to break free. The light came from her stomach and as they grew closer, he saw the skin shifting and pulsing as the baby kicked.
'Welcome, my children. You are just in time.'
He didn't want to ask, but he had to. 'In time for what?'
'For the Messiah, of course. I didn't want him born here, but his father insisted.'
'His father?' Another question he'd have happily never asked.
'Oh yes. God. He came to me and well, you know.'
She blushed, batting her eyelids like she'd watched too many bad romance movies. Alex had stopped a few feet back and grabbed Luke by the shoulder, pulling him back. 'What's going on? What's she doing here? Who is she?'
'Why are you asking me?'
'You're supposed to know these things. The Father didn't do this, did he?'
'Wouldn't put it past him, she's pretty enough.'
'She's stunning, but why? And why isn't she wearing a gas mask?'
It was that detail he'd avoided thinking about, but now it struck him front and centre.
'Who are you?'
'My name is Celia. I am one of the soldiers of god. And now I am mother to the Messiah.'
She smiled again and he caught the faintest hint of madness, like the first cracks in a sheet of ice just before it gives way and plunges you into the dark waters beneath.
'Why aren't you wearing a gas mask?'
'God said he would shield me from the plague.'
'And you believed him, just like that?'
She laughed, the sound pealing up into the roof of the cathedral. He glanced over his shoulder but the soldiers were nowhere to be seen.
Thirteen Roses Book Two: After: A Paranormal Zombie Saga Page 17
